Then they read over the account of the smash in the Star newspaper—­special edition.  It seemed to have been nobody’s fault.  The brake had refused to act going down a steep hill; they had run into a wall; the chauffeur had been thrown clean over it; the two passengers had been pinned under the car.  Lord Talgarth was dead at once; Archie had died five minutes after being taken out.

So they all talked at once in low voices, but in the obvious excitement of relief.  It was an extraordinary pleasure to them—­now that they looked at it in the sanity conferred by food and warmth—­to reflect that Frank was within a quarter of a mile of them—­certainly in dreary surroundings; but it was for the last time.  To-morrow would see him restored to ordinary life, his delusions and vagaries plucked from him by irresistible circumstance, and the future in his hands.

* * * * *

Midnight still found them talking—­alert and cheerful; but a little silence fell as they heard the chiming of bells.

“Christmas Day, by George!” said the clergyman.  “Merry Christmas!”

They shook hands, smiling shamefacedly, as is the custom of Englishmen.

“And to think of old Frank—­” mused Jack half aloud.  “I told you, Guiseley, about his coming to me in the autumn?” (He had been thinking a great deal about that visit lately, and about what Frank had told him of himself—­the idea he had of Something going on behind the scenes in which he had passively to take his part; his remark on how pleasant it must be to be a squire.  Well, the play had come to an end, it seemed; now there followed the life of a squire indeed.  It was curious to think that Frank was, actually at this moment, Lord Talgarth!)

Dick nodded his head, smiling to himself in his beard.  Somehow or another the turn things had taken had submerged in him for the present the consciousness of the tragedy up at Merefield, and his own private griefs, and the memory of Jenny.

Jack told it all again briefly.  He piled it on about the Major and his extreme repulsiveness, and the draggled appearance of Gertie, and Frank’s incredible obstinacy.

“And to think that he’s brought it off, and got the girl home to her people....  Well, thank the Lord that’s over!  We shan’t have any more of that sort of thing.”

Dick got up presently and began to walk about, eyeing the pictures and the books.

“Want to turn in?” asked the cleric.

“Well, I think, as we’ve an early start—­”

The clergyman jumped up.

“You’ve a beastly little room, I’m afraid.  We’re rather full up.  And you, Mr. Kirkby!”

“I’ll wait till you come back,” he said.

* * * * *

The two went out, after good-nights, and Jack was left staring at the fire.

He felt very wide-awake, and listened contentedly to the dying noises of the streets.  Somewhere in that hive outside was Frank—­old Frank.  That was very good to think of....