Mrs. Torrington and three other guests had left that morning; the Vandeleurs, and Reginald Montagu, a free and easy little war-office clerk, were now the only visitors at Mount Royal, and Mrs. Tregonell was free to lead her own life--so with Jessie and Randie for company, she started at noontide for Tintagel. She could never weary of the walk by the cliffs--or even of the quiet country road with its blossoming hedgerows and boundless outlook. Every step of the way, every tint on field or meadow, every change in sky and sea was familiar to her, but she loved them all. They had loitered in their ramble by the cliffs, talking a good deal of the past, for Jessie was now the only listener to whom Christabel could freely open her heart, and she loved to talk with her of the days that were gone, and of her first lover. Of their love and of their parting she never spoke--to talk of those things might have seemed treason in the wedded wife--but she loved to talk of the man himself--of his opinions, his ideas, the stories he had told them in their many rambles--his creed, his dreams--speaking of him always as "Mr. Hamleigh," and just as she might have spoken of any clever and intimate friend, lost to her, through adverse circumstance, for ever. It is hardly likely, since they talked of him so often when they were alone, that they spoke of him more on this day than usual: but it seemed to them afterwards as if they had done so--and as if their conversation in somewise forecast that which was to happen before yonder sun had dipped behind the wave. They climbed the castle hill, and seated themselves on a low fragment of wall with their faces seaward. There was a lovely light on the sea, scarcely a breath of wind to curl the edges of the long waves which rolled slowly in and slid over the dark rocks in shining slabs of emerald-tinted water. Here and there deep purple patches showed where the sea-weed grew thickest, and here and there the dark outline of a convocation of shags stood out sharply above the crest of a rock. "It was on just such a day that we first brought Mr. Hamleigh to this place," said Christabel. "Yes, our Cornish autumns are almost always lovely, and this year the weather is particularly mild," answered Jessie, in her matter-of-fact way. She always put on this air when she saw Christabel drifting into dangerous feeling. "I shouldn't wonder if we were to have a second crop of strawberries this year." "Do you remember how we talked of Tristan and Iseult--poor Iseult?" "Poor Marc, I think." "Marc? One can't pity _him_. He was an ingrate, and a coward." "He was a man and a husband," retorted Jessie; "and he seems to have been badly treated all round." "Whither does he wander now?" said Christabel, softly repeating lines learnt long ago.