“Yes, it is a Dorsetshire name, and I am a Dorchester man.” “Dorchester,” she repeated slowly. “I wonder whether you know a place called Cheriton?” “I know it very well indeed. A kinsman of mine lives there. Lord Cheriton is my cousin.” “I thought as much, directly I heard your name. You must know all about that dreadful murder, then—last summer?” “Yes, I know about as much of it as any one knows, and that is very little.” “They have not found the murderer?” she asked, with a faint shudder. “No, nor are they ever likely to find him, I believe. But tell me why you are interested in Cheriton. Do you come from that part of the country?” “Yes.” “Were you born in Cheriton village?” “I was brought up not far from there,” she answered, hesitatingly. He remembered what Miss Newton had told him of her own forbearance in asking questions, and he pursued the inquiry no further. “May I see you as far as your lodgings?” he said, kindly. “It will be very little out of my way.” “No, thank you, Mr. Dalbrook. I am too much accustomed to going about alone ever to want any escort. Good night, and thank you for having answered my questions.” Her manner showed a disinclination to prolong the interview, and she walked away with hurried steps which carried her swiftly into the darkness. “Poor lonely soul!” he said to himself. “Now, whose lost sheep is she, I wonder? She is certainly of a rank above a cottager’s daughter, and with those hands of hers it is clear she has never been in domestic service. Not far from Cheriton! What may that mean? Not far is a vague description of locality. I must ask Lady Cheriton about her the next time I am at the Chase.” CHAPTER XVII. “A mind not to be changed by place or time.”