‘But you had a victory down there,’ Gower hinted congratulations.

‘Ah,’ said she.

‘Christopher Ines is all right now?’

‘I’ve as good as lost my good name for Kit Ines, Mr. Woodseer.’

‘Not with my dad, Madge.’

’The minister reads us at the heart.  Shall we hear the street of his house in London before night?’

‘I may be late.’

’I’ll be up, any hour, for a rap at the shutters.  I want to take her to the house early next morning.  She won’t mind the distance.  She lies in bed, her eyes shut or open, never sleeping, hears any mouse.  It shouldn’t go on, if we can do a thing to help.’

‘I’m off,’ said Gower, unwontedly vexed at his empty pocket, that could not offer the means for conveyance to a couple of young women.

The dark-browed girl sent her straight eyes at him.  They pushed him to hasten.  On second thoughts, he stopped and hailed her; he was moved to confirm an impression of this girl’s features.

His mind was directed to the business burning behind them, honestly enough, as soon as he had them in sight again.

‘I ought to have the address of some of her people, in case,’ he said.

’She won’t go to her uncle, I ‘m sure of that,’ said Madge.  ’He ’s a lord and can’t be worried.  It ‘s her husband to find first.’

’If he’s to be found!—­he’s a lord, too.  Has she no other relatives or friends?’

’She loves her brother.  He’s an officer.  He’s away on honeymoon.  There ’s an admiral down Hampshire way, a place I’ve been near and seen.  I’d not have you go to any of them, sir, without trying all we can do to find Lord Fleetwood.  It’s Admiral Fakenham she speaks of; she’s fond of him.  She’s not minded to bother any of her friends about herself.’

‘I shall see you to-night,’ said Gower, and set his face Westward, remembering that his father had named Caermarthen as her mother’s birthplace.

Just in that tone of hers do Welshwomen talk of their country; of its history, when at home, of its mountains, when exiled:  and in a language like hers, bare of superlatives to signify an ardour conveyed by the fire of the breath.  Her quick devotion to a lady exciting enthusiasm through admiring pity for the grace of a much-tried quiet sweetness, was explained; apart from other reasons, feminine or hidden, which might exist.  Only a Welsh girl would be so quick and all in it, with a voice intimating a heated cauldron under her mouth.  None but a Welsh-blooded girl, risking her good name to follow and nurse the man she considered a hero, would carry her head to look virgin eyes as she did.  One could swear to them, Gower thought.  Contact with her spirited him out of his mooniness.