We went home early, for I could see Max was very tired, but both he and Mr. Tudor insisted on escorting us.  It was a beautiful starlight night, clear and frosty:  our footsteps rang crisply on the ground:  not a breath of wind stirred the skeleton branches that stretched above our heads:  a solemn peacefulness seemed to close us round.  Jill’s mirthful laugh quite startled the echoes.  She and Mr. Tudor were following very slowly.  Once or twice we stood still and waited for them, but Mr. Tudor was in the middle of some amusing story, and so they took no notice of us.

I told Max about my visit to Mrs. Maberley, and of the conversation that had taken place between us.  I thought he started a little when I mentioned Eric Hamilton’s name.

‘What a pity!’ he said quietly.  ’I had hoped she would have told you herself.  I was waiting for her to do so.’

‘But, Max, surely you might have told me?’

’Who?—­I?  I should not have presumed.  You must remember that I was in Hamilton’s confidence, and,’ after a moment’s hesitation, ’in hers too.  Ursula,’ with a sudden passionate inflexion in his voice, ’you have no idea how she loved that poor boy, and how she suffered:  it nearly killed her.  Now you know why I say that she is lonely and wants a friend.’  ’But she has you, Max,’ I exclaimed involuntarily, for I knew what he must have been to them in their trouble; Max could be as tender as a woman; but he started aside as though I had struck him; and his voice was quite changed as he answered me.

’You mistake, Ursula.  I was only her clergyman:  if she confided in me it was because she could not do otherwise; she is naturally reserved.  She would find it easier to be open with you.’

’I do not think so, Max.  I—­But what does it matter what I think?  There is one question I want to ask:  do you think Mr. Hamilton was at all to blame?’

‘I am Hamilton’s friend,’ he returned, in a tone that made me regret that I had asked the question, and then he stood still and waited for the others to join us.  Indeed, he did not speak again, except to wish us good-night.

‘It is the loveliest Christmas Day I have ever spent,’ cried Jill, flinging herself on me, and she was no light weight.  ’I do like Mr. Tudor so; he is nicer than any one I know, more like a nice funny boy than a man, only he tells me he can be grave sometimes.  What was the matter with Mr. Cunliffe?—­he looks tired and worried and not inclined to laugh.’  And so Jill chattered on without waiting for my answers, talking in the very fulness of her young heart, until I pretended again to be asleep, and then she consented to be quiet.

I saw Max for a few minutes the next day when he came to fetch my letter.  He looked more like himself, only there was still a tired expression about his eyes; but he talked very cheerfully of what he should do during the few days he intended to remain in town.

I made him promise to be very diplomatic with Aunt Philippa, and he most certainly kept his word, for the next morning I received a letter that surprised us both, and that drove Jill nearly frantic with joy.