Ethelberta felt equal to him, or a dozen such, this morning.  The looming spectres raised by her mother’s information, the wearing sense of being over-weighted in the race, were driving her to a Hamlet-like fantasticism and defiance of augury; moreover, she was abroad.

‘I am about to ascend to the parapets of the cathedral,’ said she, in answer to a half inquiry.

‘I should be delighted to accompany you,’ he rejoined, in a manner as capable of explanation by his knowledge of her secret as was Ethelberta’s manner by her sense of nearing the end of her maying.  But whether this frequent glide into her company was meant as ephemeral flirtation, to fill the half-hours of his journey, or whether it meant a serious love-suit—­which were the only alternatives that had occurred to her on the subject—­did not trouble her now.  ’I am bound to be civil to so great a lord,’ she lightly thought, and expressing no objection to his presence, she passed with him through the outbuildings, containing Gothic lumber from the shadowy pile above, and ascended the stone staircase.  Emerging from its windings, they duly came to the long wooden ladder suspended in mid-air that led to the parapet of the tower.  This being wide enough for two abreast, she could hardly do otherwise than wait a moment for the viscount, who up to this point had never faltered, and who amused her as they went by scraps of his experience in various countries, which, to do him justice, he told with vivacity and humour.  Thus they reached the end of the flight, and entered behind a balustrade.

’The prospect will be very lovely from this point when the fog has blown off,’ said Lord Mountclere faintly, for climbing and chattering at the same time had fairly taken away his breath.  He leant against the masonry to rest himself.  ’The air is clearing already; I fancy I saw a sunbeam or two.’

‘It will be lovelier above,’ said Ethelberta.  ’Let us go to the platform at the base of the fleche, and wait for a view there.’

‘With all my heart,’ said her attentive companion.

They passed in at a door and up some more stone steps, which landed them finally in the upper chamber of the tower.  Lord Mountclere sank on a beam, and asked smilingly if her ambition was not satisfied with this goal.  ‘I recollect going to the top some years ago,’ he added, ’and it did not occur to me as being a thing worth doing a second time.  And there was no fog then, either.’

‘O,’ said Ethelberta, ’it is one of the most splendid things a person can do!  The fog is going fast, and everybody with the least artistic feeling in the direction of bird’s-eye views makes the ascent every time of coming here.’

‘Of course, of course,’ said Lord Mountclere.  ’And I am only too happy to go to any height with you.’

’Since you so kindly offer, we will go to the very top of the spire—­up through the fog and into the sunshine,’ said Ethelberta.