Tatham afterward devoted himself till nearly midnight to composing a letter to Lydia.  He had unaccountably missed her that afternoon, for when he arrived at the cottage from Pengarth she was out, and neither Mrs. Penfold nor Susy knew where she was.  In fact she was at Mainstairs, and with Faversham.  She had mistaken a phrase in Tatham’s note of the morning, and did not expect him till later.  He had waited an hour for her, under the soft patter of Mrs. Penfold’s embarrassed conversation; and had then ridden home, sorely disappointed, but never for one instant blaming the beloved.

But later, in the night silence, he poured out to her all his budget:  the arrival of the Melroses; their story; his interview with Faversham; and his plans for helping them to their rights.  To a “friend” it was only allowed, besides, to give restrained expression to his rapturous joy in being near her again, and his disappointment of the afternoon.  He thought over every word, as he wrote it down, his eyes sometimes a little dim in the lamp-light.  The very reserve imposed upon him did but strengthen his passion.  Nor could young hopes believe in ultimate defeat.

At the same time, the thought of Faversham held the background of his mind.  Though by now he himself cordially disliked Faversham, he was quite aware of the attraction the new agent’s proud and melancholy personality might have for women.  He had seen it working in Lydia’s case, and he had been uncomfortably aware at one time of the frequent references to Faversham in Lydia’s letters.  It was evident that Faversham had pushed the acquaintance with the Penfolds as far as he could; that he was Lydia’s familiar correspondent, and constantly appealing for help to her knowledge of the country folk.  An excellent road to intimacy, as Tatham uneasily admitted, considering Lydia’s love for the people of the dales, and her passionate sympathy with the victims of Melrose’s ill-deeds.

Ah! but the very causes which had been throwing her into an intimacy with Faversham must surely now be chilling and drawing her back?  Tatham, the young reformer, felt an honest indignation with the failure of Claude Faversham to do the obvious and necessary work he had promised to do.  Tatham, the lover, knew very well that if he had come back to find Faversham the hero of the piece, with a grateful countryside at his feet, his own jealous anxiety would have been even greater than it was.  For it was great, argue with himself as he might.  A dread for which he could not account often overshadowed him.  It was caused perhaps by his constant memory of Faversham and Lydia on the terrace at Threlfall—­of the two faces turned to each other—­of the sudden fusion as it were of the two personalities in a common rush of memories, interests, and sympathies, in which he himself had no part....