It was a divine day, and the breezes were blowing freshly across the spacious Downs from the distant Channel. Beatrice loved to look on these wide spaces of green, and to watch the sheep moving across the close-shorn turf, which they kept in such good order. A mile's walk brought her into the vicinity where Mrs. Lilly had informed her that Orchard watched his flock, and she speedily saw the hut, a tiny box of a house roofed with turf and standing on the Downs, without railing, or fence, or garden round it--just like a house that had lost its way. Fate favoured her, and she took it as a good omen when she saw the old man seated at the door eating his midday meal. He was bent and white-headed, and had a long white beard. In fact, he might have passed for Father Christmas had he been appropriately dressed. His eyes were faded, blue and mild, and he seemed in no wise disturbed when she approached. "Good day, miss," said the ex-butler. "Good day," responded Beatrice. "Will you let me sit down? I have been walking for some time." "Certainly, miss," said Orchard, with the deference of a former indoor servant; "but the air will do you good. I suppose, miss, you are one of the gentry from Brighton? They often come up here to breathe the air and get appetites. Sit down, miss." By this time he had brought out a stool, and Beatrice sat down with a weary air, for she really was tired. "I come from the Weald," she said, waving her hand towards the luxurious verdure of the valley below. "I live there." "A very nice place, miss. I lived there once myself." "At Convent Grange?" said Beatrice, glad to see that Orchard was disposed to be communicative. He turned a mild look of surprise on her, and considered her face attentively. "Why, yes, miss," he replied, "although I don't know how you come to know that." "Mrs. Lilly told me." Orchard let a glimmering smile rest on his pale lips. "Sarah Lilly?" he said musingly. "Ah, I have not seen her since we were fellow-servants together--and that was long ago. I might have married her, miss, as we liked one another. But she was married and I was married, so we couldn't come together." "I should think not," said Beatrice, smiling at the grave way in which the old shepherd spoke. "Mrs. Lilly is a great friend of mine." "Is she, miss? And no doubt"--he considered her still more attentively--"Mrs. Lilly told you how I came to be a shepherd?" "Yes, she told me that." "I did it for my nerves," said Orchard, looking away at the treeless green expanse; "they were shattered by the terrible calamity which happened in that house. The air here cured me." "Do you know who killed Colonel Hall?" "You are the first person who has asked me that question for many years, miss. Time was when many did so, but the Colonel has been buried these five-and-twenty years, and his terrible death is quite forgotten. I don't know who killed him--for certain, that is, miss." "Have you no suspicion?"