“No breakfast, no man,” was a favourite maxim of the physician’s, and he did full justice to the fresh trout, the kidneys and bacon, and the new-laid eggs put before us, while I had to force myself to swallow a few mouthfuls. However, the meal was over at last, and at ten o’clock we were seated in the car provided by the hotel, speeding along the road I had last trodden backward with despair in my heart. It seemed to me that every tree was eloquent and that every cottage on the way remembered me, and wondered at my coming back. As we came near the village I was tempted to shrink back in my corner of the car and hide my face, lest the villagers should recognize it and greet me. I had to tell myself that the real test would come presently. I had never crossed the threshold of the Castle; I had never ventured into the park in the daytime; but there is no such thing as privacy on the country-side; every hedge has eyes and ears; and it was certain that my comings and goings had been watched, and that every child on the Earl of Ledbury’s estate and every servant in his house knew more about me than his lordship did. Tarleton was delighted with the scenery. What pleased him still more was the absence of all traffic. We did not meet one vehicle in the road, except a farmer’s cart. “This is the least-known beauty spot in England,” he cried with enthusiasm. “Those hills yonder must be in Radnorshire, a county whose existence I have always doubted. This is the old Welsh March, where the Britons stayed the Saxon advance at last, and kept their freedom in Wild Wales. What a contrast between this and Tarifa Road, Chelsea!” The reminder came just in time. I had been on the point of telling him that King Arthur’s tomb stood on the crest of one of the hills that overlooked the Golden Valley. I bit my lip, thankful that I hadn’t betrayed myself. We went through the sleepy village, bringing out one or two women with babies in their arms to their garden gates. Then we turned into the park and saw the rabbits scampering to the right and left as we crossed the fern-covered slopes. “This is a true ‘haunt of ancient peace,’” murmured the consultant wistfully. “This is the sort of place I want to end my days in. And we have come to disturb it, perhaps to bring disaster and disgrace. I should be glad if we could turn back now and go away again.” I turned to him expectantly. His words had echoed my own thoughts so closely that I half hoped to find him ready to act upon them. But the frown on his brow and the stern set of his mouth told me that I was deluding myself.