'Please, sir, can you tell me the way to Rock House, Squire Bayfield's?' Then she added demurely, 'I have business with him.'
'Well,' was the reply, 'the Squire is a lucky man, that's all I have to say.'
Bryda's colour rose, for this young man's gaze was a little too openly admiring.
She curtsied, with a grace which was very different from the low bob of the country maiden generally, and said,—
'I beg you, sir, to be so good as to tell me which road I am to take, right or left.'
'It's right ahead,' was the reply; 'I am going the same way. Your dog is not a very pleasant companion; he looks as if he would fly at my throat if he could.'
'He knows his manners, sir,' Bryda said, 'and he will not fly at anyone without reason. Down!' she said, 'quiet, Flick.'
This, with a pat on his shaggy head, was taken as a sign that Bryda's companion was not the foe Flick had at first imagined, and he walked gravely by her side, as if unconscious of a third person's presence.
Bryda volunteered no conversation, and for some minutes there was silence. Presently the man asked,—
'Have you any acquaintance with Squire Bayfield?'