Richard stayed for a moment looking round at the signs of her late presence. Mechanically he stooped to pick up her embroidery and the pieces of her handkerchief. The two flowers were broken off short, and he threw them away. Then he left the room and went out on to the sunny terrace, gazing across the beautiful gardens into the blue distance.

Across the lawn came a child of four or five, waving a grimy hand.

“Father!”

Richard looked down at him and smiled.

“Well, John?”

The boy climbed up the terrace steps, calling his news all the way.

“ ’Tis Uncle Andrew, sir. He has rid over to see you, and is coming through the garden to find you.”

“Is he? Has he left his horse at the stables?”