e wrinkled dame said that pedestrians often went that way, and
Wyllard asked a question casually.

"There are some prosperous folks--people of station living round here?

"There's the vicar. I don't know that he's what you'd call prosperous.
Then there's Mr. Martindale, of Rushyholme, and Little, of the Ghyll."

"Has any of them a daughter of about twenty-four years of age?" and
Wyllard described the girl he had met to the best of his ability.

It was evident that the landlady did not recognise the description, but
she seemed to consider.

"No," she said, "there's nobody like that; but I did hear that they'd a
young lady staying at the vicarage."

Then she changed the subject abruptly, and Wyllard once more decided
that the English did not like questions.

"You're a stranger, sir?" she said.

"I am," said Wyllard. "I've some business to attend to further on, but
I came along on foot, to see the fells, and I'm glad I did. It's a
great and wonderful country you're living in. That is," he added
gravely, "when you get outside the towns. There are things in some of
them that most make one ill."

Then he stood up. "That tray's too heavy for you. Won't you let me
carry it?"

The landlady seemed astonished, but she made it clear that she desired
no assistance, and when she went out Wyllard, who sat down again, took
out the photograph. He gazed at it steadfastly, and then put it back
into his pocket.

"There's rather more than mere prettiness there, but I don't know that
I want to keep it now," he said. "It's way behind the original. She
has grown in the meanwhile--just as one would expect that girl to grow."

Then he lighted his pipe, and smoked thoughtfully until he appeared to
arrive at a decision.

"One can't force the running in this country. They don't like it," he
said. "I'll lie by a day or two, and keep an eye on that vicarage."

In the meanwhile his hostess was discussing him with a niece.

"I'm sure I don't know what that man is," she informed the younger
woman. "He has got the manners of a gentleman, but he walks like a
fell shepherd, and his hands are like a navvy's. A man's hands now and
then tell you a good deal about him. Besides, of all things, he wanted
to carry his tray away. Said it was too heavy for me."

"Oh," said her niece, "he's an American. There's no accounting for
them."

CHAPTER VI.

HER PICTURE.

Wyllard stayed at the inn three days without seeing anyth