Laugh as she might, however, there was substantial comfort in thinking of the boundless stretch of blue wave that rolled between me and that villainous cousin.

I was now on very odd terms with Madame.  She had not relapsed into her favourite vein of oracular sarcasm and menace; she had, on the contrary, affected her good-humoured and genial vein.  But I was not to be deceived by this.  I carried in my heart that deep-seated fear of her which her unpleasant good-humour and gaiety never disturbed for a moment.  I was very glad, therefore, when she went to Todcaster by rail, to make some purchases for the journey which we were daily expecting to commence; and happy in the opportunity of a walk, good old Mary Quince and I set forth for a little ramble.

As I wished to make some purchases in Feltram, I set out, with Mary Quince for my companion.  On reaching the great gate we found it locked.  The key, however, was in it, and as it required more than the strength of my hand to turn, Mary tried it.  At the same moment old Crowle came out of the sombre lodge by its side, swallowing down a mouthful of his dinner in haste.  No one, I believe, liked the long suspicious face of the old man, seldom shorn or washed, and furrowed with great, grimy perpendicular wrinkles.  Leering fiercely at Mary, not pretending to see me, he wiped his mouth hurriedly with the back of his hand, and growled—­

‘Drop it.’

‘Open it, please, Mr. Crowle,’ said Mary, renouncing the task.

Crowle wiped his mouth as before, looking inauspicious; shuffling to the spot, and muttering to himself, he first satisfied himself that the lock was fast, and then lodged the key in his coat-pocket, and still muttering, retraced his steps.

‘We want the gate open, please,’ said Mary.

No answer.

‘Miss Maud wants to go into the town,’ she insisted.

‘We wants many a thing we can’t get,’ he growled, stepping into his habitation.

‘Please open the gate,’ I said, advancing.

He half turned on his threshold, and made a dumb show of touching his hat, although he had none on.

‘Can’t, ma’am; without an order from master, no one goes out here.’

‘You won’t allow me and my maid to pass the gate?’ I said.

‘’Tisn’t me, ma’am,’ said he; ’but I can’t break orders, and no one goes out without the master allows.’

And without awaiting further parley, he entered, shutting his hatch behind him.

So Mary and I stood, looking very foolish at one another.  This was the first restraint I had experienced since Milly and I had been refused a passage through the Windmill paling.  The rule, however, on which Crowle insisted I felt confident could not have been intended to apply to me.  A word to Uncle Silas would set all right; and in the meantime I proposed to Mary that we should take a walk—­my favourite ramble—­into the Windmill Wood.