His own troubles had prevented his mind from being filled with thoughts of Harry, and he was now blaming himself for a possible carelessness towards signs which might have shown him what the boy must have been making up his mind to during the last month. He had seen him sad, after Viola’s departure, and he had never mentioned her name to Wilbraham, as he had done once or twice before. So far as Wilbraham knew, no letters passed between them. The post-bag came to the Castle once a day and was unlocked by Lady Brent. It would have been unlike Harry to arrange for letters to be sent to him through a secret source; Wilbraham was pretty sure that he had not done so. In his effort to distract his mind from the urgency that was riding it, Wilbraham had gone about among the tenantry more than usual. He had kept his ears open for signs that Harry’s meetings with Viola had become known, and could find none. He had gone to see Mrs. Ivimey once since Bastian’s departure, and she had been loud in her praises of "the young lady." She had even said that if things hadn’t been as they were, by which he imagined her to be alluding chiefly to Bastian’s drinking habits, she and Sir Harry would have made "a pretty pair." Wilbraham was sure, from her way of saying it, that she had no idea, or suspicion, of their having met. The woods were of great extent, and, apart from a few rarely frequented paths and rides, almost as little known as when they had been primeval forest. A few woodmen were employed in them, but at this time they were at work felling at the other end of the manor. It seemed almost certain that no one had ever seen the two together. Harry’s sadness would pass. He was still a boy, in years hardly more than a child, and Viola was no older. If they were thrown together over years, their young love might ripen into the love of a life-time; as it was, it would probably die down to a fragrant memory—a love-idyll of summer woods, happy and innocent, but no more than the budding of love in the tender hearts of two pretty children. Wilbraham even thought that Harry might have put it aside from him, at least for a time. His poise of mind was so in advance of his years that it would not be surprising if that were so. He had thrown himself ardently into the three months’ work asked of him, and if he was no longer merry and light-hearted, as he had been, he seemed to be in full possession of himself and concentrated in purpose. By and by, when Wilbraham had passed through his own troubles, he might talk to him about Viola, and find out how it lay with them. At present there seemed to be nothing to do but to follow Harry’s example and concentrate his mind upon the important business in hand, which was Harry’s preparation for his coming examination.