He took a manuscript volume from his pocket, and turned the leaves thoughtfully. It was the fair copy of his _magnum opus_, which he had brought with him on this journey for leisurely revision, but on which he had as yet worked little. From these manuscript pages he tried to obtain comfort. If the world would only listen! He measured his strength against the minor poets of his day. Surely there was something in these verses that should win him a place among the younger singers. He left the inn by and by, and walked slowly along the cliff to the little classic temple. The April day had brightened, and the sun shone upon the waves, though there were ugly black clouds to windward. The temple on the cliff could tell him nothing. But it was the scene of his mother’s loneliest hours, and he contemplated it with a tender interest. The mountain weeds--such wild flowers as flourish in the breath of the sea, had clustered thickly round the bases of the slim Ionian pillars; gray moss and lichen defaced the marble, white as it looked from the distance. Eustace seated himself on the crumbling stone bench, and lingered for some time, looking out over the sea, and thinking now of his mother, now of Helen de Bergerac, anon of that unknown father whose sin had made him nameless. From this long reverie he was disturbed by the soft thud of hoofs upon the short turf, and looking landwards, he saw a horseman trotting towards the temple. Within a few yards of the spot he dismounted, and came to the temple, leading his horse. Before this Eustace had recognized Mr. Jerningham, the man who had surprised him reading _The Disappointments of Dion_, the man who bore some resemblance to himself, and must therefore resemble his father--the man who, by a series of coincidences, seemed involved in that mystery of the past which he was so eager to penetrate. If Mr. Jerningham’s appearance here was surprising to Eustace, the presence of Eustace at this spot seemed no less astounding to Mr. Jerningham. “They told me you had returned to Killalochie,” he said. “No; I wanted to see this place before I left this part of Scotland.” “I cannot imagine what interest you can possibly have in a spot so remote.” “The interest of association,” Eustace answered. “But have I not as much reason to wonder what should bring you here, Mr. Jerningham?” “That question is easily answered. A proprietor is generally anxious to examine his newly acquired possessions. This summer-house comes to me with the rest of my kinsman Pendarvoch’s property.” “Lord Pendarvoch was related to you!” exclaimed Eustace. “He was.” “Strange!” “What is there so strange in such a relationship?”