“And I’ve often wondered,” he answered, “which of the lights I’ve seen from the top of Babylon Hill was yours.”

“We neither of us know,” she said sadly.

“Neither of us,” he echoed.

The flame of the candle she had picked up from the parlour-mantelpiece was now blowing sideways, and the grease guttering down. “I’ll light the lamp and then you’ll see how it looks,” she said eagerly. “It’s not an ordinary green. It’s a peculiar kind of green. I wish we did know whether it could be seen from Babylon Hill!”