“Well, it must have been just six months ago, I should say,” said the Vicar. “Yes, for I remember we were haymaking in the glebe when Mr. Taylor told me how Waller’s army had twice well-nigh succeeded in capturing His Majesty, who was chased from one county to another. You must remember hearing of Sudeley Castle being taken, and of how scores of bridges in Worcestershire and Gloucestershire were broken down by the two armies, so that they said it would cost £10,000 to make them good again. That was last June, my dear.” “Colonel Norton said something about it,” said Hilary, steadily, and the Vicar was too much engrossed in the difficult operation of lighting his pipe to notice that she had grown white to the lips. “Ah, a pleasant-spoken man,” he remarked, “but I don’t like what I hear about the doings of his garrison. Maybe he only carries out his orders, but it is a grievous strain on the people.” Hilary stole quietly away and would gladly have been alone, but Mrs. Durdle besought her so earnestly to come into the kitchen that she could not refuse. “Come, dearie, and stir the Christmas pudding,” said the housekeeper, “just for old times’ sake. I’m sadly behindhand this year, but there was no getting the currants from Ledbury with all them soldiers infesting the place. Stir and wish, my dear, stir and wish.” “There’s nothing left to wish for,” said Hilary, sadly. “Oh! my dear, how you do talk, and you so young and fair to see.” “I wish, then, that this hateful war was over,” said Hilary, stirring the sticky yellow and black compound, which turned so reluctantly in the great basin. “How I do remember that time when you and Mr. Gabriel was children at Hereford, and both sat on the table a-stirring the pudding,” said Durdle. “’Twas the day Sir Robert Harley’s dog bit his arm.” “And I wished for a new doll,” said Hilary, smiling a little as she moved towards the door. “And a very sensible wish, too, dearie, seeing that the dog had chewed and spoilt the old one,” said Durdle. “Don’t you be above takin’ on with new friends when the old friends leave you.” “Which means,” reflected Hilary, as she sought her own room, “that Durdle has heard of gallant Colonel Norton’s appearance this morning, and is already weaving a romance in her foolish old head. No, no, I have done with all that!” Through the days that followed, Hilary’s heart was very sore, but, to some extent, her pride provided an antidote to the pain. She knew that she herself was chiefly to blame for the change in Gabriel, but, nevertheless, his change angered her and wounded her to the quick. Before long she turned resolutely from all thought of him, and resolved to fill her life to the brim with work which should leave no leisure for vain regrets, and, having much’ strength of character, she carried out her intentions with more success than might have been expected.