The lighted windows went out one by one, and all the house was in darkness.  Julian then walked off himself, with a vigour that was spasmodic only, and with much less brightness of mind than he had experienced on his journey hither.  The stranger had gone another way, and Christopher saw no more of him.  When he reached Sandbourne, Faith was still sitting up.

‘But I told you I was going to take a long walk,’ he said.

’No, Christopher:  really you did not.  How tired and sad you do look—­though I always know beforehand when you are in that state:  one of your feet has a drag about it as you pass along the pavement outside the window.’

‘Yes, I forgot that I did not tell you.’

He could not begin to describe his pilgrimage:  it was too silly a thing even for her to hear of.

‘It does not matter at all about my staying up,’ said Faith assuringly; ’that is, if exercise benefits you.  Walking up and down the lane, I suppose?’

‘No; not walking up and down the lane.’

‘The turnpike-road to Rookington is pleasant.’

‘Faith, that is really where I have been.  How came you to know?’

’I only guessed.  Verses and an accidental meeting produce a special journey.’

’Ethelberta is a fine woman, physically and mentally, both.  I wonder people do not talk about her twice as much as they do.’

’Then surely you are getting attached to her again.  You think you discover in her more than anybody else does; and love begins with a sense of superior discernment.’

‘No, no.  That is only nonsense,’ he said hurriedly.  ’However, love her or love her not, I can keep a corner of my heart for you, Faith.  There is another brute after her too, it seems.’

’Of course there is:  I expect there are many.  Her position in society is above ours, so that it is an unwise course to go troubling yourself more about her.’

’No.  If a needy man must be so foolish as to fall in love, it is best to do so where he cannot double his foolishness by marrying the woman.’

‘I don’t like to hear you talk so slightingly of what poor father did.’

Christopher fixed his attention on the supper.  That night, late as it was, when Faith was in bed and sleeping, he sat before a sheet of music-paper, neatly copying his composition upon it.  The manuscript was intended as an offering to Ethelberta at the first convenient opportunity.

* * * * *

’Well, after all my trouble to find out about Ethelberta, here comes the clue unasked for,’ said the musician to his sister a few days later.

She turned and saw that he was reading the Wessex Reflector.

‘What is it?’ asked Faith.

’The secret of the true authorship of the book is out at last, and it is Ethelberta of course.  I am so glad to have it proved hers.’

‘But can we believe—?’

’O yes.  Just hear what “Our London Correspondent” says.  It is one of the nicest bits of gossip that he has furnished us with for a long time.’