"She be'unt in."
"Oh?"
"She be gone over yonder, down to the oak wood for primroses."
David was not such a cross-grained old fool, after all.
"You'd better go round by t' lane. It'll take ye out on t' common."
Jasper smiled at him, leapt Devil Dick over the gate again, struck round by the grey wall of the garden at the back of the house, and found a gap in the hedge leading through into the lane.
"I am in David's debt," thought he. "Mr. Durrell can play the windmill yonder so long as he pleases."
The lane brought Jasper out on to the common where he could see the oak wood as a brown and purplish mass beyond the tumbling green of the wind-swept furze. Something red was moving along the edge of the wood like a spark creeping along tinder. It was the red hood that covered Nance's black curls.
Jasper thrilled on the edge of an adventure. He rode down the hill, and met Nance in a winding grass-way between the furze bushes. She was carrying a rush basket full of primroses, with a bunch of purple orchids thrust into one corner.
"Mr. Benham!"