ving mentioned the subject
that troubled him? The old man had sunk into a reverie; his lips moved as
though he communed with himself. Desmond had not the heart to intrude his
concerns on one so bowed with grief.

"Good night, Sir Willoughby!" he said.

The squire paid no heed, and Desmond, vexed, bewildered, went slowly from
the room.

At the outer door he found Dickon awaiting him.

"The squire has let Grinsell go, Dickon," he said; "he says 'twas all a
mistake."

"If squire says it, then 't must be," said Dickon slowly, nodding his
head.

"We'n better be goin' home, sir."

"But you had something to tell Sir Willoughby?"

"Ay, sure, but he knows it--knows it better'n me."

"Come, Dickon, what is this mystery! I am in a maze; what is it, man?"

"Binna fur a aged, poor feller like me to say. We'n better go home, sir."

Nothing that Desmond said prevailed upon Dickon to tell more, and the two
started homewards across the fields.

Some minutes afterwards they heard the sound of a horse's hoofs
clattering on the road to their left, and going in the same direction. It
was an unusual sound at that late hour, and both stopped instinctively
and looked at each other.

"A late traveler, Dickon," said Desmond.

"Ay, maybe a king's post, Measter Desmond," replied the old man.

Without more words they went on till they came to a lane leading to the
laborer's cottage.

"We part here," said Desmond. "Dickon, good night!"

"Good night to you, sir!" said the old man. He paused; then, in a grave,
earnest, quavering voice, he added: "The Lord Almighty have you in his
keeping, Measter Desmond, watch over you night and day, now and
evermore."

And with that he hobbled down the lane.

At nine o'clock that night Richard Burke left the Grange--an unusual
thing for him--and walked quickly to the Four Alls. The inn was closed,
and shutters darkened the windows; but, seeing a chink of light between
the folds, the farmer knocked at the door. There was no answer. He
knocked again and again, grumbling under his breath. At length, when his
patience was almost exhausted, a window above opened, and, looking up,
Mr. Burke dimly saw a head.

"Is that you, Grinsell?" he asked.

"No, massa."

"Oh, you're the black boy, Mr. Diggle's servant. Is your master in?"

"No, massa."

"Well, come down and open the door. I'll wait for him."

"Massa said no open door for nuffin."

"Confound you, open at once! He knows me; I'