“Oh, no!” cried Janice.  “If you—­if you really—­” the girl gave a glance at the man, coloured to the temples, and, springing to her feet, fled toward the house.  She did not stop till she reached her room, where she flung herself on the bed and buried her cheeks in the pillow.  Thus she lay for some time, then rose, looked at herself in the mirror, and finding her hair sadly disordered, she set about the task of doing it over.  “’T is beyond belief!” she murmured.  “I must be very beautiful!” She paused in her task, and studied her own face.  “Now I know why he always makes me feel so uncomfortable —­and afraid—­and—­and gawky.  ’T is because he is a lord.  Sometimes he does look at me as if—­as if he were hungry—­ ugh!  It frights me.  But he must know what ’s the mode.  ‘Lady Janice Clowes.’  ’T is a pity the title is not prettier.  Whatever will Tibbie say when she hears!”

It was a little after ten that evening when the squire and Evatt parted for the night in the upper hail, the former being, as usual, not tipsy, but in a jovial mood toward all things; and as this attitude is conducive to sleep, his snores were ere long reverberating to all waking ears.  One pair of these were so keenly alive to every noise that not the chirp of a cricket escaped them, and from time to time their owner started at the smallest sound.  Owing to this attention, they heard presently the creak of the stairs, the soft opening of the front door, and even the swish of feet on the grass.  Then, though the ears fairly strained to catch the least noise, came a silence, save for the squire’s trumpeting, for what seemed to the girl a period fairly interminable.

Finally the rustling of the grass told of the return of the prowler, and as the girl heard it she once more began trembling, “Oh!” she moaned.  “If only I had n’t—­if only he’d go away!” She rose from the bed, and stole to the window.

“Mr. Evatt, I’m so frightened, I don’t dare,” she whispered to the figure standing below.  “Wait till to-morrow night!

“Nonsense!” said the man, so loudly that Janice was more cared than ever.  “I told ye it must be to-night.  Come down quickly.”

“Oh, please!” moaned Janice.

“Dost want to be the wife of that gawk?” demanded Evatt, impatiently.

Though he did not know it, the girl vacillated.  “At least I’m not frightened of Phil,” was her thought.

“Well,” called the man more loudly, “art going to keep me here all night?”

“Hush!” whispered Janice.  “Thee’ll wake—­”

“Belike I will,” he retorted irritably.  “And if they ask me what ’s in the wind, they shall have the truth.  Odd’s life!  I’m not a man to be fooled by a chit of a girl.”

“Oh, hush!” again she begged, more frightened at the prospect of her parents knowing than by any other possibility.  “I’ll come if you’ll only be quiet.”

She took a small bundle, hurriedly stole downstairs, and passed out of the house.