“I expect she is at the moat,” said Molly. “Come along, Christian; we will go and look for her. This way.” In the meantime Sidney had driven the dog-cart round to the stables, kneeling awkwardly upon the back seat. As Christian followed his fair guide down the little path leading to the moat, he began to feel that it was not so difficult after all to throw off the dull weight of anxiety that lay upon his mind. The thoughts about the _Beacon_ were after all not so very absorbing. The anxiety regarding the welfare of the two old ladies was already alleviated by distance. The strong sea air, the change to pleasant and kindly society, were already beginning their work. Suddenly Molly stopped, and Christian saw that she was standing at the edge of a long, still sheet of water bounded by solid stonework, which, however, was crumbling away in parts, while everywhere the green moss grew in velvety profusion. “Oh, Christian,” said Molly lightly, “I suppose Sidney told you a little of our news. Men's letters are not discursive as a rule I know, but no doubt he told you--something.” He was standing beside her at the edge of the moat, looking down into the deep, clear water. “Yes,” he replied slowly, “yes, Molly; he told me a little in a scrappy, unsatisfactory way.” A pained expression came into her eyes for a moment, and then she spoke, rather more quickly than was habitual with her, but without raising her voice. “He told you--nothing about Hilda?” she said interrogatively. He turned and looked down at her. “No--nothing.” Then he followed the direction of her eyes, and saw approaching them a young man and a maiden whose footsteps had been inaudible upon the moss-grown path. The man was of medium height, with an honest brown face. He was dressed for riding, and walked with a slight swagger, which arose less from conceit than from excessive riding on horseback. The maiden was tall and stately, and in her walk there was an old-fashioned grace of movement which harmonised perfectly with the old-world surroundings. She was looking down, and Christian could not see her face; but as she wore no hat, he saw and recognised her hair. This was of gold--not red, not auburn, not flaxen, but pure and living gold. The sun glinting through the trees shone upon it and gleamed, but in reality the hair gleamed without the aid of sunlight. CHAPTER VI BROKEN THREADS They came forward, and suddenly the girl raised her face. She made a little hesitating movement of non-recognition, and then suddenly her face was transformed by a very pleasant smile. There was something peculiar in Hilda Carew's smile, which came from the fact that her eyelashes were golden, while her eyes were dark blue. The effect suggested a fascinating kitten. In repose her face was almost severe in its refined beauty, and the set of her lips indicated a certain self-reliance which with years might become more prominent if trouble should arrive.