‘No.  There is no old man there at all.  Mr Julian was there.’

A little ‘Ah!’ came from Ethelberta, like a note from a storm-bird at night.  She turned round and went into the back room.  ’Is Mr. Julian going to call here?’ she inquired, coming forward again.

’No—­he’s gone by the steamboat.  He was only passing through on his way to Sandbourne, where he is gone to settle a small business relating to his father’s affairs.  He was not in Knollsea ten minutes, owing to something which detained him on the way.’

‘Did he inquire for me?’

’No.  And only think, Ethelberta—­such a remarkable thing has happened, though I nearly forgot to tell you.  He says that coming along the road he was overtaken by a carriage, and when it had just passed him one of the horses shied, pushed the other down a slope, and overturned the carriage.  One wheel came off and trundled to the bottom of the hill by itself.  Christopher of course ran up, and helped out of the carriage an old gentleman—­now do you know what’s likely?’

‘It was Lord Mountclere.  I am glad that’s the cause,’ said Ethelberta involuntarily.

’I imagined you would suppose it to be Lord Mountclere.  But Mr. Julian did not know the gentleman, and said nothing about who he might be.’

‘Did he describe him?’

‘Not much—­just a little.’

‘Well?’

’He said he was a sly old dog apparently, to hear how he swore in whispers.  This affair is what made Mr. Julian so late that he had no time to call here.  Lord Mountclere’s ankle—­if it was Lord Mountclere—­was badly sprained.  But the servants were not injured beyond a scratch on the coachman’s face.  Then they got another carriage and drove at once back again.  It must be he, or else why is he not come?  It is a pity, too, that Mr. Julian was hindered by this, so that there was no opportunity for him to bide a bit in Knollsea.’

Ethelberta was not disposed to believe that Christopher would have called, had time favoured him to the utmost.  Between himself and her there was that kind of division which is more insurmountable than enmity; for estrangements produced by good judgment will last when those of feeling break down in smiles.  Not the lovers who part in passion, but the lovers who part in friendship, are those who most frequently part for ever.

’Did you tell Mr. Julian that the injured gentleman was possibly Lord Mountclere, and that he was coming here?’ said Ethelberta.

‘I made no remark at all—­I did not think of him till afterwards.’

The inquiry was hardly necessary, for Picotee’s words would dry away like a brook in the sands when she held conversation with Christopher.

As they had anticipated, the sufferer was no other than their intending visitor.  Next morning there was a note explaining the accident, and expressing its writer’s suffering from the cruel delay as greater than that from the swollen ankle, which was progressing favourably.