There on the page in her father's handwriting was the signature: "Gabriel Strood." Sylvia raised her face to Hilary's, and before she could put her question he answered it quietly with a nod of the head.
"Yes, that is so," he said.
"You knew ?" "I have known for a long time," he replied.
Sylvia was lost in wonder.

Yet there was no doubt in her mind.

Gabriel Strood, of whom she had made a hero, whose exploits she knew almost by heart, had suffered from a physical disability which might well have kept the most eager mountaineer to the level.

It was because of his mastery over his disability that she had set him so high in her esteem.
Well, there had been a day when her father had tramped across the downs to Dorchester and had come back lame and in spite of his lameness had left his companions behind.

Other trifles recurred to her memory.