That’s how he talked to me; but my great gift of patience never deserted me with Owlet, and seeing he knew nothing about any real disquiet in his daughter’s head, I left it at that and hoped I was mistook.

Mighty soon I found that I was not, however, and then, in the hour for my daily constitutional, which I never missed, rain or shine, I turned over the situation and resolved to approach Jenny on the subject and invite a clean breast of it.

There was a woodman’s path ran on the high ground behind Oakshotts, and here I seldom failed to take an hour’s walk daily for the sake of health.  Up and down I’d go under the trees in the lonely woods, and mark the signs of nature and rest my mind from the business of the house.  And sometimes Jenny would come along with me, but oftener I went alone, because our regular afternoon out gave me the opportunity for her company and she couldn’t often break loose other times.

There was an ancient woodstack on the path hid deep in undergrowth of laurels and spruce fir, and not seldom in summer I’d smoke a pipe with my back against it; but oftener I’d tramp up and down past it, where it heaved up beside the narrow way.  They was always going to pull it down, but there never rose no call for wood and it was let bide year after year—­a very picturesque and ancient object.

During an autumn day it was that I went there, with the larches turned to gold and the leaf flying from the oaks and shining copper-red on the beech trees.  And I resolved once for all to challenge Jenny upon her troubles, because if her future husband couldn’t throw no light on ’em and scour ’em away, he must be less than the man I took him for.

I’d about spent my hour and was turning back to the house half a mile below when Jenny herself came along, well knowing where I was; and so I wasted no words, but prepared to strike while the thought of her set uppermost in my mind.  She spoke first, however, and much surprised me.  ’Twas her way of breaking into the matter did so, and she well knew that what she had to tell would let the cat out of the bag.

“William,” she said, “I couldn’t bear for you to hear the thing what’s happened except from me, and I want for you to be merciful to all concerned.”

She was excited and her hair waving in the autumn wind so brown as the falling leaves.  Her eyes were wild also, and her mouth down-drawn, and a good bit of misery looked out of her face.

“I’m known for a merciful man where mercy may be called for, my lovely dear,” I said to her.  “Us’ll walk up and down my path once more since you’ve come.  I’ve long known there was a lot on your mind and went so far as to ask your father what it might be; but he only said ’twas your conscience up against you leaving him.”

“’Tis my conscience all right,” she answered, “but not like that—­a long sight more crueller than that.  Tom Bond has gone to see father this afternoon and—­oh, William, I wish I was dead!”