She had passed through Tavistock, with her groom riding some way behind her, when she heard the sound of a trotting horse, and almost immediately a well-known voice called, ‘Glad to see your face turned homewards, Miss Jordan.’
‘Good evening, Mr. Coyshe.’
‘Our roads run together, to my advantage. What is that you are carrying? Can I relieve you?’
‘A violin. The boy is careless, he might let it fall. Besides he is burdened with my valise and a bundle.’
‘What? has your aunt bequeathed a violin to you?’
A little colour came into Barbara’s cheeks, and she answered, ‘I am bringing it home from over the moor.’ She blushed to have to equivocate.
‘I hope you have had something more substantial left you than an old fiddle,’ said the surgeon.
‘Thank you, my poor aunt has been good enough to leave me something comfortable, which will enable my dear father to make up to Eve for the sum that has been lost.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Mr. Coyshe. ‘Charmed!’
‘By the way,’ Barbara began, ‘I wanted to say something to you, but I have not had the opportunity. You were quite in the wrong about the saucer of sour milk, though I admit there was a stocking—but how you saw that, passes my comprehension.’