"You probably find your situation horribly lonely here?" I went on after a pause.

"Yes; it's nice and lonely, Peter."

"And, undoubtedly, this cottage is very poor and mean, and--er --humble?" Charmian smiled and shook her head.

"But then, Charmian Brown is a very humble person, sir."

"And you haven't even the luxury of a mirror to dress your hair by!"

"Is it so very clumsily dressed, sir?"

"No, no," said I hastily, "indeed I was thinking--"

"Well, Peter?"

"That it was very--beautiful!"

"Why, you told me that last night--come, what do you think of it this morning?"

"With those leaves in it--it is--even more so!"

Charmian laughed, and, rising, swept me a stately curtesy.

"After all, sir, we find there be exceptions to every rule!"

"You mean?"

"Even blacksmiths!"

And in a while, having finished my breakfast, I rose, and, taking my hat, bade Charmian "Good morning," and so came to the door.

But on the threshold I turned and looked back at her. She had risen, and stood leaning with one hand on the table; now in the other she held the breadknife, and her eyes were upon mine.

And lo! wonder of wonders! once again, but this time sudden and swift--up from the round, full column of her throat, up over cheek and brow there rushed that vivid tide of color; her eyes grew suddenly deep and soft, and then were hidden 'neath her lashes--and, in that same moment, the knife slipped from her grasp, and falling, point downwards, stood quivering in the floor between us--an ugly thing that gleamed evilly.

Was this an omen--a sign vouchsafed of that which, dark and terrible, was, even then, marching to meet us upon this Broad Highway? O Blind, and more than blind!

Almost before it had ceased to quiver I stooped, and, plucking it from the floor, gave it into her hand. Now, as I did so, her fingers touched mine, and, moved by a sudden mad impulse, I stooped and pressed my lips upon them--kissed them quick and fierce, and so turned, and hurried upon my way.

Yet, as I went, I found that the knife had cut my chin, and that I was bleeding.

O Blind, and more than blind! Surely this was a warning, an omen to heed--to shiver over, despite the warm sun!

But, seeing the blood, I laughed, and strode villagewards, blithe of heart and light of foot.

O Blind, and more than blind!

CHAPTER XVIII

IN WHICH I HEAR NEWS OF SIR MAURICE VIBART

"Which I says--Lord love me!"

I plunged the iron back into the fire, and, turning my head, espied a figure standing in the doorway; and, though the leather hat and short, round jacket had been superseded by a smart groom's livery, I recognized the Postilion.

"So 'elp me, Bob, if this ain't a piece o' luck!" he exclaimed, and, with the words, he removed his hat and fell to combing his short, thick hair with the handle of his whip.

"I'm glad you think so," said I.

"You can drownd me if it ain't!" said he.

"And, pray, how is the gentleman who--happened to fall and hurt himself, if you remember--in the storm?"

"'Appened to fall an' 'urt 'isself?" repeated the Postilion, winking knowingly, "'urt 'isself,' says you 'Walker!' says I, 'Walker!'" with which he laid his forefinger against the side of his nose and winked again.

"What might you be pleased to mean?"

"I means as a gent 'appenin' to fall in the dark may p'r'aps cut 'is 'ead open--but 'e don't give 'isself two black eyes, a bloody nose, a split lip, an' three broken ribs, all at once--it ain't nat'ral, w'ich if you says contrairy, I remarks--'Walker!' Lord!"

continued the Postilion, seeing I did not speak, "Lord! it must 'a' been a pretty warm go while it lasted--you put 'im to sleep sound enough; it took me over a hour to Tonbridge, an' 'e never moved till 'e'd been put to bed at 'The Chequers' an' a doctor sent for. Ah! an' a nice time I 'ad of it, what wi' chamber-maids a-runnin' up an' down stairs to see the 'poor gentleman,' an'

everybody a-starin' at me, an' a-shakin' their 'eads, an' all a-axin' questions, one atop o' the other, till the doctor come.

