Hitherto I have explained everything in detail, from the time I adventured out to seek romance and found tragedy instead. Now I must be more or less exact, as it is well nigh impossible to set down everything. For an indefinite period I lodged at The Robin Redbreast, and met Miss Monk frequently here, there, and everywhere. The moth had come to the candle, and was hovering round the flame with dangerous pertinacity. Not that the lady accepted me straight away, for the most romantic of women have their practical side. Miss Monk, at first acquaintance, apparently liked me: but I puzzled her, and she questioned Mrs. Gilfin about me, so as to be sure of her ground. A very necessary precaution in the face of circumstances.

"You seem to have made quite an impression on that sweet young lady, Master Cyrus," said the landlady, a day or so after I had visited Miss Destiny, "she met me by chance last night and asked me to tell her all about you."

"I hope you gave me a good character," said I anxiously, and very pleased to think that my interest in Diana of the Ephesians was reciprocated.

"I told her that you were always the best of boys Master Cyrus, and that fond of my custards, as I had always to give you one every day when you was little and sweet-toothed."

I reddened. "Oh, nonsense! Miss Monk doesn\'t wish to hear tales of my childish greed, Cuckoo."

"She wished to hear everything," said Mrs. Gilfin, phlegmatically, "being wonderfully took up with your pleasant ways. And I don\'t blame her," said the ex-cook, beaming through her spectacles, "seeing as you\'re a gentleman grown, Master Cyrus, and handsomer than I ever thought you\'d become. Not that Miss Gertrude cares for good looks without good birth, and good manners, or she\'d have run off with Joseph ages ago."

"Is he back?" I asked, starting, for I had to reckon with the gardener.

"Oh, yes, he\'s back," grunted Mrs. Gilfin, disgusted, "and always hanging about that house picking weeds. So he says, but it\'s to look at what he\'ll never get, as I\'ll tell him some fine day. Such sauce!"

"He hasn\'t had the insolence to speak to Miss Monk on the subject of his confounded feelings?" I asked, anxiously, for there was no denying that the man\'s aggressive good looks constituted him a dangerous rival.

"Not he, and if he did she\'d soon send him to the right about with a flea in his ear. Good looks ain\'t good manners, Master Cyrus, say what you will."

"Well," I laughed. "I hope you told her that I was the best-mannered and most good-natured man in the universe, Cuckoo."

"I told the truth, you may be sure, Master Cyrus," rebuked Mrs. Gilfin, "saying you was that honorable and clever and thoughtful and kindhearted, as I\'d trust you with my very own heart to do what you liked with. Not that you want my heart, bless you," ended Mrs. Gilfin, beaming again and becoming one vast substantial smile like Mrs. Fezziwig in "The Christmas Carol."

"You want Miss Gertrude\'s."

"Good heavens, Cuckoo! you didn\'t tell her that I hope?"

"Not in so many words, Master Cyrus. But bless you," added Mrs. Gilfin significantly, "women in these matters ain\'t fools, sir."

I was rather perturbed over this, as it was not impossible that the maidenly modesty of Gertrude might take offence, if she guessed my undeclared sentiments. And in any case, the slightest hint of such an attitude might embarrass our conversation. By this time, it was useless to deny that I was fathoms deep in love. I suppose I had brooded so long over the beauty of the pictured face, that when the original proved to be even more attractive, the egg of love was promptly hatched into the actual chick From the moment my eyes met those of Gertrude, and soul read soul, I adored her with a headstrong passion, which I should have scouted in another man. If ever there was an impulsive being who aptly illustrated Marlow\'s dictum, as to love at first sight, I was that uncommon individual. For I take it that sudden passions of this unthinking sort, are unusual in an age, when lovers--a most unsuitable name for such cautious creatures--wish to inspect the lady\'s check-book before proposing.

But I need not have worried my mind over any possible embarrassment on Miss Monk\'s part. She was more composed than I was when we next met; and that was in the village store, whither I had gone to procure some stationery. It was necessary to write Cannington and advise him of my actual whereabouts, if only to keep him out of the way. I did not wish him to come down and spoil my wooing, as an inconvenient third. Besides, as a feather-headed boy, he might be indiscreet with regard to the Mootley murder, and I wished to supply all information on that matter, by word of mouth. It was the sole excuse, which I had for seeking the society of my goddess, and I did not wish it to be staled by other people\'s repetitions.

While I was purchasing blotting-paper, ink and pens and stationery from a genial old woman in a mob-cap, Miss Monk entered the shop. She was dressed as she had been when I last saw her, but this time carried a dog-whip in place of a sunshade. Gamboling round her was a large ungainly Newfoundland year-old puppy, who answered to the odd name of Puddles. At least that was his pet name, as Miss Monk afterwards told me that he was registered as Ion, after the hero of Judge Talfourd\'s famous play. Puddles lounged against me with exuberant friendliness, and had to be corrected with the whip. When the commotion subsided, his mistress found time to speak and apologize, looking handsomer than ever, with the color of exercise in her cheeks.

"You mustn\'t mind the dog," she said gravely, "he won\'t bite you."

"I hope not," I replied with equal gravity, "I am extremely timid, you know."

