"Yes," said Stretton, hanging his head, and absently pulling forward a long spray of clematis which grew beside him. "It is a very surprising thing to me that Mr. Heron should take me on trust--a man without recommendation, or influence, or friends." He plucked the spray as he spoke, and played restlessly with the leaves. Elizabeth watched his fingers; she saw that the movement was intended to disguise the fact that they were trembling. "As it is," he went on, "even though your father--I beg pardon, your uncle--admits me to this house, I doubt whether I do well to come. I think it would be better in many ways that I should decline this situation." He let the leaves fall from his hand and rose to his feet. "Will you tell Mr. Heron what I say?" he asked, in an agitated voice. "Tell him I will not take advantage of his kindness. I will go on to Naples--this afternoon." Elizabeth was puzzled. This was a specimen of humanity the like of which she had never met before. It interested her; though she hardly wished to interfere in the affairs of a man who was so much of a riddle to her. That he was a stranger and that he was young--not much older than herself, very probably--were facts that did not enter her mind with any deterrent force. But as Stretton lifted his hat and turned to leave her, she noticed how white and wan he looked. "Mr. Stretton," she said, imperiously, "please to sit down. You are not to attempt that long, hot walk again just now. Besides, you must wait to see my uncle. Sit down, please. Now, tell me, you have been ill lately, have you not?" "Yes," said Stretton, seating himself as she bade him, and answering meekly. "I had brain fever more than a year ago at the monastery of San Stefano, and my recovery was a slow one." "I know the Prior of San Stefano--Padre Cristoforo. Do you remember him?" "Yes. He was very good to me. I was there for twelve months or more. He gave me work to do in the school." "Will you mention that to my uncle? He is very fond of Padre Cristoforo." "I thought," said Stretton, colouring a little, and almost as though he were excusing himself, "that it would be useless to give the name of a Romanist Prior as a referee to Mr. Heron. Most people would think it an objection in itself?" "Why not give English names, then?" said Elizabeth. "Because I have no English friends." There was a little silence. Stretton was leaning back in his seat, looking quietly out to sea; Elizabeth was sitting erect, with her hands crossed on her lap. Presently she spoke, but without turning her head.