The day was still young in Lathom Woods.

A wood-cutter engaged in cutting coppice on the wood's eastern skirts, hearing deep muffled sounds from "Tom" clock-tower, borne to him from Oxford on the light easterly breeze, stopped to count the strokes.
Ten o'clock.
He straightened himself, wiped the sweat from his brow, and was immediately aware of certain other sounds approaching from the wood itself.

Horses--at a walk.

No doubt the same gentleman and lady who had passed him an hour earlier, going in a contrary direction.
He watched them as they passed him again, repeating his reflection that they were a "fine-lookin' couple"-- no doubt sweethearts.

What else should bring a young man and a young woman riding in Lathom Woods at that time in the morning?
"Never seed 'em doin' it before, anyways." Connie threw the old man a gracious "Good morning!"-- to which he guardedly responded, looking full at her, as he stood leaning on his axe.
"I wonder what the old fellow is thinking about us!" she said lightly, when they had moved forward.