‘I can, I do, Joan. Now, listen to me. When I spoke of calm after storm, it was of my Uncle I was thinking, as much as of this desolate scene. Poor soul, it symbolizes him, gone down to peace and silence out of turbulent fires. Could I wish him restored to all that torment? No more, methinks, than I could wish these walls restored, to contain my innocent bride. What if an evil fate was on this house, Joan? Almost I come to believe so, with her the poor wretch that hath perished under the ban she endowed it withal. A melancholy place hath it ever been, and dedicate to Death not less spiritual than material. For here have died hope and faith and will, which is a sadder decay than that of the body. Now thinking how perchance its blight might have come to fall upon my girl, it is better as it is, I cry in my heart, and see in it a very Providence to save her. Should I not be rejoiced thereat, since from this paltry holocaust rises my bird, my phœnix on bright secured wings? Not a house, or a city, or a continent, but a world against my Joan. Let it all go, sweet: I care not one jot: and I can view the sacrifice calmly, as you see. What were its wretched material worth, so it were held at my love’s peril? If we have not enough beside to live on, I have great friends who will help me to the means. Believe me, child, I speak from my soul. I am glad that what is, is.’ She was so moved and gratified to find him in this happy mood of resignation, that she could not forbear, what was unusual with Joan, a little gush of tears. She clung to him, calling upon him by every proud endearing name to witness how she would never cease to try to vindicate his beautiful trust and love of her; and presently, a little overwrought, she rested in his arms, and a long silence fell between them. It was broken suddenly by Brion:-- ‘Joan?’ ‘My lord?’ ‘I have been thinking and puzzling.’ ‘Tell me.’ ‘That doomed rogue--that Melton. What made him so anxious to possess himself of the Grange?’ ‘Why? Why not?’ ‘He had no need, it seems, for the personal estate. It was the house and grounds alone he coveted.’ ‘And enough, i’faith.’ ‘But--so barren and profitless. No, I cannot understand. I----’ a sudden thought striking him, he uttered a little sharp exclamation: ‘Why, o’ my verity and in good sooth, I never told you.’ ‘Told me what, Brion?’ ‘Where I hid him.’ ‘You said you hid him.’ ‘Yes, but where. Come, Joan--come along. I have something to show you.’ He communicated his sudden excitement to her, and she went with him, her eyes wide and her heart fluttering. He led her across the garden. ‘What, to the old well-house, Brion?’ ‘Yes, to the old well-house, Joan. Don’t you remember our visit, and my fright and your discovery? Well, I made a discovery of my own there later.’ ‘What, Brion?’ She was all curiosity and eagerness--a child again. ‘I will show you. Come.’