"Well, it seems so to me. But it's some few years now since I saw you. Nothing has ever come to light about that pocket-book, my lord." "I conclude not, or I should have heard of it." "And your lordship never came down to see the place!" "No. I left Hartledon the same day, I think, or the next. After all, Floyd, I don't see that it is of any use looking into these painful things: it cannot bring the dead to life again." "That's, true," said the miller. He was walking into Calne. Lord Hartledon kept by his side, talking to him. He promised to be as popular a man as his father had been; and that was saying a great deal. When they came opposite the Rectory, Lord Hartledon wished him good day and more strength, in his genial manner, and turned in at the Rectory gates. About once a week he was in the habit of calling upon Mrs. Ashton. Peace was between them; and these visits to her sick-chamber were strangely welcome to her heart. She had loved Val Elster all her life, and she loved him still, in spite of the past. For Val was curiously subdued; and his present mood, sad, quiet, thoughtful, was more endearing than his gayer one had been. Mrs. Ashton did not fail to read that he was a disappointed man, one with some constant care upon him. Anne was in the hall when he entered, talking to a poor applicant who was waiting to see the Rector. Lord Hartledon lifted his hat to her, but did not offer to shake hands. He had never presumed to touch her hand since the reconciliation; in fact, he scarcely ever saw her. "How is Mrs. Ashton to-day?" "A little better, I think. She will be glad to see you." He followed the servant upstairs, and Anne turned to the woman again. Mrs. Ashton was in an easy-chair near the window; he drew one close to her. "You are looking wonderful to-day, do you know?" he began in tones almost as gay as those of the light-hearted Val Elster. "What is it? That very becoming cap?" "The cap, of course. Don't you see its pink ribbons? Your favourite colour used to be pink, Val. Do you remember?" "I remember everything. But indeed and in truth you look better, dear Mrs. Ashton." "Yes, better to-day," she said, with a sigh. "I shall fluctuate to the end, I suppose; one day better, the next worse. Val, I think sometimes it is not far off now." Very far off he knew it could not be. But he spoke of hope still: it was in his nature to do so. In the depths of his heart, so hidden from the world, there seemed to be hope for the whole living creation, himself excepted. "How is your wife to-day?" "Quite well. She and Edward are out with the ponies and carriage." "She never comes to see me." "She does not go to see anyone. Though well, she's not very strong yet." "But she's young, and will grow strong. I shall only grow weaker. I am brave to-day; but you should have seen me last night. So prostrate! I almost doubted whether I should rise from my bed again. I do not think you will have to come here many more times."