Starden."

She would have written more, much more, words were tumbling over in her
brain. She had so much more to say to him, and yet she said nothing. She
signed her name and addressed the letter to Hugh Alston at Mrs. Bonner's
cottage. She took it out and gave it to a gardener's boy.

"Take that letter and give it the gentleman it is addressed to, if he is
there. If he is not there, bring it back to me."

"Yes, miss." The boy pocketed the letter and a shilling, and went
whistling down the road.

So she had written, she had confessed her fault and asked for
forgiveness--that was like Joan. One moment the haughty cold, proud
woman, the next the child, admitting her faults and asking for pardon.

The letter had been duly delivered at Mrs. Bonner's cottage, and, coming
in later, Hugh found it.

"Bettses' Bob brought it," said Mrs. Bonner. "From Miss Meredyth at the
Hall," she added, and looked curiously at Hugh.

"That's all right, thanks!"

Mrs. Bonner quivered with curiosity. Who was this lodger of hers who
received letters from Miss Meredyth, when he had not even admitted that
he knew her?

"Very funny!" thought Mrs. Bonner.

Hugh read the letter. "I am sorry--for what I did.... I ask you to
forgive me.... Perhaps I have hurt myself more than I have hurt you ..."

"Any answer to go back to the Hall?"

"None!"

"Ah!" Mrs. Bonner hesitated. "I didn't know you knew Miss Meredyth."

"I am going out," said Hugh. Avoid Mrs. Bonner while she was in this
curious mood, he knew he must.

"If there's one thing I can't abide, it is secretiveness," said Mrs.
Bonner, as she watched him up the road towards the village.

Should he answer the letter? Hugh wondered. Or should he just accept it
in silence, as an apology for an act of rudeness? He hated that idea.
She might think that he did not forgive, that he bore malice and
ill-will.

"No, I must answer it," he decided, "but what shall I say?" He knew what
he wanted to say, he knew that he wanted to ask her to meet him, and he
knew only too well that she would refuse.

"There is no sense," said Hugh deliberately, "no sense whatever in
riding for a certain fall." He was staring at a small flaxen-haired,
dirty-faced boy as he spoke. The boy grinned at him.

"You have a sense of humour," said Hugh, "and, no doubt, a sweet tooth."
He felt in his pocket for the coin that the Starden children had grown
to expect from him. The boy took it, yelled and whooped, and sped