he meditated anew on the absorbing problem of her skittishness, and
how to set about another campaign for her conquest, notwithstanding
his late disastrous failure. Why had he failed? To what was her
strange conduct owing? That was the thing which puzzled him.

He had made no advance in solving the riddle when, one morning, a
stranger appeared on the down above him, looking as if he had lost
his way. The man had a good deal of black hair below his felt hat,
and carried under his arm a case containing a musical instrument.
Descending to where Jim stood, he asked if there were not a short cut
across that way to Tivworthy, where a fete was to be held.

'Well, yes, there is,' said Jim. 'But 'tis an enormous distance for
'ee.'

'Oh, yes,' replied the musician. 'I wish to intercept the carrier on
the highway.'

The nearest way was precisely in the direction of Rook's Gate, where
Margery, as Jim knew, was staying. Having some time to spare, Jim
was strongly impelled to make a kind act to the lost musician a
pretext for taking observations in that neighbourhood, and telling
his acquaintance that he was going the same way, he started without
further ado.

They skirted the long length of meads, and in due time arrived at the
back of Rook's Gate, where the path joined the high road. A hedge
divided the public way from the cottage garden. Jim drew up at this
point and said, 'Your road is straight on: I turn back here.'