It was a copy of the 'Christian Year,' and writing on the fly-leaf
showed that it belonged, or had once belonged, to Adela Waltham.

Hubert regarded it with surprise.

'It was lent to me a year ago,' he said. 'I took it away with me. I
had forgotten that I had it.'

The circumstances under which it had been lent to him came back very
clearly now. It was after that visit to his friend which had come so
unhappily between him and Adela. When he went to bid her good-bye he
found her alone, and she was reading this book. She spoke of it,
and, in surprise that he had never read it, begged him to take it to
Oxford.

'I have another copy,' Adela said. 'You can return that any time.'

The time had only now come. Hubert resolved to take the book to
Wanley in the evening; if no other means offered, Mr. Wyvern would
return it to the owner. Might he enclose a note? Instead of that, he
wrote out from memory two of his own sonnets, the best of those he
had recently composed under the influence of the 'Vita Nuova,' and
shut them between the pages. Then he made the book into a parcel and
addressed it.

He started for his walk at the same hour as on the evening before.
There was frost in the air, and already the stars were bright. As he
drew near to Wanley, the road was deserted; his footfall was loud on
the hard earth. The moon began to show her face over the dark top of
Stanbury Hill, and presently he saw by the clear rays that the