And then on Wednesday there was a moment when Mrs. Lester was herself again. It was only a moment, an instant after dinner. Their lips met; he spoke of Thursday and she smiled at him, then the others had come upon them. For an hour or two he was on fire, then he crept miserably, like a thief, to the room of the minstrels and sat wretchedly, hour after hour, looking at the stars. The day would soon dawn! Thursday! The crisis, as it seemed to him, of the whole of his life. He saw the morn draw faint shadows across the earth, he saw all the black trees move like a falling wall against the stars, he felt the wind with the odour of earth and sea brush his cheek, as he waited for the day to come. He knew now that it was to be no light thing; it was to be a battle, the fiercest that he had ever waged. Two forces were fighting over him, and one of them, before the next night had passed, would win the day. No Good and Evil? No God and Devil? No Heaven and Hell? Why, there they were before his very eyes; the two camps and the field between! And so Thursday dawned! But it came with grey mists and driving rain. The sea was hidden; only the tops of the trees in the garden stood disconsolately dripping above the fog. Everyone came down shivering to breakfast, and disappointments that seemed unjust on ordinary days were now perfectly unbearable. If there were no letters, one was left out in the cold, if there were a lot, they were sure to be bills. It was certain to be smoked haddock when that was the one thing above all others that you loathed; and, of course, there were numbers of little draughts that crept like mice about your feet and wandered like spiders about your hair. But one thing was perfectly obvious, and that was, that of course there could be no picnic. To have five ladies sitting desolately alone on the top of the hill, bursting with curiosity, was melancholy enough; but to have them sitting there in driving rain was utterly impossible. Nevertheless some people intended to venture out. Sir Richard and Rupert—mainly, it seemed, to show their contempt of so plebeian a thing as rain—were still determined on Truro. Tony also was going to tramp it with Maradick. “Where are you going?” This from Sir Richard, who had just decided that his third egg was as bad as the two that he had already eaten. “Oh! I don’t know!” said Tony lazily, “over the hills and far away, I expect. That’s the whole fun of the thing—not knowing. Isn’t it, Maradick?” “It is,” said Maradick. He showed no signs of a bad night. He was eating a very hearty breakfast. “But you must have some idea where you are going,” persisted Sir Richard, gloomily sniffing at his egg. “Well, I expect we’ll start out towards that old church,” said Tony. “You know, the one on the cliff; then we’ll strike inland, I expect. Don’t you think so, Maradick?” “Yes,” said Maradick.