"TUPPENCE," SHE REPLIED SOFTLY; AND THE SIMPLE WORD RANG THROUGH EVERY FIBRE OF HIS BODY.
"BUT I CANNOT LINGER THUS WITH YOU, SIR REGINALD," SAID THE RUSTIC BEAUTY; "I HAVE TO CLEAN THE PIG-STY." SHE PAUSED, AND THEN ALMOST INAUDIBLY, "YOU MAY HELP ME, IF YOU LIKE."
SIR REGINALD VAVASOUR'S HEART LEAPT WITHIN HIM.
"OH, I'M SO FEARFULLY SORRY!" SAID A SWEET YOUNG VOICE IN DISTRESSED ACCENTS. AND THEN HE BECAME AWARE OF A DAINTY LITTLE FOOT AND ANKLE COYLY PROTRUDING FROM A BLUE TROUSER ALMOST AT A LEVEL WITH HIS EYE.
DUSK WAS DESCENDING. HIS BACK TYRE WAS PUNCTURED, AND HE WAS ALONE—LOST IN THE WILD MOORLAND. SUDDENLY A CHEERY YOUNG VOICE SMOTE UPON HIS EAR: "WHAT'S UP, OLD CHAP? CAN I BE ANY USE?"