Here, now, are the present employment and emotions of five of our characters—Tommy, with car and chauffeur, off to Devonshire, which was to be the starting-point of his search for a man with a peacock feather in his hat; General Carden watching hourly (though it was far too soon to begin to watch) for a telegram which should acquaint him of the success of the search; Anne alternating between waves of pride and despair and delicious secret joy; and Muriel spending hours with St. Joseph, imploring the dear Saint to hurry up with the job he had so successfully begun.  
The intervals between these visits she spent mainly with Anne, rejoicing with her in her happier moods, encouraging, chiding, sympathizing when the waves of despair rolled high. Muriel alone knew to the full the heart of this woman friend of hers, saw the proud spirit a captive between the hands of Love, realized what the captivity meant to her.
 
As for our fifth character, Millicent Sheldon, a pretty truthful rumour of Tommy’s expedition having reached her, her feelings were at first distinctly mixed, though it is certain that presently she found a method of adjusting them to her own satisfaction. After all, it was unquestionably the hand of Providence which had removed the somewhat impecunious Peter from her life and given her in exchange the solid Theobald Horatio, with his equally solid income acquired from the patent of the little brushes which, being fixed behind carts, kept the London streets in a cleanly condition. It is not to be supposed that she dwelt upon these brushes; those articles had long ago been firmly obliterated from her mind. It was in the solid income alone that she saw the hand of Providence and realized that all had undoubtedly been for the best. Had Peter’s innocence been apparent from the outset, there would have been no excuse for the letter she had penned him at the time of his release from jail. Of a former letter, written on the first hearing of his accusation and conviction, [Pg 291]she did not care to think. If she thought of it at all at this juncture it was to tell herself the letter had been prompted by an impulse of pity, the folly of which was shown her later by calm reason. That reason had been aided by the advent of Theobald Horatio Sheldon on her horizon, she naturally did not care to allow. It was, however, her inadvertent mention of this first letter and the subsequent events to Anne which had caused her to break a second time in Anne’s eyes.
 
But why dwell on her further? Let her remain satisfied, as she protests she is, in the possession of her Theobald, her little Theobalda, and her Theobald’s solid income. Her influence on these pages has ceased; our acquaintance with her may well cease also.
 
Tommy’s expedition was certainly not all joy. The month of January is hardly one to be willingly chosen for a motor tour through England, and the weather was distinctly unkind.
 
To attempt to recount his adventures would be to fill a volume with a description of bad roads, hailstorms, punctures, and repeated disappointments. Nevertheless he eventually got on the [Pg 292]track of that peacock feather, and followed it up as surely as a bloodhound on the scent of his prey, though more than once he had to return on his own trail.
 
How Tommy kept on the scent at all was a marvel. It was by shee............