"I know my great-grandfather's name was Humphrey," answered Lenox, "and the dates would seem to correspond."
Diana's clothes were dried at last, and brushed. Even her hat, by the aid of a fishing-rod, had been recovered from the moat. Though rather crushed and spoilt they were quite wearable. She felt herself again when she had put them on. Mrs. Elliot sent a servant to conduct the young people to the lodge, and order the gate to be unlocked for their exit. She received their renewed apologies and thanks in the same calm manner in which she had greeted them.
"I hope the photos will come out well," were her last words, as she stood at the door watching them walk across the bridge.
When Lenox and Diana returned to the inn, and burst upon the rest of the party, who were having breakfast, their extraordinary story was at first scarcely believed.
"Bunkum, my boy!" said Giles, shaking his head.
But the two witnesses gave such a circumstantial account of their adventure that incredulity turned to amazement, and then amusement.
"You cheeky young cubs!" declared Mr. Hewlitt. "I think Mrs. Elliot was far too good to you."
"You got more than you deserved; but I'm grateful to her for drying you, Diana," commented Mrs. Hewlitt.
"I wish we'd been with you," said Giles. "You've had all the luck."