Mrs. Hunter returned presently with the welcome news that Miss Moseley was airing my sheets at the kitchen fire, and, after a little more talk, Eric walked with me to Prescott Street and gave me in charge to Miss Moseley, after promising to be with me soon after nine the next morning.

I found Miss Moseley a cheerful talkative person, with very few teeth and a great deal of good-nature.  She gave me Miss Gunter’s history as she made the bed.  I could see that her marriage with the young chemist was a great source of glorification to all connected with her.  She was still holding forth on the newly-furnished drawing-room, with its blue sofa and inlaid chiffonier, as she lighted a pair of candles in the brass candlesticks, and brought me a can of hot water.  I am afraid I was rather thankful when she closed the door and left me alone, for I was tired, and longed to think over the wonderful events of the day.  I slept very sweetly in the old-fashioned brown bed that was sacred to the memory of Miss Gunter, and woke happily to the fact that another blue day was shining, and that in a few hours Eric and I would be at Heathfield.  I ate my frugal breakfast in a small back parlour overlooking the blank wall of a brewery, and before I had finished there was a quick tap at the door, and Eric entered.  A boyish blush crossed his handsome face as I looked at him in some surprise.  He had laid aside his workman’s dress, and wore the ordinary garb of a gentleman.  Perhaps his coat was a little shabby and the hat he held in his hand had lost its gloss, but no one would have noticed such trifles with that bright speaking face and air of refinement; and, though he looked down at his uncovered hands and muttered something about stopping to buy a pair of gloves, I hastened to assure him that it was so early that it did not matter.  ’I should hardly have recognised you, Mr. Eric,’ I ventured to observe, for I saw he was a little sensitive about his appearance; and then he told me in his frank way that the clothes he wore were the same in which he left Gladwyn nearly four years ago.

‘They have been lying by all this time,’ he went on, ’and they are sadly creased, I am afraid.  I have grown a little broader, and they don’t seem to fit me, somehow, but I did not want Gladys to see me in anything else.’

We had decided to take the ten o’clock train to Heathfield, so I did not keep him long waiting for me.  On our way to the station we met a house-painter:  he looked rather dubiously at Eric.

‘All right, Phil,’ he laughed, ’I am going home; but I shall turn up again all right:  this lady has brought me good news.’  And he wrung Phil’s hand with a heartiness that spoke volumes.

He was very excited and talkative at first, but as soon as we left Victoria behind us he became quieter, and soon afterwards perfectly silent; and I did not disturb him.  He grew more nervous as we approached Heathfield, and when the train stopped he had not an atom of colour in his face.