"Then I must hope to find a Christopher of my own," returned Peter, rising; "let us meanwhile find Nevil." The duel was over and apparently the result was as undetermined as ever. The only satisfaction poor Charles Aston derived was from the fact that Peter was unusually gentle and tactful to Aymer that afternoon. He seemed in no hurry to go, urged as excuse he wanted to consult Christopher about a motor, but when they sent to find that young gentleman, they discovered he and Patricia and the motor were missing. CHAPTER XIX It seemed to Christopher as he overhauled his long-suffering motor preparatory to the new run, that a great gap of innumerable grey days stretched between him and the moment he brought the car to a standstill before the doors of the house, that had appeared to him to be a Temple of Promise. It was in fact barely an hour and a half and the greater part of that time had been occupied with lunch and a hasty interview with Aymer. That shorter interlude in the orchard just over, had already blotted out a golden landscape with a driving mist that obscured all true proportion of time or space. He longed greatly, with a sense of strange fatigue, to be sitting at Caesar's side and to find the restless discomfort evaporate as they talked, even as his boyish troubles had melted in that companionship. That must come later: for the present Fate--or Patricia--made a demand on him to which he was bound to answer. Where a weaker nature would have said "impossible," he simply found an ordinary action rendered difficult by his own private view of it, therefore it behooved him to close the shutters on that outlook if he could, and ignore the difficulty. Renata, who came out with Patricia, protested a little indignantly at the latter's exaction. "It is so inconsiderate of Patricia, just as you have had such a journey. Why do you give in to her, Christopher?" "To-day is as good as any day," he answered her, "perhaps the visitor will have gone when we return." "Oh, I hope so," said Renata fervently, and then blushed at her own inhospitality. "I mean, Caesar would rather have you to himself, I am sure." "And I would rather have Caesar unaccompanied. So there is some use in Patricia's fancy." "Of course," put in that young lady, "there always is. Please do not waste precious time talking. Tell me where I am to sit, Christopher." "I'll take every care of her," said Christopher, looking at Renata, "we'll be back in time for dinner. Be kind and get rid of Mr. Masters by then." "Like a dear little angel," concluded Patricia, kissing her; "think how he bores Nevil, and don't be hospitable." Christopher settled her in the seat beside him, tucked her in with rugs, put up the front screen and started. For a few short minutes the joy of having her there beside him, his sole charge for some golden hours to come, his to carry in a mad rush if he would to the ends of the earth, obliterated for a moment the bewildering mist.