But these weaknesses passed like air, the iron purpose stood firm.  This day week they were to be married.  Meadows counted the days and exulted; he had faith in the magic ring.  It was on this Monday evening then they walked arm in arm in the field, and it so happened that Meadows was not speaking of love, but of a scheme for making all the poor people in Grassmere comfortable, especially of keeping the rain out of their roofs and the wind out of what they vulgarly, but not unreasonably, called their windys, and Susan’s color was rising and her eyes brightening at this the one interesting side marriage offered—­to make people happy near her and round about her, and she cast a look of gratitude upon her companion—­a look that, coming from so lovely a face, might very well pass for love.  While thus pleasantly employed the pair suddenly encountered a form in a long bristling beard, who peered into their faces with a singular expression of strange and wild curiosity and anxiety, but did not stop; he was making toward Farnborough.

Susan was a little startled.  “Who is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“He looked as if he knew us.”

“A traveler, I think, dearest.  The folk hereabouts have not got to wear those long beards yet.”

“Why did you start when he passed us?”

“Did I start, Susan?”

“Your arm twitched me.”

“You must have fancied it,” replied Meadows, with a sickly smile; “but, come, Susan, the dew is falling, you had better make toward home.”

He saw her safe home, then, instead of waiting to supper as usual, got his horse out and rode to the town full gallop.

“Any one been here for me?”

“Yes! a stranger.”

“With a long beard?”

“Why, yes, he had.”

“He will come again?”

“In half an hour.”

“Show him into my room when he comes, and admit no one else.”

Meadows was hardly seated in his study and his candles lighted when the servant ushered in his visitor.

“Shut both the doors, and you can go to bed.  I will let Mr. Richards out.”

“Well?”

“Well, we have done the trick between us, eh?”

“What made you come home without orders?” asked Meadows, somewhat sternly.

“Why, you know as well as me, sir; you have seen them?”

“Who?”

“George Fielding and his mate.”

Meadows started.  “How should I see them?”

“Sir!  Why, they are come home.  They gave me the slip, and got away before me.  I followed them.  They are here.  They must be here.”  Crawley, not noticing Meadows’ face, went on.  “Sir, when I found they had slipped out of the camp on horseback, and down to Sydney, and saw them with my own eyes go out of the harbor for England, I thought I should have died on the spot.  I thought I should never have the courage to face you, but when I met you arm in arm, her eye smiling on you, I knew it was all right then.  When did the event come off?”