“You may have heard incorrectly.”

“I’ve got the words burning inside me,” said Robert.

They walked together, before dark, to Sutton Farm, but Jonathan Eccles was abroad in his fields, and their welcome was from Mistress Anne, whom Major Waring had not power to melt; the moment he began speaking praise of Robert, she closed her mouth tight and crossed her wrists meekly.

“I see,” said Major Waring, as they left the farm, “your aunt is of the godly who have no forgiveness.”

“I’m afraid so,” cried Robert.  “Cold blood never will come to an understanding with hot blood, and the old lady’s is like frozen milk.  She’s right in her way, I dare say.  I don’t blame her.  Her piety’s right enough, take it as you find it.”

Mrs. Boulby had a sagacious notion that gentlemen always dined well every day of their lives, and claimed that much from Providence as their due.  She had exerted herself to spread a neat little repast for Major Waring, and waited on the friends herself; grieving considerably to observe that the major failed in his duty as a gentleman, as far as the relish of eating was concerned.

“But,” she said below at her bar, “he smokes the beautifullest—­smelling cigars, and drinks coffee made in his own way.  He’s very particular.”  Which was reckoned to be in Major Waring’s favour.

The hour was near midnight when she came into the room, bearing another letter from the Park.  She thumped it on the table, ruffling and making that pretence at the controlling of her bosom which precedes a feminine storm.  Her indignation was caused by a communication delivered by Dick Curtis, in the parlour underneath, to the effect that Nicodemus Sedgett was not to be heard of in the neighbourhood.

Robert laughed at her, and called her Hebrew woman—­eye-for-eye and tooth-for-tooth woman.

“Leave real rascals to the Lord above, mother.  He’s safe to punish them.  They’ve stepped outside the chances.  That’s my idea.  I wouldn’t go out of my way to kick them—­not I!  It’s the half-and-half villains we’ve got to dispose of.  They’re the mischief, old lady.”

Percy, however, asked some questions about Sedgett, and seemed to think his disappearance singular.  He had been examining the handwriting of the superscription to the letter.  His face was flushed as he tossed it for Robert to open.  Mrs. Boulby dropped her departing curtsey, and Robert read out, with odd pauses and puzzled emphasis: 

“Mrs. Lovell has received the letter which Mr. Robert Eccles has addressed to her, and regrets that a misconception should have arisen from anything that was uttered during their interview.  The allusions are obscure, and Mrs. Lovell can only remark, that she is pained if she at all misled Mr. Eccles in what she either spoke or promised.  She is not aware that she can be of any service to him.  Should such an occasion present itself, Mr. Eccles may rest assured that she will not fail