For the next ten minutes the sounds of the search continued to reach Lessing's ears, then came the welcome thudding of the engine, as the car swept out of the gate, showing that the men had abandoned the search of the premises. Another ten minutes, and the thudding sounded again, but from another direction, and peering cautiously between the branches, Lessing could watch the car approach down the long curve of the road encircling the meadows. It was running slowly now, its occupants no doubt engaged in searching the flat stretch of land, making sure of one direction after another in which their prisoner could not have escaped. Presently it turned and slowly traversed the same space, before it finally returned to the high road and disappeared from sight. The dusk had fallen before Lessing crept out of his hiding-place, and dragged his stiffened limbs across the meadows. He had determined to avoid the highways, and so wandered on without any idea of the direction in which he was going, but after half an hour's walking, to his joy and relief he struck a railway line, and following it soon arrived at a country station. At ten o'clock that night Lessing let himself into his rooms, dusty, dirty, incredibly fatigued, the poorer by the loss of a bag containing two quite admirable suits of clothes, but full of thankfulness and relief. For once at least he had beaten the Brethren on their own ground! "It's no good pretending. It's no good trying to deceive me. You _are_ changed!" Delia declared, nodding her pretty head with solemn emphasis. "You are changing more and more every single day. And it doesn't suit you. Hollows in the cheeks! What business has a man of thirty with hollows in his cheeks? And a different expression in your eyes. Worried, absent, scared. Valentine Lessing,--what have you been and gone and done?" Lessing was seated once more in the delightfully homely room at the corner house, enjoying the rare treat of a _tete-a-tete_ with Delia. The men of the family were out, and two minutes before the maid had announced "Mrs Wright from the District," and "Could the mistress possibly see her?" whereupon Mrs Gordon had sighed, and said: "He is out of work again, and she _is_ such a talker! Delia, dear, will you go? Give her half-a-crown, and say I'm tired." But Delia, as a rule the most helpful of daughters, resolutely refused. "No, mother; it's your duty. The vicar says you give far too much. It's pandering, and makes it hard for the other visitors. Besides, I'd _never_ get rid of her! Be a good, brave lady, and do your duty." So Mrs Gordon had departed, when Delia immediately turned to Lessing, and announced triumphantly: