Hand in hand, trembling still under the thrill of the moment which had fused their lives, they fell into happy discursive talk:  of the Tallyn visit—­of her thoughts and his—­of what Lady Lucy and Mr. Ferrier had said, or would say.  In the midst of it the fall of temperature, which came with the sunset, touched them, and Marsham sprang up with the peremptoriness of a new relationship, insisting that he must take her home out of the chilly dusk.  As they stood lingering in the hollow, unwilling to leave the gnarled thorns, the heather-carpet, and the glow of western light—­symbols to them henceforth that they too, in their turn, amid the endless generations, had drunk the mystic cup, and shared the sacred feast—­Diana perceived some movement far below, on the open space in front of Beechcote.  A little peering through the twilight showed them two horses with their riders leaving the Beechcote door.

“Oh! your cousin—­and Sir James!” cried Diana, in distress, “and I haven’t said good-bye—­”

“You will see them soon again.  And I shall carry them the news to-night.”

“Will you?  Shall I allow it?”

Marsham laughed; he caught her hand again, slipped it possessively within his left arm, and held it there as they went slowly down the path.  Diana could not think with any zest of Alicia and her reception of the news.  A succession of trifles had shown her quite clearly that Alicia was not her friend; why, she did not know.  She remembered many small advances on her own part.

But at the mention of Sir James Chide, her face lit up.

“He has been so kind to me!” she said, looking up into Marsham’s face—­“so very kind!”

Her eyes showed a touch of passion; the passion that some natures can throw into gratitude; whether for little or much.  Marsham smiled.

“He fell in love with you!  Yes—­he is a dear old boy.  One can well imagine that he has had a romance!”

“Has he?”

“It is always said that he was in love with a woman whom he defended on a charge of murder.”

Diana exclaimed.

“He had met her when they were both very young, and lost his heart to her.  Then she married and he lost sight of her.  He accepted a brief in this murder case, ten years later, not knowing her identity, and they met for the first time when he went to see her with her solicitor in prison.”

Diana breathlessly asked for the rest of the story.

“He defended her magnificently.  It was a shocking case.  The sentence was commuted, but she died almost immediately.  They say Sir James has never got over it.”

Diana pondered; her eyes dim.

“How one would like to do something for him!—­to give him pleasure!”

Marsham caressed her hand.

“So you shall, darling.  He shall be one of our best friends.  But he mustn’t make Ferrier jealous.”

Diana smiled happily.  She looked forward to all the new ties of kindred or friendship that Marsham was to bring her—­modestly indeed, yet in the temper of one who feels herself spiritually rich and capable of giving.