Illustration: The wooden-legged postman of Nuncombe Putney.]

In the meantime, Colonel Osborne had ordered his breakfast at the
Stag and Antlers, and had asked questions as to the position of the
Clock House. He was altogether ignorant of Mr. Bozzle, although Mr.
Bozzle had been on his track now for two days and two nights. He had
determined, as he came on to Nuncombe Putney, that he would not be
shame-faced about his visit to Mrs. Trevelyan. It is possible that
he was not so keen in the matter as he had been when he planned his
journey in London; and, it may be, that he really tried to make
himself believe that he had come all the way to the confines of
Dartmoor to see the porch of Cockchaffington Church. The session
in London was over, and it was necessary for such a man as Colonel
Osborne that he should do something with himself before he went down
to the Scotch grouse. He had long desired to see something of the
most picturesque county in England; and now, as he sat eating his
breakfast in Mrs. Crocket's parlour, he almost looked upon his dear
Emily as a subsidiary attraction. "Oh, that's the Clock House,"
he said to Mrs. Crocket. "No, I have not the pleasure of knowing
Mrs. Stanbury; very respectable lady, so I have heard; widow of a
clergyman; ah, yes; son up in London; I know him;--always writing
books is he? Very clever, I dare say. But there's a lady,--indeed two
ladies,--whom I do know. Mrs. Trevelyan is there, I think,--and Miss
Rowley."

"You be'ant Muster Trevelyan, be you?" said Mrs. Crocket, looking at
him very hard.

"No, I'm not Mr. Trevelyan."

"Nor yet 'the Colonel' they doo be talking about?"

"Well, yes, I am a colonel. I don't know why anybody should talk
about me. I'll just step out now, however, and see my friends."

"It's madam's lover," said Mrs. Crocket to herself, "as sure as eggs
is eggs." As she said so, Colonel Osborne boldly walked across the
village and pulled the bell at the iron gate, while Bozzle, crouching
among the tombs, saw the handle in his hand. "There he is," said
Priscilla. Everybody in the Clock House had known that the fly,
which they had seen, had brought "the Colonel" into Nuncombe Putney.
Everybody had known that he had breakfasted at the Stag and Antlers.
And everybody now knew that he was at the gate ringing the bell.
"Into the drawing-room," said Mrs. Stanbury, with a fearful,
tremulous whisper, to the girl who went across the little garden
in front to open t