Miss Baldwin came back to Hayslope after the Christmas holidays not without hopes of developments having taken place during her absence, which would introduce the new chapter she was longing for. Her return after holidays was always greeted with welcoming chatter by Alice and Isabelle, who were of an age when even the arrival of a governess to whom they were not greatly attached was something of an excitement. Miss Baldwin never seemed to take much interest in the news they poured out to her, and she asked very few questions; but she had gathered a good deal by the time her charges were in bed and her time was her own to think it over.

The coming move was the most important piece of news. The excitement of the children over any change was enough in this instance at least to balance their regrets at leaving Hayslope. It was not quite settled yet, but it was almost certain that they were going some time in the spring to live at that dear old farmhouse which you passed on the road to Pershore, about half a mile before you came to the Castle. Miss Baldwin remembered it quite well, and the news gave her rather a shock, though the children seemed to be delighted with the idea. It was an old stone-built house standing very near the road, with its farmstead adjoining it—hardly a gentleman's residence, in her opinion, and a great come down from Hayslope Hall. But it was the farm buildings, which would go with it, that made it attractive in the eyes of Alice and Isabelle. And they were to have ponies. That would have made up for more than they would actually lose by the move. Lord Crowborough was going to do a good deal to the house before they went to it. It was bigger than it looked from the outside, and there was a lovely great attic running the whole length of the house where they would be able to play.

So the children were satisfied, and Miss Baldwin had gathered from the talk at supper that their elders thought themselves fortunate in finding such a house for themselves. There was talk of panelled rooms and a fine oak staircase, and of restorations that were to be made to bring it back to the state from which it had somewhat fallen. It was a house of the same quality as Town Farm at Hayslope. Colonel Eldridge's chief regret seemed to be that he could not restore his own house in the same way, instead of renting one from somebody else.

To Miss Baldwin's observant eyes, Colonel Eldridge seemed to have aged since she had last seen him. He had been unwell, and was not quite himself yet, though he wouldn't acknowledge it. But the change in him didn't come from that. He was depressed and silent, and made fewer efforts to conceal his mood before his family than was his custom. Miss Baldwin wondered whether his family knew everything that was behind this somewhat startling change in his life. Was he hiding anything from them? Was he a secret gambler, with a chapter to come in which his horses would be led away from the door, and his wife would lean over a ruined man with bent head and nervous fingers clutching a pack of cards? But she rejected the idea. Colonel Eldridge only had one horse, and an old pony, and he could hardly be induced to make a four at family Bridge, with stakes of threepence a hundred. The estrangement from his brother still continued; she had gathered that. There was something there to wonder about, perhaps a recently discovered will, perhaps the change of an heir at birth. Time would show. There was not enough yet to alter the interest of a love story into one of mystery.

She divined, with some special sense that she had, that Fred Comfrey was a definitely rejected suitor; though the children had hardly mentioned his name and the others not at all. But it could not have been that which made Pamela almost as silent and sad-looking as her father, in spite of her efforts to behave with her usual brightness, and especially so to him. It was only at odd moments that Miss Baldwin caught the look on her face which told her so much; and the silence was for when her father and mother were not there.

What was it then that was troubling her? Miss Baldwin formed many conjectures, but recognized that she must wait for further material in order to set her thoughts to one of them.

The occasion that she wanted came two days after she had returned to Hayslope. Lord Horsham came over to lunch, and stayed for the afternoon. He was going back to Oxford the next day.

Pamela's spirits had come back to her. She laughed and chattered in her old way. Lord Horsham had never had such a reception from her in Miss Baldwin's recollection, though all of them were brought into it, and there was no time that Miss Baldwin knew of when she was alone with him during that lively afternoon. When he had gone, she relapsed into her listless mood, which was even more marked than it had been before.

So now Miss Baldwin knew. Pamela loved Lord Horsham, and any separation from him lay heavy upon her spirits. She wondered what had brought the change, for Pamela had certainly not been in love with him a month ago. As for him, there was no doubt about it. He was head over ears, and showed it plainly. It could not be long now before that chapter, and with it the whole story, was satisfactorily closed.

Colonel Eldridge had a great deal of estate work to do now, which had fallen somewhat into arrears during the days he had been laid up. Besides hours spent in his office, where there was now only a clerk to help him, he had to be out constantly, and in all weathers. Mrs. Eldridge tried to dissuade him from going about so much, but he was not a man who would respond to such dissuasion, with the result that he caught another bad cold and had to take to his bed. There she had him to some extent at her mercy, but she could not prevent him worrying himself over what ought to have been done, but couldn't be done, or from busying himself with papers, when he ought to have been lying still doing nothing.

He began to mend on the third day, and proposed to get up on the next. She took up his breakfast herself, and his letters, and then went down to her own. When she went up again, he was lying still, with very little breakfast eaten and half his letters unopened. She persuaded him to eat a little more, and he talked to her for a time, and then said he should like a message sent over to ask Lord Crowborough to come and see him. He thought he would go to sleep in the meantime; there wouldn't be much to do this morning; better take full advantage of his last day in bed. He smiled at her and said that she was not to come bothering him until Lord Crowborough came. He wanted to see him about something particularly. Perhaps she'd better send the car for him, and a note. No, he would write the note himself. She was to go down and order the car, while he wrote it.

