Piers accompanied him to the station.  After humming to himself for a few moments, as they walked along the dark lane, Daniel slipped a hand through his brother’s arm and spoke affectionately.

“You don’t know how glad I am that we have met, old boy!  Now don’t let us lose sight of each other—­By the bye, do you ever hear of Alec?”

Alexander, Jerome Otway’s second son, had not communicated with his father for a good many years.  His reputation was that of a good-natured wastrel.  Piers replied that he knew nothing whatever of him.

“He is in London,” pursued Daniel, “and he is rather anxious to meet you.  Now let me give you a word of warning.  Alec isn’t at all a bad sort.  I confess I like him, for all his faults—­and unfortunately he has plenty of them; but to you, Piers, he would be dangerous.  Dangerous, first of all, because of his want of prnciple —­you know my feelings on that point.  Then, I’m afraid he knows of your little inheritance, and he might—­I don’t say he would—­ but he might be tempted to presume upon your good nature.  You understand?”

“What is he doing?” Piers inquired.

“Nothing worth speaking of, I fear.  Alec has no stability—­so unlike you and me in that.  You and I inherit the brave old man’s love of work; Alec was born an idler.  If I thought you might influence him for good—­but no, it is too risky.  One doesn’t like to speak so of a brother, Piers, but I feel it my duty to warn you against poor Alec. Basta!”

That night Piers did not close his eyes.  The evening’s excitement and the unusual warmth of the weather enhanced the feverishness due to his passionate thoughts.  Before daybreak he rose and tried to read, but no book would hold his attention.  Again he flung himself on to the bed, and lay till sunrise vainly groaning for sleep.

With the new day came a light rain, which threatened to continue.  Dullness ruled at breakfast.  The cousins spoke fitfully of what they might do if the rain ceased.

“A good time for work,” said Irene to Piers.  “But perhaps it’s all the same to you, rain or shine?

“Much the same,” Piers answered mechanically.

He passed a strange morning.  Though to begin with he had seated himself resolutely, the attempt to study was ridiculous; the sight of his books and papers moved him to loathing.  He watched the sky, hoping to see it broken.  He stood by his door, listening, listening if perchance he might hear the movements of the girls, or hear a word in Irene’s voice.  Once he did hear her; she called to Olga, laughingly; and at the sound he quivered, his breath stopped.

The clouds parted; a fresh breeze unveiled the summer blue.  Piers stood at the window, watching; and at length he had his reward; the cousins came out and walked along the garden paths, conversing intimately.  At one moment, Olga gave a glance up at his window, and he darted back, fearful of having been detected.  Were they talking of him?  How would Miss Derwent speak of him?  Did he interest her in the least?