"I have always done well for others," he thought. "I have gained some difficult points for other people; now I will undertake this difficult matter for myself." He went home to the Rectory and pondered, recalling all he knew of old Etheridge. It was very little, and the rector could tell him no more than he knew already. James Etheridge lived the life of a recluse, appearing to have no friends or relations save Stella; nothing was known about his former life. He had come down into the quiet valley some years ago, and settled at once in the mode of existence which was palpable to all. "Is he, was he, ever married?" asked Jasper. The rector thought not. "I don't know," he said. "He certainly hasn't been married down here. I don't think anything is known about him." And with this Jasper had to be content. All the next day, after his meeting with Stella and Leycester, he strolled about the meadows hoping to see her, but failed. He knew he ought to be in London, but he could not tear himself away. His arm felt a little stiff, and though there was nothing else the matter with it, he bound it up and hung it in a sling, explaining to the rector that he had fallen from his horse. Then he heard of the party at the Hall, and grinding his teeth with envy and malice, he stole into the lane and watched Stella start. In his eyes she looked doubly beautiful since he had sworn to have her, and he wandered about the lane and meadows thinking of her, and thinking, too, of Lord Leycester all that evening, waiting for her to return, to get one look at her. Fortune favored him with more than a look, for while he was waiting the boy from the post-office came down the lane, and Jasper, with very little difficulty, persuaded him to give up the telegram to his keeping. I am sorry to say that Jasper was very much tempted to open that telegram, and if he resisted the temptation, it was not in consequence of any pangs of conscience, but because he thought that it would scarcely be worth while. "It is only some commission for a picture," he said to himself. "People don't communicate secretly by telegram excepting in cipher." So he delivered it unopened as we know, but when he heard that sudden exclamation of the old man's he was heartily sorry he had not opened it. When he parted from Stella at the gate, he walked off down the lane, but only until out of sight, and then returned under the shadow of the hedge and waited. He could see into the studio, and see the old man sitting in the chair bowed with sorrow; and Stella's graceful figure hovering about him. "There was something worth knowing in that telegram," he muttered. "I was a fool not to make myself acquainted with it. What will he do now?" He thought the question out, still watching, and the old man's movements seen plainly through the lighted windows--for Stella had only drawn the muslin curtain too hurriedly and imperfectly--afforded an answer. "He is going up to town," he muttered.