"I'm not exactly sure. She did say that any time you brought me along I should be welcome, or words to that effect. So we must arrange another little excursion soon."

"Must we?"

"We must; and what is more, you might, you know, in the meanwhile--that is, if you can honestly do so--that is--you know what I mean, don't you?"

"I don't think I do," William answered, in a tone of mild surprise.

"It's asking a lot, I know," Sam replied, fidgeting uneasily in his chair. "But if you could--that--that is--without compromising yourself in any way, speak a good word for me, it would go miles and miles."

"Do you think so?"

"I'm sure of it. She thinks the world of you, and a word from you would be worth a week's pleading on my part."

"I'm not so sure of that," William answered. "I think all love affairs are best managed by those concerned. The meddling of outsiders generally does more harm than good."

"But there are exceptions to every rule," Sam persisted. "You see, I am awfully handicapped by being so much of a stranger. If I can once get a footing as a friend, the rest will be easy."

William smiled wistfully.

"I wouldn't be precipitate, if I were you," he said. "And in the meanwhile I'll do my best."

Sam slept soundly till morning, but William lay awake most of the night.

When he did sleep it was to dream that he was young and prosperous, and that Ruth Penlogan had promised to be his wife.

After an early breakfast, he saw his cousin mount his horse and ride away toward Pentudy, and very soon after William climbed into his trap and went out to get orders.

One of his first places of call was Hillside Farm, and as he drove slowly up to the house he looked at it with a new interest. All sorts of vague fancies seemed to float about in his mind. He saw Ruth back there again, looking happier than any queen; he saw himself with some kind of proprietary interest in the place; he saw Ralph looking in when the fancy pleased him; he saw a number of new combinations and relationships, but so vaguely that he could not fit them into their places.

He found Farmer Jenkins in a very doleful mood.

"I wish I had never seen the place," he declared. "I've lost money ever since I came, and I'm going to clear out at the earliest opportunity."

"Do you really mean it?" William questioned.

"I was never more serious in my life. I sent a letter to the squire a week ago, and told him unless he lowered the rent thirty per cent. I should fling up the farm."

"And has he consented to lower it?"

"Not he. He says he'll call soon and talk the matter over with me, and that in the meantime I'd better keep quiet; but I shan't keep quiet, and I shan't stay."

As William drove away from Hillside an idea, or a suggestion, shot through his brain that made him gasp. Before he got to the village of Veryan he was trembling on his seat. It seemed almost like a suggestion from the Evil One, so subtle was the temptation. He had tried all his life to do the thing that was right. He had never, as far as he knew, taken an unfair advantage of anyone. He had aimed strictly to do what was just and honourable between man and man. But if he bought Hillside Farm, would it be fair dealing? Would it be fair to his Cousin Sam?

Would it be fair to Ruth?

William tried to face the problem honestly. He would rather Ruth pa.s.sed out of his life altogether than do anything mean or unworthy. To keep his conscience clean, and his love free from the taint of selfishness, seemed to him the supreme end of life. But if he bought Hillside Farm, what motive would lie at the back of it? Would it be that he wanted the farm, that he wanted to turn farmer? or would it be the hope that Ruth, with her pa.s.sionate love of the place, would be willing even to accept the protection of his arms?

"All's fair in love and war," something seemed to whisper in his ear.

But William drew himself up squarely, and a resolute look came into his eyes.

"No," he said to himself, "that is false philosophy. Nothing that is mean or selfish or underhand can be fair or right. If the motive is wrong, the transaction will be wrong."

It took William a much longer time than usual to make his rounds that morning. He was so absent-minded--or, more correctly, his mind was so engrossed with other things--that he allowed his horse on several occasions to nibble the gra.s.s by the roadside.

He was no more interested in business matters when he got back. He would pause in the middle of weighing a pound of sugar or starch, completely forgetting where he was or what he was doing.

His mother let him be. She knew that he was greatly troubled at Lord St.

Goram's refusal to renew the lease of his shop, and, like a wise woman, did not worry him with needless questions.

That evening, when the shutters were put up, he went to St. Ivel again.

He would have some further talk with Ralph about the farm. He would be able also to feast his eyes again on Ruth's sweet face; perhaps, also, if he had strength and courage enough, he might be able to speak a good word for his Cousin Sam.

His thoughts, however, were in such a tangle, and his motives so uncertain, that he walked very slowly, and did not see a single thing on the road. Before he reached the cottage he stopped short, and, taking an order-book and a pencil from his pocket, he dotted down in a series of propositions and questions the chief points of the problem. They ran in this order:--

1. I have as much right to love Ruth Penlogan as anyone else.

2. Though I'm only a shopkeeper, and a dozen years her senior, there's nothing to hinder me from taking my chance.

3. If buying Hillside would help me, and make Ruth happy, where's the wrong? Cannot say.

4. But if buying Hillside would spoil Sam's chance, is that right?

Doubtful.

5. Am I called upon to help Sam's cause to the detriment of my own? Also doubtful.

6. Is Ruth likely to be influenced by anything I may do or say? Don't know enough about women to answer that question.

7. Have I the smallest chance? No.

8. Has Sam? Most decidedly.

9. Am I a fool for thinking about Ruth at all? Certainly.

At this point William thrust his order-book into his pocket and quickened his pace.

"It's not a bit of use speculating on possibilities or probabilities,"

he said to himself a little impatiently. "I'll have to do the thing that seems right and wise. The rest I must leave."

A minute or two later he was knocking at the cottage door.

CHAPTER x.x.x

SELF AND ANOTHER

Ralph had gone to Perranpool to see Robert Telfer, but Ruth expected him back every moment.