The chiming clock in the stable tower, with pompous deliberation, had just sounded the third quarter after four o'clock when the curate espied a familiar scarlet cloak coming down the graveled walk.
"Enfin!" he breathed in relief, and a moment later he was walking at Hester's side, marveling at the innocence and candor of her beautiful dark eyes.
"My dear child," he began kindly, "I have something important to say to you. Would you mind strolling over toward the lake? I know a quiet seat where we may talk—shall I say without interruption?"
The girl looked at him in surprise.
"I will do whatever you wish, sir," she said simply. "You have been so good to me! I hope I have done nothing to displease you."
"Of course not, my child, that is to say, why—er—of course not," he replied, remembering with difficulty that it was his duty to dissemble.
They came presently to Horatio's favorite retreat by the lake, a low, broad bench between two friendly fir trees, and here, looking out over the placid surface, with its heavy shade lines following the shores, they had a memorable interview. It was characteristic of Merle that he chose this spot of soothing beauty, where nature seemed to reveal her tenderest moods, for the hard business of criminal investigation.
"The point is, Hester," he began, "I have been thinking over the matter of your arrival at Ipping House and your establishment here, and, while I have the deepest sympathy for you, my friend, I feel that I should have shown a greater interest in your family and—er—antecedents; in short, I should have asked you to tell me a little more about yourself."
"I'll be glad to tell you anything you want to know," the girl said with an air of perfect truthfulness, while the curate continued to marvel.
"How did you happen to come to so small and unimportant a place as Ippingford? As I understand it, you knew no one here and—er—why did you buy a ticket to Ippingford?"