We rode out for a couple of hours, and had to knock at a farmhouse for milk and bread.  Possibly a sense of independence, owing to the snatching of a meal in midflight away from home, made Janet exclaim that she would gladly be out all day.  Such freaks were exceedingly to my taste.  Then I remembered Dipwell, and sure that my father would be there, though he had not written of it, I proposed to ride over.  She pleaded for the horses and the squire alternately.  Feasting was arranged at Riversley, as well as at Dipwell, and she said musically,

’Harry, the squire is a very old man, and you may not have many more chances of pleasing him.  To-day do, do!  To-morrow, ride to your father, if you must:  of course you must if you think it right; but don’t go this day.’

‘Not upset my fortune, Janet?’

‘Don’t hurt the kind old man’s heart to-day.’

‘Oh! you’re the girl of his heart, I know.’

‘Well, Harry, you have first place, and I want you to keep it.’

‘But here’s an oath I’ve sworn to my father.’

‘He should not have exacted it, I think.’

‘I promised him when I was a youngster.’

‘Then be wiser now, Harry.’

‘You have brilliant ideas of the sacredness of engagements.’

‘I think I have common sense, that’s all.’

‘This is a matter of feeling.’

‘It seems that you forgot it, though!’

Kiomi’s tents on Durstan heath rose into view.  I controlled my verbal retort upon Janet to lead her up to the gipsy girl, for whom she had an odd aversion, dating from childhood.  Kiomi undertook to ride to Dipwell, a distance of thirty miles, and carry the message that I would be there by nightfall.  Tears were on Janet’s resolute face as we cantered home.

After breakfast the squire introduced me to his lawyer, Mr. Burgin, who, closeted alone with me, said formally,

’Mr. Harry Richmond, you are Squire Beltham’s grandson, his sole male descendant, and you are established at present, and as far as we can apprehend for the future, as the direct heir to the whole of his property, which is enormous now, and likely to increase so long as he lives.  You may not be aware that your grandfather has a most sagacious eye for business.  Had he not been born a rich man he would still have been one of our very greatest millionaires.  He has rarely invested but to double his capital; never speculated but to succeed.  He may not understand men quite so well, but then he trusts none entirely; so if there is a chasm in his intelligence, there is a bridge thrown across it.  The metaphor is obscure perhaps:  you will doubtless see my meaning.  He knows how to go on his road without being cheated.  For himself, your grandfather, Mr. Harry, is the soul of honour.  Now, I have to explain certain family matters.  The squire’s wife, your maternal grandmother, was a rich heiress.  Part of her money was settled on her to descend to her children by reversion upon