Larry who had come back to the yard to see his friend off, returned by the road into the fields, and went wandering about for a while in Dillsborough Wood.  “Bid him be a man!” Wasn’t he a man?  Was it disgraceful to him as a man to be broken-hearted, because a woman would not love him?  If he were provoked he would fight,—­perhaps better than ever, because he would be reckless.  Would he not be ready to fight Reginald Morton with any weapon which could be thought of for the possession of Mary Masters?  If she were in danger would he not go down into the deep, or through fire to save her?  Were not his old instincts of honesty and truth as strong in him as ever?  Did manliness require that his heart should be invulnerable?  If so he doubted whether he could ever be a man.

But what if she meant that manliness required him to hide the wound?  Then there did come upon him a feeling of shame as he remembered how often he had spoken of his love to those who were little better than strangers to him, and thought that perhaps such loquacity was opposed to the manliness which she recommended.  And his conscience smote him as it brought to his recollection the condition of his mind as he woke in Runciman’s bed at the Bush on last Sunday morning.  That at any rate had not been manly.  How would it be with him if he made up his mind never to speak again to her, and certainly not to him, and to take care that that should be the only sign left of his suffering?  He would hunt, and be keener than ever;—­he would work upon the land with increased diligence; he would give himself not a moment to think of anything.  She should see and hear what he could do;—­but he would never speak to her again.  The hounds would be at the old kennels to-morrow.  He would be there.  The place no doubt was Morton’s property, but on hunting mornings all the lands of the county,—­and of the next counties if they can be reached,—­are the property of the hunt.  Yes; he would be there; and she would see him in his scarlet coat, and smartest cravat, with his boots and breeches neat as those of Lord Rufford; and she should know that he was doing as she bade him.  But he would never speak to her again!

As he was returning round the wood, whom should he see skulking round the corner of it but Goarly?

“What business have you in here?” he said, feeling half-inclined to take the man by the neck and drag him out of the copse.

“I saw you, Mr. Twentyman, and I wanted just to have a word with you.”

“You are the biggest rascal in all Rufford,” said Larry.  “I wonder the lads have left you with a whole bone in your skin.”

“What have I done worse than any other poor man, Mr. Twentyman?  When I took them herrings I didn’t know there was p’ison; and if I hadn’t took ’em, another would.  I am going to cut it out of this, Mr. Twentyman.”

“May the —­ go along with you!” said Larry, wishing his neighbour a very unpleasant companion.