She smiled at this. "I think I would trust you in a moment of danger, Mr. Vance. But to be friends with me, you must be friends with Puddles."

"I quite understand. Love me, love my dog."

"I didn\'t say anything about love," she laughed, her color deepening. "But in any case, you have put the cart before the horse. Love my dog and love me, you should say."

"Certainly! Puddles!" I dropped on one knee, and held out a caressing hand, "try and love me--as a beginning."

"A beginning to what?" asked Miss Monk, smiling and crimson.

"Puddles knows, Puddles understands: see, he gives me his paw. Good dog." I shook the huge paw, patted the huge head, and rose to be conventional. "It is a beautiful day, isn\'t it, Miss Monk."

"Of course, and the horse is the noblest of all animals," she replied with up-lifted eyebrows. "I thought you were more original, Mr. Vance."

"I assure you that is a mistake. I am that harmless, and necessary person, the repeater of platitudes."

She shuddered. "Don\'t repeat them to me, please, I hate copy-book phrases."

"Yet what good sense they contain. Your remark about the horse is one, and is absolutely true."

"So true," she mocked, "as to make the statement unnecessary." She turned to purchase a bag of dog-biscuits. "Are we fighting a verbal duel, Mr. Vance?"

"It would seem so, Miss Monk, but the buttons are on our foils."

With the bag in her arms, she wheeled nervously. "Why do you say that?" and there was apprehension in her dark eyes.

"I speak for the sake of speaking."

"No," her anxious eyes searched my face, "you are not that kind of man. If you----" she stopped and bit her lip, and with a curt nod walked rapidly out of the shop followed by Puddles. I did not attempt to follow, as I saw that my cryptic speech had interested her, and wished to give her time to think over my personality. While I remained in her thoughts, there was every hope that she would seek me again. Better that she should be afraid of me, than indifferent to me.

And as I sauntered back to The Robin Redbreast, I felt convinced that she was afraid of me: my dark sayings had made her afraid. At our first meeting under the tin roof of Miss Destiny\'s hovel, I had seen the fear in her eyes, and at this second meeting I saw it again, more apparent. But, what could she be afraid of in connection with me? There was only one common-sense answer: Gertrude Monk was the lady who had stolen my motor-car, and who had--but no; I could not bring myself to believe the worst, even in the face of the obvious certainty that she was concealing something, which had to do with the weird circumstances at Mootley. She would explain when the time came, and that would be when she was sufficiently well acquainted with me to regard Mrs. Gilfin\'s eulogy as justified. Then--well I would wait until then, for in the pursuit of the impossible, I was developing a fine quality of patience.

During the next few days, I occasionally met Miss Destiny and her servant in the village. They went shopping together, and the little old lady beat down the prices of everyone, however cheap the goods she wanted might originally be. I believe she enjoyed the squabble, and certainly her tongue clacked from morning to night in the endeavor to get her own sordid way. She was a miser, pure and simple, and had contracted the disease--for that it was--from the late Gabriel Monk. Everyone hated Miss Destiny, for in addition to being avaricious, she had a desperately evil tongue, and dealt with one and all from the point of view of a misanthrope. That is, she never said a good word of anyone, but babbled out many bad ones, so that she set people by the ears constantly. She might have abused me, for all I knew, but if she did, her demeanor to my face was extremely pleasant. When we met, she always hinted roguishly at my love for her niece, and chaffed me about the same. At times I wondered if she discussed my presence at Burwain with Gertrude. I thought not, as my meetings with the goddess were always marked by a perfectly unembarrassed manner on her part. Moreover, aunt and niece did not get on well together, and only exchanged formal visits. Miss Destiny--as I gathered from Mrs. Gilfin\'s ready tongue--had never forgiven Gertrude for inheriting the missing fortune, and always expressed herself pleased that it could not be found.

Although I had been over a fortnight at Burwain, Mr. Walter Monk was still absent from the old Jacobean mansion, and Gertrude lived there with one servant in nun-like seclusion. She read a great deal, and played the piano and attended to Puddles--a great stand-by against loneliness. Joseph also was frequently about the garden, but I don\'t think she ever gave him a word--on Mrs. Gilfin\'s authority I can say this--unless it had to do with his duties. But he hung round the place like a stray dog, satisfied if he could catch only a glimpse of Gertrude, and was in the seventh heaven if she addressed a word to him. Miss Destiny spoke to me of the gardener\'s infatuation, which was apparent to everyone.

"You have met Joseph?" she asked me one day in her mincing manner.

"At Mootley, when he was setting his aunt\'s house in order," I informed her genially. I was always genial with Miss Destiny, as for my own purposes I wished to keep on good terms with her.

"Ah, yes. He inherited Anne\'s savings. Quite a nice little sum, I believe. And the lease of the shop also," added Miss Destiny musingly, "Gertrude might do worse."

"What do you mean?" I asked sharply, and, I fear, angrily.

The little old lady raised her twinkling sharp eyes to my annoyed face. "I forgot," she said impishly, "you are the other one."

"The other what, Miss Destiny?"

"Lover--the second Prince Charming; though I think," she remarked in a very spiteful tone, "that the first Prince is the handsomer."

I went straight to the p............