, was Sidwell's friend; the other
two, on whom he did not yet venture to cast a glance, sat--or rather
had just risen--in a dim background. As he shook hands with Sylvia,
they drew nearer; one of them was a man, and, as his voice at once
declared, no other than Buckland Warricombe. Peak returned his
greeting, and, in the same moment, gazed at the last of the party. Mrs.
Moorhouse was speaking.

'Mr. Peak--Miss Moxey.'

A compression of the lips was the only sign of disturbance that anyone
could have perceived on Godwin's countenance. Already he had strung
himself against his wonted agitation, and the added trial did not
sensibly enhance what he suffered. In discovering that he had rightly
identified the figure at the window, he experienced no renewal of the
dread which brought him to a stand-still. Already half prepared for
this stroke of fate, he felt a satisfaction in being able to meet it so
steadily. Tumult of thought was his only trouble; it seemed as if his
brain must burst with the stress of its lightning operations. In three
seconds, he re-lived the past, made several distinct anticipations of
the future, and still discussed with himself how he should behave this
moment. He noted that Marcella's face was bloodless; that her attempt
to smile resulted in a very painful distortion of brow and lips. And he
had leisure to pity her. This emotion prevailed. With a sense of
magnanimity, which afterwards excited his wonder, he pressed the cold
hand and said in a cheerful tone:

'Our introduction took place long ago, if I'm not mistaken. I had no
idea, Miss Moxey, that you were among Mrs. Moorhouse's friends.'

'Nor I that you were, Mr. Peak,' came the answer, in a steadier voice
than Godwin had expected.

Mrs. Moorhouse and her daughter made the pleasant exclamations that
were called for. Buckland Warricombe, with a doubtful smile on his
lips, kept glancing from Miss Moxey to her acquaintance and back again.
Peak at length faced him.

'I hoped we should meet down here this autumn.'

'I should have looked you up in a day or two,' Buckland replied,
seating himself. 'Do you propose to stay in Exeter through the winter?'

'I'm not quite sure--but I think it likely.'

Godwin turned to the neighbour of whose presence he was most conscious.

'I hope your brother is well, Miss Moxey?'

Their eyes encountered steadily.

'Yes, he is quite well, thank you. He often says that it seems very
long since he heard from you