WHILE the strange proceedings of the steward were the subject ofconversation between Lady Lydiard and Mr. Troy, Moody was alonein his room, occupied in writing to Isabel. Being unwilling thatany eyes but his own should see the address, he had himselfposted his letter; the time that he had chosen for leaving thehouse proving, unfortunately, to be also the time proposed by herLadyship for his interview with the lawyer. In ten minutes afterthe footman had reported his absence, Moody returned. It was thentoo late to present himself in the drawing-room. In the interval,Mr. Troy had taken his leave, and Moody's position had dropped adegree lower in Lady Lydiard's estimation.

Isabel received her letter by the next morning's post. If anyjustification of Mr. Troy's suspicions had been needed, the termsin which Moody wrote would have amply supplied it.

"DEAR ISABEL (I hope I may call you 'Isabel' without offendingyou, in your present trouble?)--I have a proposal to make, which,whether you accept it or not, I beg you will keep a secret fromevery living creature but ourselves. You will understand myrequest, when I add that these lines relate to the matter oftracing the stolen bank-note.

"I have been privately in communication with a person in London,who is, as I believe, the one person competent to help us ingaining our end. He has already made many inquiries in private.With some of them I am acquainted; the rest he has thus far keptto himself. The person to whom I allude, particularly wishes tohave half an hour's conversation with you in my presence. I ambound to warn you that he is a very strange and very ugly oldman; and I can only hope that you will look over his personalappearance in consideration of what he is likely to do for yourfuture advantage.

"Can you conveniently meet us, at the further end of the row ofvillas in which your aunt lives, the day after to-morrow, at fouro'clock? Let me have a line to say if you will keep theappointment, and if the hour named will suit you. And believe meyour devoted friend and servant,

ROBERT MOODY."

The lawyer's warning to her to be careful how she yielded tooreadily to any proposal of Moody's recurred to Isabel's mindwhile she read those lines. Being pledged to secrecy, she couldnot consult Mr. Troy--she was left to decide for herself.

No obstacle stood in the way of her free choice of alternatives.After their early dinner at three o'clock, Miss Pink habituallyretired to her own room "to meditate," as she expressed it. Her"meditations" inevitably ended in a sound sleep of some hours;and during that interval Isabel was at liberty to do as shepleased. After considerable hesitation, her implicit belief inMoody's truth and devotion, assisted by a strong feeling ofcuriosity to see the companion with whom the steward hadassociated himself, decided Isabel on consenting to keep theappointment.

Taking up her position beyond the houses, on the day and at thehour mentioned by Moody, she believed herself to be fullyprepared for the most unfavorable impression which the mostdisagreeable of all possible strangers could produce.

But the first appearance of Old Sharon--as dirty as ever, clothedin a long, frowzy, gray overcoat, with his pug-dog at his heels,and his smoke-blackened pipe in his mouth, with a tan white haton his head, which looked as if it had been picked up in agutter, a hideous leer in his eyes, and a jaunty trip in hiswalk--took her so completely by surprise that she could onlyreturn Moody's friendly greeting by silently pressing his hand.As for Moody's companion, to look at him for a second time wasmore than she had resolution to do. She kept her eyes fixed onthe pug-dog, and with good reason; as far as appearances went, hewas indisputably the nobler animal of the two.

Under the circumstances, the interview threatened to begin in avery embarrassing manner. Moody, disheartened by Isabel'ssilence, made no attempt to set the conversa tion going; helooked as if he meditated a hasty retreat to the railway stationwhich he had just left. Fortunately, he had at his side the rightman (for once) in the right place. Old Sharon's effrontery wasequal to any emergency.

"I am not a nice-looking old man, my dear, am I?" he said,leering at Isabel with cunning, half-closed eyes. "Bless yourheart! you'll soon get used to me! You see, I am the sort ofcolor, as they say at the linen-drapers," that doesn't wash well.It's all through love; upon my life it is! Early in the presentcentury I had my young affections blighted; and I've neglectedmyself ever since. Disappointment takes different forms, miss, indifferent men. I don't think I have had heart enough to brush myhair for the last fifty years. She was a magnificent woman, Mr.Moody, and she dropped me like a hot potato. Dreadful! dreadful!Let us pursue this painful subject no further. Ha! here's apretty country! Here's a nice blue sky! I admire the country,miss; I see so little of it, you know. Have you any objection towalk along into the fields? The fields, my dear, bring out allthe poetry of my nature. Where's the dog? Here, Puggy! Puggy!hunt about, my man, and find some dog-grass. Does his insidegood, you know, after a meat diet in London. Lord! how I feel myspirits rising in this fine air! Does my complexion look anybrighter, miss? Will you run a race with me, Mr. Moody, or willyou oblige me with a back at leap-frog? I'm not mad, my dearyoung lady; I'm only merry. I live, you see, in the London stink;and the smell of the hedges and the wild flowers is too much forme at first. It gets into my head, it does. I'm drunk! As I liveby bread, I'm drunk on fresh air! Oh! what a jolly day! Oh! howyoung and innocent I do feel!" Here his innocence got the betterof him, and he began to sing, "I wish I were a little fly, in mylove's bosom for to lie!" "Hullo! here we are on the nice softgrass! and, oh, my gracious! there's a bank running down into ahollow! I can't stand that, you know. Mr. Moody, hold my hat, andtake the greatest care of it. Here goes for a roll down thebank!"

