Then he and his mother and friend fled over seas: he feverishly determined to get well and beat the fates.

But, after a halcyon time Palestine and Constantinople, a whiff of poisoned air at Cannes, on their way home, acting on a low constitutional state, settled matters.
Robert was laid up for weeks with malarious fever, and when he struggled out again into the hot Riviera sunshine, it was clear to himself and everybody else that he must do what he could, and not what he would, in the Christian vineyard.
'Mother,' he said one day, suddenly looking up at her as she sat near him working, 'can _you_ be happy at Murewell ?' There was a wistfulness in the long, thin face, and a pathetic accent of surrender in the voice, which hurt the mother's heart.
'I can be happy wherever you are,' she said, laying her brown nervous hand on his blanched one.
'Then give me pen and paper and let me write to Mowbray; I wonder whether the place has changed at all.

Heigh ho! How is one to preach to people who have stuffed you up with gooseberries, or swung you on gates, or lifted you over puddles to save your petticoats?
I wonder what has become of that boy whom I hit in the eye with my bow and arrow, or of that other lout who pummelled me into the middle of next week for disturbing his bird-trap?
By the way, is the Squire-is Roger Wendover--living at the Hall now ?' He turned to his mother with a sudden start of interest.
'So I hear,' said Mrs.Elsmere, dryly.

'_He_ won't be much good to you.' He sat on meditating while she went for pen and paper.

He had forgotten the Squire of Murewell.