ndity of the
elevation being only occasionally disturbed by the presence of a barrow,
a thorn-bush, or a piece of dry wall which remained from some attempted
enclosure. By the time that he reached the village it was dark, and the
larger stars had begun to shine when he walked up to the door of the old-
fashioned house which was the family residence of this branch of the
South-Wessex Hardys.

'Will the captain allow me to wait on him to-night?' inquired Loveday,
explaining who and what he was.

The servant went away for a few minutes, and then told Bob that he might
see the captain in the morning.

'If that's the case, I'll come again,' replied Bob, quite cheerful that
failure was not absolute.

He had left the door but a few steps when he was called back and asked if
he had walked all the way from Overcombe Mill on purpose.

Loveday replied modestly that he had done so.

'Then will you come in?' He followed the speaker into a small study or
office, and in a minute or two Captain Hardy entered.

The captain at this time was a bachelor of thirty-five, rather stout in
build, with light eyes, bushy eyebrows, a square broad face, plenty of
chin, and a mouth whose corners played between humour and grimness. He
surveyed Loveday from top to toe.

'Robert Loveday, sir, son of the miller at Overcombe,' said Bob, making a
low bow.

'Ah! I remember your father, Loveday,' the gallant seaman replied.
'Well, what do you want to say to me?' Seeing that Bob found it rather
difficult to begin, he leant leisurely against the mantelpiece, and went
on, 'Is your father well and hearty? I have not seen him for many, many
years.'

'Quite well, thank 'ee.'

'You used to have a brother in the army, I think? What was his
name--John? A very fine fellow, if I recollect.'

'Yes, cap'n; he's there still.'

'And you are in the merchant-service?'

'Late first mate of the brig Pewit.'

'How is it you're not on board a man-of-war?'

'Ay, sir, that's the thing I've come about,' said Bob, recovering
confidence. 'I should have been, but 'tis womankind has hampered me.
I've waited and waited on at home because of a young woman--lady, I might
have said, for she's sprung from a higher class of society than I. Her
father was a landscape painter--maybe you've heard of him, sir? The name
is Garland.'

'He painted that view of our village here,' said Captain Hardy, looking
towards a dark little picture in the corner of the room.