“Yes, that’s it, mother, but Squire only laughed.”

She said no more, but stepped before me through the garden—now all silvered with the moon and scented with gillie-flowers and stocks and sweet moss-roses—into the cottage. She p. 30kept our dwelling as neat and trim within as the garden about it. The room we entered was freshly lime-washed; the windows were hung with snow-white curtains and gay with flowers in boxes. Settle and chairs and table were oaken, and dark with age; an old Dutch clock, brass candlesticks and canisters stood on the chimney-piece; blue and white ware and lustre were ranged upon the shelves, with pewter polished silver-white even as the brasses shone like gold. My supper was set on bleached white linen—a cold pasty, bread and cheese, and cider in a covered jug; though I was well-nigh starving for the lateness of the hour, and though my mother hastened to cut a wedge from the pasty for me, I could not eat or drink till I had told the tale of our adventure and of Mr. Bradbury’s interest. At the first mention of Mr. Bradbury’s name, I believed that she started, and that the colour crept into her cheeks. My mother was pale and tall and fine,—all white and black, ivory-white of skin, dark of eye and hair—wearing black stuff gowns, snow-white mob-caps and aprons, save of a Sunday, when she put on her silk dress, in which she made a figure fitter to the Hall than to the village,—so it seemed to me.

p. 30

Observing her stirred from her placidity, I asked, “Who’s Mr. Bradbury, mother? p. 31Squire’s lawyer, I know, but what can be his interest in us? Why didn’t he let Tim baste Tony and me? And why did he question the Squire about you and me, and how long we’d lived in the village? And then the way he watched me!”

p. 31

She said quietly, though there was a tremor in her voice, “Sit down and eat your supper, John. It’s late and I’m weary. Mr. Bradbury is the servant of many great families. Once—years ago—he knew me, before I was wed to Richard Howe. And—and—he knew your father. You’re very like your father.” Watching her, I believed that I saw dread in her eyes, and that her lips were trembling. Meeting my look, she added steadily, “That is all, John. Promise me that you’ll not go poaching with Tony again!”

“Oh, it’s easy enough to promise, mother,” I said, sitting down to my supper, “but it’s not so easy to keep my word.”

“Why? It should be easy!”

“Yes, 

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