He handed his horrible hat to the astonished Moody, laid himselfflat on the top of the bank, and deliberately rolled down it,exactly as he might have done when he was a boy. The tails of hislong gray coat flew madly in the wind: the dog pursued him,jumping over him, and barking with delight; he shouted andscreamed in answer to the dog as he rolled over and over fasterand faster; and, when he got up, on the level ground, and calledout cheerfully to his companions standing above him, "I say, youtwo, I feel twenty years younger already!"--human gravity couldhold out no longer. The sad and silent Moody smiled, and Isabelburst into fits of laughter.

"There," he said "didn't I tell you you would get used to me,Miss? There's a deal of life left in the old man yet--isn'tthere? Shy me down my hat, Mr. Moody. And now we'll get tobusiness!" He turned round to the dog still barking at his heels."Business, Puggy!" he called out sharply, and Puggy instantlyshut up his mouth, and said no more.

"Well, now," Old Sharon resumed when he had joined his friendsand had got his breath again, "let's have a little talk aboutyourself, miss. Has Mr. Moody told you who I am, and what I wantwith you? Very good. May I offer you my arm? No! You like to beindependent, don't you? All right--I don't object. I am anamiable old man, I am. About this Lady Lydiard, now? Suppose youtell me how you first got acquainted with her?"

In some surprise at this question, Isabel told her little story.Observing Sharon's face while she was speaking, Moody saw that hewas not paying the smallest attention to the narrative. Hissharp, shameless black eyes watched the girl's face absently; hisgross lips curled upwards in a sardonic and self-satisfied smile.He was evidently setting a trap for her of some kind. Without aword of warning--while Isabel was in the middle of asentence--the trap opened, with the opening of Old Sharon's lips.

"I say," he burst out. "How came _you_ to seal her Ladyship'sletter--eh?"

The question bore no sort of relation, direct or indirect, towhat Isabel happened to be saying at the moment. In the suddensurprise of hearing it, she started and fixed her eyes inastonishment on Sharon's face. The old vagabond chuckled tohimself. "Did you see that?" he whispered to Moody. "I beg yourpardon, miss," he went on; "I won't interrupt you again. Lord!how interesting it is!--ain't it, Mr. Moody? Please to go on,miss."

But Isabel, though she spoke with perfect sweetness and temper,declined to go on. "I had better tell you, sir, how I came toseal her Ladyship's letter," she said. "If I may venture ongiving my opinion, _that_ part of my story seems to be the onlypart of it which relates to your business with me to-day."

Without further preface she described the circumstances which hadled to her assuming the perilous responsibility of sealing theletter. Old Sharon's wandering attention began to wander again:he was evidently occupied in setting another trap. For the secondtime he interrupted Isabel in the middle of a sentence. Suddenlystopping short, he pointed to some sheep, at the further end ofthe field through which they happened to be passing at themoment.

"There's a pretty sight," he said. "There are the innocent sheepa-feeding--all following each other as usual. And there's the slydog waiting behind the gate till the sheep wants his services.Reminds me of Old Sharon and the public!" He chuckled over thediscovery of the remarkable similarity between the sheep-dog andhimself, and the sheep and the public--and then burst upon Isabelwith a second question. "I say! didn't you look at the letterbefore you sealed it?"

"Certainly not!" Isabel answered.

"Not even at the address?"

"No!"

"Thinking of something else--eh?"

"Very likely," said Isabel.

"Was it your new bonnet, my dear?"

Isabel laughed. "Women are not always thinking of their newbonnets," she answered.

Old Sharon, to all appearance, dropped the subject there. Helifted his lean brown forefinger and pointed again--this time toa house at a short distance from them. "That's a farmhouse,surely?" he said. "I'm thirsty after my roll down the hill. Doyou think, Miss, they would give me a drink of milk?"

"I am sure they would," said Isabel. "I know the people. Shall Igo and ask them?"

"Thank you, my dear. One word more before you go. About thesealing of that letter? What _could_ you have been thinking ofwhile you were doing it?" He looked hard at her, and took hersuddenly by the arm. "Was it your sweetheart?" he asked, in awhisper.

The question instantly reminded Isabel that she had been thinkingof Hardyman while she sealed the letter. She blushed as theremembrance crossed her mind. Robert, noticing the embarrassment,spoke sharply to Old Sharon. "You have no right to put such aquestion to a young lady," he said. "Be a little more careful forthe future."

"There! there! don't be hard on me," pleaded the old rogue. "Anugly old man like me may make his innocent little joke--eh, miss?I'm sure you're too sweet-tempered to be angry when I meant nooffense.. Show me that you bear no malice. Go, like a forgivingyoung angel, and ask for the milk."

Nobody appealed to Isabel's sweetness of temper in vain. "I willdo it with pleasure," she said--and hastened away to thefarmhouse.