“I am very sorry, uncle,” began Miss Oldcastle.

But Mr Stoddart had already retreated and banged the door behind him.  So Miss Oldcastle and I were left standing together amid the ruins.

She glanced at me with a distressed look.  I smiled.  She smiled in return.

“I assure you,” she said, “uncle is not a bit like himself.”

“And I fear in trying to rouse him, I have done him no good,—­only made him more irritable,” I said.  “But he will be sorry when he comes to himself, and so we must take the reversion of his repentance now, and think nothing more of the matter than if he had already said he was sorry.  Besides, when books are in the case, I, for one, must not be too hard upon my unfortunate neighbour.”

“Thank you, Mr Walton.  I am so much obliged to you for taking my uncle’s part.  He has been very good to me; and that dear Judy is provoking sometimes.  I am afraid I help to spoil her; but you would hardly believe how good she really is, and what a comfort she is to me—­with all her waywardness.”

“I think I understand Judy,” I replied; “and I shall be more mistaken than I am willing to confess I have ever been before, if she does not turn out a very fine woman.  The marvel to me is that with all the various influences amongst which she is placed here, she is not really, not seriously, spoiled after all.  I assure you I have the greatest regard for, as well as confidence in, my friend Judy.”

Ethelwyn—­Miss Oldcastle, I should say—­gave me such a pleased look that I was well recompensed—­if justice should ever talk of recompense—­for my defence of her niece.

“Will you come with me?” she said; “for I fear our talk may continue to annoy Mr Stoddart.  His hearing is acute at all times, and has been excessively so since his illness.”

“I am at your service,” I returned, and followed her from the room.

“Are you still as fond of the old quarry as you used to be, Miss Oldcastle?” I said, as we caught a glimpse of it from the window of a long passage we were going through.

“I think I am.  I go there most days.  I have not been to-day, though.  Would you like to go down?”

“Very much,” I said.

“Ah!  I forgot, though.  You must not go; it is not a fit place for an invalid.”

“I cannot call myself an invalid now.”

“Your face, I am sorry to say, contradicts your words.”

And she looked so kindly at me, that I almost broke out into thanks for the mere look.

“And indeed,” she went on, “it is too damp down there, not to speak of the stairs.”

By this time we had reached the little room in which I was received the first time I visited the Hall.  There we found Judy.

“If you are not too tired already, I should like to show you my little study.  It has, I think, a better view than any other room in the house,” said Miss Oldcastle.

“I shall be delighted,” I replied.