“Not at all,” he declared. “It was a certainty. Eleven out of the twelve pillars had been built before the end of the seventeenth century—the ninth, later.”
“How did you know?” she asked quickly.
“Because the bricks of the eleven others are of a size that has not been in use for the last two hundred years, while the bricks of number nine are those which are in use to-day. Therefore number nine was demolished and then rebuilt. Why, if not to hide this branch of the candlestick?”
She was silent for a good minute. Then she said slowly:
“It’s extraordinary.... I should never have believed it possible to succeed.... And so quickly! There, where we had all failed.... Yes: it really was a miracle.”
“Love’s miracle,” said Ralph.
The carriage sped along with astonishing rapidity, keeping to cross-country lanes, it avoided the passage through villages. Up hill and down dale the ardor of those two little thin horses never flagged. On either side the country passed like images in a dream.
“Was Beaumagnan there?” asked the Countess.
“Luckily for him he was not,” said Ralph with a darkling air.
“Why luckily?”