time-enclosed it in her name; and that sphere enclosed her, not excluding
him. And the dear name of Browny played gently, humorously, fervently,
too, with life: not, pathetically, as that of Aminta did when came a
whisper of her situation, her isolation, her friendlessness; hardly
dissimilar to what could be imagined of a gazelle in the streets of
London city. The Morsfields were not all slain. The Weyburns would be
absent.

At the gate of his cottage garden Weyburn beheld a short unfamiliar
figure of a man with dimly remembered features. Little Collett he still
was in height. The schoolmates had not met since the old days of
Cuper's.

Little Collett delivered a message of invitation from Selina, begging Mr.
Weyburn to accompany her brother on the coach to Harwich next day, and
spend two or three days by the sea. But Weyburn's mind had been set in
the opposite direction--up Thames instead of down.

He was about to refuse, but he checked his voice and hummed. Words of
Selina's letter jumped in italics. He perceived Lady Ormont's hand.
For one thing, would she be at Great Marlow alone? And he knew that hand
--how deftly it moved and moved others. Selina Collett would not have
invited him with underlinings merely to see a shoreside house and garden.
Her silence regarding a particular name showed her to be under
injunction, one might guess. At worst, it would be the loss of a couple
of days; worth the venture. They agreed to journey by coach next day.

Facing eastward in the morning, on a seat behind the coachman, Weyburn
had a seafaring man beside him, bound for the good port of Harwich, where
his family lived, and thence by his own boat to Flushing. Weyburn set