‘She is not visiting in this house, sir.’

‘Is not this Arrowthorne Lodge?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘Then where is Arrowthorne Lodge, please?’

’Well, it is nearly a mile from here.  Under the trees by the high-road.  If you go across by that footpath it will bring you out quicker than by following the bend of the drive.’

Christopher wondered how he could have managed to get into the wrong park; but, setting it down to his ignorance of the difference between oak and elm, he immediately retraced his steps, passing across the park again, through the gate at the end of the drive, and into the turnpike road.  No other gate, park, or country seat of any description was within view.

‘Can you tell me the way to Arrowthorne Lodge?’ he inquired of the first person he met, who was a little girl.

‘You are just coming away from it, sir,’ said she.  ’I’ll show you; I am going that way.’

They walked along together.  Getting abreast the entrance of the park he had just emerged from, the child said, ’There it is, sir; I live there too.’

Christopher, with a dazed countenance, looked towards a cottage which stood nestling in the shrubbery and ivy like a mushroom among grass.  ’Is that Arrowthorne Lodge?’ he repeated.

‘Yes, and if you go up the drive, you come to Arrowthorne House.’

‘Arrowthorne Lodge—­where Mrs. Petherwin lives, I mean.’

‘Yes.  She lives there along wi’ mother and we.  But she don’t want anybody to know it, sir, cause she’s celebrate, and ’twouldn’t do at all.’

Christopher said no more, and the little girl became interested in the products of the bank and ditch by the wayside.  He left her, pushed open the heavy gate, and tapped at the Lodge door.

The latch was lifted.  ‘Does Mrs. Petherwin,’ he began, and, determined that there should be no mistake, repeated, ’Does Mrs. Ethelberta Petherwin, the poetess, live here?’ turning full upon the person who opened the door.

‘She does, sir,’ said a faltering voice; and he found himself face to face with the pupil-teacher of Sandbourne.

13.  The lodge (continued)—­the copse behind

‘This is indeed a surprise; I—­am glad to see you!’ Christopher stammered, with a wire-drawn, radically different smile from the one he had intended—­a smile not without a tinge of ghastliness.

‘Yes—­I am home for the holidays,’ said the blushing maiden; and, after a critical pause, she added, ’If you wish to speak to my sister, she is in the plantation with the children.’

‘O no—­no, thank you—­not necessary at all,’ said Christopher, in haste.  ‘I only wish for an interview with a lady called Mrs. Petherwin.’

‘Yes; Mrs Petherwin—­my sister,’ said Picotee.  ’She is in the plantation.  That little path will take you to her in five minutes.’