without a solicitous wonder arising as to what he was doing. A true
woman, she would assume the remotest possibility to be the most
likely contingency, if the possibility had the recommendation of
being tragical; and she now feared that something was wrong with
Swithin St. Cleeve. Yet there was not the least doubt that he had
become so immersed in the business of the new telescope as to forget
everything else.

On Sunday, between the services, she walked to Little Welland,
chiefly for the sake of giving a run to a house-dog, a large St.
Bernard, of whom she was fond. The distance was but short; and she
returned along a narrow lane, divided from the river by a hedge,
through whose leafless twigs the ripples flashed silver lights into
her eyes. Here she discovered Swithin, leaning over a gate, his
eyes bent upon the stream.

The dog first attracted his attention; then he heard her, and turned
round. She had never seen him looking so despondent.

'You have never called, though I invited you,' said Lady
Constantine.

'My great telescope won't work!' he replied lugubriously.

'I am sorry for that. So it has made you quite forget me?'

'Ah, yes; you wrote me a very kind letter, which I ought to have
answered. Well, I did forget, Lady Constantine. My new telescope
won't work, and I don't know what to do about it at all!'