At the edge of the road where Mr. Taynton sat, there were standing several thick bushes.  He moved a little away from the road, and took up his seat again behind one of them.  The car came very slowly on, and stopped just opposite him.  On his right lay the hollow where he had thrown the useless halves of his stick, on his left was the corner of the Falmer Park railings.  He had recognised the driver of the car, who was alone.

Morris got out when he had stopped the car, and then spoke aloud, though to himself.

“Yes, there’s the corner,” he said, “there’s the path over the downs.  There—­”

Mr. Taynton got up and came toward him.

“My dear fellow,” he said, “I have walked out from Brighton on this divine afternoon, and was going to take the train back.  But will you give me the pleasure of driving back with you instead?”

Morris looked at him a moment as if he hardly thought he was real.

“Why, of course,” he said.

Mr. Taynton was all beams and smiles.

“And you have seen Mills?” he asked.  “You have been convinced that he was innocent of the terrible suspicion?  Morris, my dear boy, what is the matter?”

Morris had looked at him for a moment with incredulous eyes.  Then he had sat down and covered his face with his hands.

“It’s nothing,” he said at length.  “I felt rather faint.  I shall be better in a minute.  Of course I’ll drive you back.”

He sat huddled up with hidden face for a moment or two.  Mr. Taynton said nothing, but only looked at him.  Then the boy sat up.

“I’m all right,” he said, “it was just a dream I had last night.  No, I have not seen Mills; they tell me he left yesterday afternoon for Brighton.  Shall we go?”

For some little distance they went in silence; then it seemed that Morris made an effort and spoke.

“Really, I got what they call ‘quite a turn’ just now,” he said.  “I had a curiously vivid dream last night about that corner, and you suddenly appeared in my dream quite unexpectedly, as you did just now.”

“And what was this dream?” asked Mr. Taynton, turning up his coat collar, for the wind of their movement blew rather shrilly on to his neck.

“Oh, nothing particular,” said Morris carelessly, “the vividness was concerned with your appearance; that was what startled me.”

Then he fell back into the train of thought that had occupied him all the way down from London.

“I believe I was half-mad with rage last night,” he said at length, “but this afternoon, I think I am beginning to be sane again.  It’s true Mills tried to injure me, but he didn’t succeed.  And as you said last night I have too deep and intense a cause of happiness to give my thoughts and energies to anything so futile as hatred or the desire for revenge.  He is punished already.  The fact of his having tried to injure me like that was his punishment.  Anyhow, I am sick and tired of my anger.”