“I was sure he had something to say,” the girl returned seriously.  “He was in trouble.  I knew that he was, and I longed to help him.”

“What trouble?” I inquired.

“Oh, I don’t know.  I forgot to ask, but he looked troubled.”

“Doubtless he was troubled,” I responded.  “He had sufficient cause for trouble,” I finished the sentence to myself with the words, “in you.”

“What was the cause of his trouble?” she hastily asked, turning her face toward me.

“I do not know certainly,” I answered in a tone of irony which should have pierced an oak board, while the girl listened and looked at me eagerly; “but I might guess.”

“What was it?  What was it?  Let me hear you guess,” she asked.

“You,” I responded laconically.

“I!” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes, you,” I responded with emphasis.  “You would bring trouble to any man, but to Sir John Manners—­well, if he intends to keep up these meetings with you it would be better for his peace and happiness that he should get him a house in hell, for he would live there more happily than on this earth.”

“That is a foolish, senseless remark, Malcolm,” the girl replied, tossing her head with a show of anger in her eyes.  “This is no time to jest.”  I suppose I could not have convinced her that I was not jesting.

“At first we did not speak to each other even to say good day, but stood by the well in silence for a very long time.  The village people were staring at us, and I felt that every window had a hundred faces in it, and every face a hundred eyes.”

“You imagined that,” said I, “because of your guilty conscience.”

“Perhaps so.  But it seemed to me that we stood by the well in silence a very long time.  You see, Cousin Malcolm, I was not the one who should speak first.  I had done more than my part in going to meet him.”

“Decidedly so,” said I, interrupting the interesting narrative.

“When I could bear the gaze of the villagers no longer, I drew up my reins and started to leave The Open by the north road.  After Dolcy had climbed halfway up North Hill, which as you know overlooks the village, I turned my head and saw Sir John still standing by the well, resting his hand upon his horse’s mane.  He was watching me.  I grew angry, and determined that he should follow me, even if I had to call him.  So I drew Dolcy to a stand.  Was not that bold in me?  But wait, there is worse to come, Malcolm.  He did not move, but stood like a statue looking toward me.  I knew that he wanted to come, so after a little time I—­I beckoned to him and—­and then he came like a thunderbolt.  Oh! it was delicious.  I put Dolcy to a gallop, for when he started toward me I was frightened.  Besides I did not want him to overtake me till we were out of the village.  But when once he had started, he did not wait.  He was as swift now as he had been slow, and my heart throbbed and triumphed because of his eagerness, though in truth I was afraid of him.  Dolcy, you know, is very fleet, and when I touched her with the whip she soon put half a mile between me and the village.  Then I brought her to a walk and—­and he quickly overtook me.