"Ow did this 'appen, me man?' says 'e. 'A haccident!' says I.

'A haccident?' says the doctor, wi' a look in 'is eye as I didn't just like. 'Ah!' says I, 'fell on 'is 'ead--out o' the chaise,'

says I, 'struck a stone, or summ'at,' says I. 'Did 'e fall of 'is own accord?' says the doctor. 'Ah, for sure!' says I.

'Humph!' says the doctor, 'what wi' 'is eyes, an' 'is nose, an'

'is lip, looks to me as if some one 'ad 'elped 'im.' 'Then you must be a dam' fool!' says a voice, an' there's my gentleman --Number One, you know, a-sittin' up in bed an' doin' 'is 'ardest to frown. 'Sir?' says the doctor. 'Sir! to you,' says my gentleman, 'this honest fellow tells the truth. I did fall out o' the accursed chaise--an' be damned to you!' says 'e. 'Don't excite yourself,' says the doctor; 'in your present condition it would be dangerous.' 'Then be so good as to go to the devil!'

says my gentleman. 'I will!' says the doctor, an' off 'e goes.

'Hi, there, you,' says my gentleman, callin' to me as soon as we were alone, 'this accursed business 'as played the devil with me, an' I need a servant. 'Ow much do you want to stay wi' me?'

'Twenty-five shillin' a week,' says I, doin' myself proud while I 'ad the chance. 'I'll give ye thirty,' says 'e; 'wot's ye name?'

'Jacob Trimble, sir,' says I. 'An' a most accursed name it is!

--I'll call you Parks,' says 'e, 'an' when I ring let no one answer but yourself. You can go, Parks--an', Parks--get me another doctor.' Well," pursued the Postilion, seating himself near by, "we'd been there a couple o' weeks, an' though 'e was better, an'

'is face near well again, 'e still kept to 'is room, when, one day, a smart phaeton an' blood 'osses drives up, an' out steps a fine gentleman--one o' them pale, sleepy sort. I was a-standin'

in the yard, brushin' my master's coat--a bottle-green wi' silver buttons, each button 'avin' what they calls a monneygram stamped onto it. 'Ha, me man!' says the sleepy gent, steppin' up to me, 'a fine coat--doocid fashionable cut, curse me!--your master's?'

'Yes, sir,' says I, brushin' away. 'Silver buttons too!' says the gent, 'let me see--ah yes!--a V, yes, to be sure--'ave the goodness to step to your master an' say as a gentleman begs to see 'im.' 'Can't be done, sir,' says I; 'me master ain't seein'

nobody, bein' in indifferent 'ealth.' 'Nonsense!' says the gentleman, yawnin' an' slippin' a guinea into me 'and. 'Just run, like a good feller, an' tell 'im as I bear a message from George!' 'From 'oo?' says I. 'From George,' says the gent, smilin' an' yawnin'--'just say from George.' So, to come to the end of it, up I goes, an' finds me master walkin' up an' down an'

aswearin' to 'isself as usual. 'A gentleman to see you, sir,'

says I. 'Why, devil burn your miserable carcass!' say 'e, 'didn't I tell you as I'd see nobody?' 'Ay, but this 'ere gent's a-sayin' 'e 'as a message from George, sir.' My master raised both clenched fists above 'is 'ead an' swore--ah! better than I'd heard for many a long day. 'Ows'ever, downstairs 'e goes, cursin' on every stair. In a time 'e comes back. 'Parks,' says 'e, 'do you remember that--that place where we got lost--in the storm, Parks?' 'Ah, sir,' says I. 'Well, go there at once,'

says 'e,' an','--well--'e give me certain orders--jumps into the phaeton wi' the sleepy gentleman, an' they drive off together--an'

accordin' to orders--'ere I am."

"A very interesting story!" said I. "And so you are a groom now?"

"Ah!--an' you are a blacksmith, eh?"

"Yes."

"Well, if it don't beat everything as ever I heard--I'm a stiff 'un, that's all!"