The strange man whom he had just heard described, and the
strange man of whom he had asked his way where the three roads met,
were remarkably like each other. Was this another link in the
fast-lengthening chain of events? Midwinter grew doubly determined to be
careful, as the bare doubt that it might be so passed through his mind.

"When Mr. Bashwood comes," he said, "will you let me see him, and speak
to him, before anything definite is done?"

"Of course I will!" rejoined Allan. He stopped and looked at his watch.
"And I'll tell you what I'll do for you, old boy, in the meantime," he
added; "I'll introduce you to the prettiest girl in Norfolk! There's
just time to run over to the cottage before dinner. Come along, and be
introduced to Miss Milroy."

"You can't introduce me to Miss Milroy to-day," replied Midwinter; and
he repeated the message of apology which had been brought from the major
that afternoon. Allan was surprised and disappointed; but he was not to
be foiled in his resolution to advance himself in the good graces of
the inhabitants of the cottage. After a little consideration he hit on
a means of turning the present adverse circumstances to good account.
"I'll show a proper anxiety for Mrs. Milroy's recovery," he said,
gravely. "I'll send her a basket of strawberries, with my best respects,
to-morrow morning."

Nothing more happened to mark the end of that first day in the new
house.

The one noticeable event of the next day was another disclosure of
Mrs. Milroy's infirmity of temper. Half an hour after Allan's basket of
strawberries had been delivered at the cottage, it was returned to him
intact (by the hands of the invalid lady's nurse), with a short and
sharp message, shortly and sharply delivered. "Mrs. Milroy's compliments
and thanks. Strawberries invariably disagreed with her." If this
curiously petulant acknowledgment of an act of politeness was intended
to irritate Allan, it failed entirely in accomplishing its object.
Instead of being offended with the mother, he sympathized with the
daughter. "Poor little thing," was all he said, "she must have a hard
life of it with such a mother as that!"

He called at the cottage himself later in the day, but Miss Milroy was
not to be seen; she was engaged upstairs. The major received his visitor
in his working apron--far more deeply immersed in his wonderful clock,
and far less readily accessible to outer influences, than Allan had seen
him at the