the ancient squatters, the most unsettled and unruly natives of the district. But the great offence was that Honor was not, and never had been, a field-worker; and the ordinary Eastwich field-worker looked as dubiously and disapprovingly on an interloper as any exclusive set, high or low, objects to an intruder into their charmed circle. The squire might bring as many ladies and gentlemen into the field as he liked, but a strange field-worker was another matter. That was not to be thought of. That was not Eastwich man

ners.

The solitary figure was conspicuous in the black gown, with the red handkerchief not worn round her throat, but drawn over her abundant brown hair and knotted under her chin, as her sole protection against the beating down rays of the afternoon sun. The headgear lent an outlandish, half-gipsy air to Honor, to which she did not object. It certainly suited with her being held at arm's length by her fellow workers, neither did she appear to mind the ostracism. Perhaps she took it as a compliment, for hers was an odd character, with its own peculiar pride, as well as its dash of cynicism. She might put down

the distance at which she was kept to the fact that, as a keeper's daughter, if he had been a flourishing keeper of unblemished fame, she would have moved in a grade of life considerably higher than that of the day-labourers, her present companions. This reflection doubtless helped her philosophy, for she looked contented enough whenever she paused to contemplate the amount and the thoroughness of the work to which she was unused.

Sir William did not fail Honor Smith. Like Lady Fermor, he did not lose sight of a friend. He came down to her corner of the field several times and spoke with her, asking how her father was, when he proposed to take out their berths in the Liverpool ship, how she was getting on with her work, and how long she thought it would take for the grass to dry. But Sir William spoke also, though with greater effort, to other men and women in his pay with whom he had struck up an acquaintance. There was nothing at all striking in his notice of Honor Smith till Major Pollock strolled towards her, and began to talk to her in a way that interfered with her work and annoyed her, to judge by the manner in which she rested on her rake and flung back her head.

She had been a motherless girl from her first recollection; and old Abe had not been the most efficient of guardians, so that she had early learnt to take care of herself. Nobody dared to say that, with all her faults, she had not been vigilant in defending her womanhood from unworthy aggression; yet here she found herself obliged to stand still, and suffer what she was not slow to regard as the insolent advances of a gentleman who would take no repulse, whom she could not escape, neither could she dismiss him from her presence.

It was then Sir William crossed the field swiftly to Honor Smith's aid.

'You know, Honor, I am looking for half the field being in haycock to-night.' He addressed her as if she were his friend as well as his servant, while he ignored the unwelcome, compulsory guest brought upon him by Lady Fermor. I count upon you doing your best. Look here, you must not permit any interference with your work.'

'All right, Sir William,' she said, very much as a free-spoken man would have answered him, while her white teeth flashed out in a broad smile against the warm brown of her cheeks and the red of her handkerchief; will

you be so good as to repeat your orders to this here gentleman ?'

In spite of her smile and her masculine tone, there was very much of the woman in the mingled impatience, anger, and disgust of the last sentence.

'Oh, I'm off! Excuse me. I had no idea I was guilty of an intrusion,' the Major mumbled superciliously and impertinently as he lounged away, giving more freedom to the expression of his thoughts the farther he got out of Sir William's hearing. 'So my gentleman has two strings to his bow, low hypocrite and temperance dog that he is! It would not be a bad idea to give the old beldame a hint.'

But Major Pollock did not feel equal to fulfilling his intention, though a fine opening presented itself to him the very next moment. Lady Fermor, who had been fully alive to the little episode, made an imperious signal for him to come to her side, and told him roundly:

'Pollock, if you cannot behave yourself at this time of the day, you shan't enter decent society under my auspices again.'

'What does she mean by decent society?' muttered her follower, as disloyal as he was abject. Her own, or that of the stuck-up

swashbuckler whom she means to call her grandson, or the red-capped woman who is Miss Compton's rival? A fine collection!'

But though Major Pollock refrained from using his foul tongue when he was called to account, and was cowed by Lady Fermor's rough reprimands, he registered both the offence to his pride and the choice communication he desired to convey, for a future occasion.

Lady Fermor's seat was not far from a gate into the park where a side path led to the house. Sir William had done his best to make everything easy for his patroness. He gave her his arm and conducted her carefully to the gate, a movement which was a sign for the company to follow their leaders. Within the gate a sedan-chair, which had been used by the late Sir John, was drawn up. Sir William placed the old lady in it; then he took his stand by the open gate, and in a dumb show, which was not without its clumsy grace of honest hospitality, did not so much receive as show in his company. He was making himself their servant, according to his sense of a host's part. As Iris Compton came up he found voice to address her: