"I shall see that you are justified. You have been shamefully treated."
The squire's daughter mounted into the pony chaise, grasped the lines with her slender, gloved hands, and with a smile was gone.
"Poor lad! He has been shamefully treated and he shall be justified," she thought to herself. "How foolish I was not to see before. He loves me," she said softly. "He is good looking and tall and man-like for his age." Then there was a pause in her soliloquy, unbroken save by the pony hoofs. Then she drew her brows down with a slight frown. "Pshaw!" Then the scowl left her features and she broke into a slight, nervous laugh. "Absurd!"
The remainder of the drive was spent in silence, but there was heightened colour in her cheeks and a soft, pellucid light in her eyes.
Old Sloan took the pony and chaise at the entrance of the great house, and Mistress Alice tripped up the steps and into the hall. The old squire was seated by the hall fire, meditating apparently, for his chin was resting on his hand and he had his eyes fixed upon the flaming coals. His daughter bent over his chair, and lightly kissed his forehead; then drawing a stool near him she seated herself, leaning her head against him and waiting for him to speak.
But the old squire did not speak for a time; he placed his big, brown hand upon his daughter's dark locks, and still gazed into the fire. It was the daughter that broke the silence.
"Father, I have news to tell you."
"Well, Allie?"
"It was not Master Trembath that killed Borlase, or drained the pond; it was one of the gipsies." Then she poured forth the whole story of Ande's escape from the stocks, while the old squire listened, as he gazed into the fire. When she had finished he gazed at her.
"I know it, Allie. I had my eyes opened, and even saw the rogue, this afternoon, at Sir James Lanyan's. Sir James had him up for some offence and he confessed all, the rogue."