Once more Edward Webb lay long awake, listening, as he knew the others did, for the noise of a hurried step outside. "Poor man! poor woman! poor boy!" he murmured, and then his thoughts hung hoveringly over the fact of his own parenthood. What had he done? Worse still, what had he left undone? The wind rose with a gathering swell of sound; rain fell and pattered on the window, pattering, pattering, until it seemed like voices. He fell asleep, but in a little while he wakened. Someone was moving about downstairs. Very quietly he went to the head of the stairs. "Who's there?" he called. Clara answered him. "It's only me." "What are you doing?" "Just making up the fire. It's such a stormy night--and cold." * * * * * The morning was very fair. The world had the washed look it needs in mid-July, and there were still raindrops sparkling in the sun. "I think he'll come back to-day," Clara said to Alexander. "Will you take Mr. Webb for a walk--a long walk? You'd better not be here, either of you." "You're not afraid?" "Afraid! I'm only afraid when you're there, Alexander." "You needn't blame me." "I don't," she said. After breakfast Alexander and Edward Webb set off together. "Will you have a bathe?" the boy asked when they reached the Broad Beck pool. "I should like it." "Can you swim?" "Yes--well, I can keep up." "All right, then. Look how deep it is. Last summer it was shallower by four feet." He stripped and dived, and Edward Webb, not to be outdone, followed him with a splash. "Ah!" He came up bubbling. "How Theresa would like this. It's cold, distinctly cold, but it does one good, braces one. But I think I'll just get out on this rock for a while." Alexander, lying on his back and kicking the water gently with his heels, appeared to address the sky. "I thought you had two girls." "So I have. Oh, I see your point." He slipped into the water again, made three strokes, and found he could touch bottom. "It's shallower here." "No," said Alexander; "I really thought she might have died, or something." "I'm very fond of her. Alexander, this water's very cold. I think we ought not to stay too long. But I admit that Theresa does seem more akin to me. I hope I have not let Grace know it. You were right to reproach me." "I didn't mean to--at least, I hope I didn't mean to." "You must not think I do not care for Grace, but Theresa--well, Theresa has all the gifts I wanted when I was young. Have you a towel?" "What were those? No, no towel; the shirt does. What were those gifts?" he was obliged to ask again. "You haven't seen her. If you saw her, you would understand. I'll bring a picture of her next time I come. I wish you'd get out, my boy; it's very cold." "I'm used to it. All the year round I bathe here." "But, besides, she's clever. She'll make a name." "How?" Clad now in shirt and trousers, Edward Webb approached the pool, and perhaps he thought the silver birches bowed their heads to hear.