An hour or so later Lord Crowborough was ushered into his room, with a face of concern. This was apparently on account of Colonel Eldridge's illness, for he was quite cheerful with Mrs. Eldridge until she left them, with instructions not to interrupt their confabulation, which might take some time. But when the door had been shut behind her his face was more concerned than ever as he came to the bedside, and said: "You've had some bad news, Edmund. I'm very sorry to hear that. And you're not in a fit state for it, either. I can see that."

Colonel Eldridge handed him a letter. "You're the only man, I suppose, who knows all about it," he said. "Is it true?"

Lord Crowborough read the letter through, with pursing of the lips, and a deepening frown. Colonel Eldridge watched his face anxiously for a time, and then turned his eyes away, and lay quite still until he had finished.

Lord Crowborough glanced at him, when he had come to the end, and waited a moment before speaking. Then he folded the letter and said: "Yes, Edmund, it's true, in all essentials; but what a wicked thing to send it to you! The woman must be mad."

Colonel Eldridge roused himself. "Oh, you see what she says. It has been lying on her conscience.... Spiritualism, and all that.... She wants excitement, of course. We needn't bother about her; she's had the money, thank goodness. She can't do anything more, except put it about, which I dare say she will do, though she swears she won't. It's you I'm thinking of, John. I quarrelled with you for saying it; I behaved badly to you. I...."

Lord Crowborough lifted hands of deprecation. "Oh, my dear Edmund; my dear fellow! I ought not to have taken the line I did about it. I regretted it very much afterwards, when the poor boy was killed. Don't think anything more about that. And don't let it affect you towards his memory. He'd gone wrong; yes, more than you knew; but he made up for it in the end. I've thought kindly of him, you know, for a long time past, and I knew it all the time. Perhaps it would have been better if you had known it at the first. It's a blow, coming now. But nothing is changed by it. You must put it aside. You will, in time. It's all forgiven."

There was silence for a time. Then Colonel Eldridge said: "You're kind and good about it, John. I knew you would be, when I sent for you. And you've been kind all along. I know now that my son—cheated—yours out of a large sum of money, besides pushing him into something that he'd never have taken up, if he had been left to himself. I know Horsham well enough to say that; and my son was an older man, who ought to have looked after him—coming into the Regiment as a boy—the son of one of my oldest friends. It was very bad. I can't quite bring my mind to it. But the first thing to be done is to arrange for the payment—"

Lord Crowborough had tried to break in once or twice, and now did so decisively. "My dear Edmund, the money was paid. William knew, and he insisted on doing it. I couldn't refuse. Whatever I might have done, if I'd been left to myself, I don't deserve the credit of that. There's nothing more to be done there."

"William paid, you say?"

"Yes. Fortunately I told him all about it—you knew that, didn't you? It was when I was still very angry, and had let out to you what I did, that you took such exception to. I hope I should have done afterwards what I did do, and draw back from what I had said, so as to keep the knowledge of it from you. But it was William who showed me that it was the right thing to do, and almost directly afterwards the poor boy was killed, and then I can tell you I was very glad that I hadn't pressed it with you. William saw it at once. He made me take a cheque for the—for the loss, then and there, and promise never to mention it again, even to him. I've wished lately...."

He broke off. "You've wished lately that I'd known that," said Colonel Eldridge quietly. "So do I. One doesn't quarrel with men who treat one like that."

Lord Crowborough didn't quite understand him. "I don't think you need consider it as an extra obligation," he said. "I know it was over and done with, for William, when he wrote his cheque, and made me promise to say nothing about it. I've talked to him since, as you know, and he was extremely irritated against you—no sense in pretending he wasn't—but that never came up. I'm sure he's never grudged it, whatever has happened since."

"I wasn't thinking about the money. I've thought too much about William's money, and talked too much about it, to you among others. His money made it easy for him, perhaps, to pay what had to be paid; but it had nothing to do with his taking pains to keep me from knowledge of my son's disgrace."

Lord Crowborough brightened. "Oh, I'm so glad you've said that, Edmund," he said. "You've both misunderstood each other, and you've drifted apart. My dear fellow, if this brings you together again— Oh, I shall be so glad of that."

Again there was silence for a time. Then Colonel Eldridge said: "Horsham knows, I suppose. He and this—this woman's son joined together, didn't they? It was plain to all of them."

Lord Crowborough had forgotten for the moment what a shock the certain knowledge of his son's disgrace must have been to him, and set himself to remove the effects of it from his mind. Colonel Eldridge accepted what he said, listlessly, but it was evident that no words could heal the wound that had been dealt him. Only time could do that. Even the knowledge of his brother's action, which had changed the current of his thoughts for a time seemed to have brought him only temporary relief. He seemed hardly interested in it now. There was an air of hopeless depression on him that Lord Crowborough was quite unable to remove.

He roused himself to agree upon what steps to take. There was little that could be done. Lord Crowborough himself answered the letter then and there. He wrote on behalf of his friend, who was ill. His own son had been concerned in the affair about which Mrs. Barrett had written to Colonel Eldridge, and all the facts were known to him. Until now they had not been known to Colonel Eldridge. He would not pretend that he understood the motives which had led her to deliver such a blow to a man who had lost his only son, and thus immeasurably increase his grief. He would only beg of her to let the story go no farther.

He directed and closed the letter without offering to show it to Colonel Eldridge, who made no request that he should do so. Then he burnt the letter that had worked such mischief, and soon afterwards he went away, very disturbed in his mind at what had taken place, and what its effects might be.

Colonel Eldridge lay in bed all that day, doing nothing, and not wishing to talk. The next day he got up, and went about his business as usual, though Mrs. Eldridge begged him to stay in the house.