‘Yes, yes; I admit the reasonableness of it,’ said Hubert more calmly, ‘granted that you have to deal with children. But Adela is too old to have no will or understanding. It may be she has both. After all she would scarcely allow herself to be forced into a detestable marriage. Very likely she takes her mother’s practical views.’ ‘There is such a thing as blank indifference in a young girl who has suffered disappointment.’ ‘I could do nothing,’ exclaimed Hubert. ‘That she thinks of me at all, or has ever seriously done so, is the merest supposition. There was nothing binding between us. If she is false to herself, experience and suffering must teach her.’ The vicar mused. ‘Then you go your way untroubled?’ was his next question. ‘If I am strong enough to overcome foolishness.’ ‘And if foolishness persists in asserting itself?’ Hubert kept gloomy silence. ‘Thus much I can say to you of my own knowledge,’ observed Mr. Wyvern with weight. ‘Miss Waltham is not one to speak words lightly. You call her a child, and no doubt her view of the world is childlike; but she is strong in her simplicity. A pledge from her will, or I am much mistaken, bear no two meanings. Her marriage with Mr. Mutimer would be as little pleasing to me as to you, but I cannot see that I have any claim to interpose, or, indeed, power to do so. Is it not the same with yourself?’ ‘No, not quite the same.’ ‘Then you have hope that you might still affect her destiny?’ Hubert did not answer. ‘Do you measure the responsibility you would incur? I fear not, if you have spoken sincerely. Your experience has not been of a kind to aid you in understanding her, and, I warn you, to make her subject to your caprices would be little short of a crime, whether now--heed me--or hereafter.’ ‘Perhaps it is too late,’ murmured Hubert. ‘That may well be, in more senses than one.’ ‘Can you not discover whether she is really engaged?’ ‘If that were the case, I think I should have heard of it.’ ‘If I were allowed to see her! So much at least should be granted me. I should not poison the air she breathes.’ ‘Do you return to Agworth to-night?’ Mr. Wyvern inquired. ‘Yes, I shall walk back.’ ‘Can you come to me again to-morrow evening?’ It was agreed that Hubert should do so. Mr. Wyvern gave no definite promise of aid, but the young man felt that he would do something. ‘The night is fine,’ said the vicar; ‘I will walk half a mile with you.’ They left the Vicarage, and ten yards from the door turned into the path which would enable them to avoid the village street. Not two minutes after their quitting the main road the spot was passed by Adela herself, who was walking towards Mr. Wyvern’s dwelling. On her inquiring for the vicar, she learnt from the servant that he had just left home. She hesitated, and seemed about to ask further questions or leave a message, but at length turned away from the door and retraced her steps slowly and with bent head.