"
Later in the evening my cousin and I walked out in town, and I had a long
talk with her, partly concerning Hamilton, a theme to which she always
returned, and partly concerning conditions she would meet if she became a
maid of honor. And my faith in her grew as we talked.
That night I went to sleep convinced that my beautiful cousin was strong
enough and shrewd enough to evade all the pitfalls of Whitehall, and that
her experience with Hamilton had been the one thing needful to make her
keenly alive to her danger. I felt that she was safe, but--
Near the hour of two o'clock the next afternoon, Sir Richard and I,
returning from a short walk, did not find Frances at home, so I made my
way to the Bourne Path, thinking it hardly possible that in the face of
yesterday's events Frances could have gone to meet Hamilton. Still one
can never tell; therefore I took the benefit of the doubt and set forth
to make sure.
When perhaps two miles from Sundridge, the day being warm, I climbed to a
ledge of rock on the shelving bank of the bourne, twelve or fifteen feet
above the path, and sat down to rest in the cool shade of a clump of
bushes. Below me, perhaps five or six feet above the path and far enough
back among the bushes to be hidden from passers-by, was another rocky
shelf or bench, admirably fitted to accommodate two persons.
Sarah had told me, after much questioning, that Frances had left home
only a few minutes before Sir Richard and I had returned.
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