rible as that night. It was the crisis of this
agony. He was an outcast and a failure. But he was not again forced to
contemplate these facts so clearly. Varden left in the morning, carrying
the fatal letter with him. The whole house was relieved. The good angel
was with the boys again, or else (as Herbert preferred to think) they
had learnt a lesson, and were more humane in consequence. At all events,
the disastrous term concluded quietly.

In the Christmas holidays the two masters made an abortive attempt to
visit Italy, and at Easter there was talk of a cruise in the Aegean.
Herbert actually went, and enjoyed Athens and Delphi. The Elliots paid a
few visits together in England. They returned to Sawston about ten days
before school opened, to find that Widdrington was again stopping
with the Jacksons. Intercourse was painful, for the two families were
scarcely on speaking terms; nor did the triumphant scaffoldings of
the new boarding-house make things easier. (The party of progress had
carried the day.) Widdrington was by nature touchy, but on this occasion
he refused to take offence, and often dropped in to see them. His manner
was friendly but critical. They agreed he was a nuisance. Then Agnes
left, very abruptly, to see Mrs. Failing, and while she was away Rickie
had a little stealthy intercourse.

Her absence, convenient as it was, puzzled him. Mrs. Silt, half goose,
half stormy-petrel, had recently paid a flying visit to Cadover, and
thence had flown, without an invitation, to Sawston. Generally she was
not a welcome guest. On this occasion Agnes had welcomed her, and--so
Rickie thought--had made her promise not to tell him something that she
knew. The ladies had talked mysteriously. "Mr. Silt would be one with
you there," said Mrs. Silt. Could there be any connection between the
two visits?

Agnes's letters told him nothing: they never did. She was too clumsy
or too cautious to express herself on paper. A drive to Stonehenge;
an anthem in the Cathedral; Aunt Emily's love. And when he met her at
Waterloo he learnt nothing (if there was anything to learn) from her
face.

"How did you enjoy yourself?"

"Thoroughly."

"Were you and she alone?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes other people."

"Will Uncle Tony's Essays be published?"

Here she was more communicative. The book was at last in proof. Aunt
Emily had written a charming introduction; but she was so idle, she
never finished things off.

They got into an