Evil dreaded is never avoided, never completely shunned, but is by
one's side at the very moment of triumph in escape. There he was by
her side; and there was a quarter of a mile intervening between her
and the church; but even yet she trusted that he had not recognised
her.

"I have changed my mind, you see," said he, quietly. "I have some
curiosity to see the architecture of the church; some of these old
country churches have singular bits about them. Mr Bradshaw kindly
directed me part of the way, but I was so much puzzled by 'turns to
the right,' and 'turns to the left,' that I was quite glad to espy
your party."

That speech required no positive answer of any kind; and no answer
did it receive. He had not expected a reply. He knew, if she were
Ruth, she could not answer any indifferent words of his; and her
silence made him more certain of her identity with the lady by his
side.

"The scenery here is of a kind new to me; neither grand, wild, nor
yet marked by high cultivation; and yet it has great charms. It
reminds me of some parts of Wales." He breathed deeply, and then
added, "You have been in Wales, I believe?"

He spoke low; almost in a whisper. The little church-bell began to
call the lagging people with its quick, sharp summons. Ruth writhed
in body and spirit, but struggled on. The church-door would be gained
at last; and in that holy place she would find peace.

He repeated in a louder tone, so as to compel an answer in order to
conceal her agitation from the girls:

"Have you never been in Wales?" He used "never" instead of "ever,"
and laid the emphasis on that word, in order to mark his meaning to
Ruth, and Ruth only. But he drove her to bay.

"I have been in Wales, sir," she replied, in a calm, grave tone. "I
was there many years ago. Events took place there, which contribute
to make the recollection of that time most miserable to me. I shall
be obliged to you, sir, if you will make no further reference to it."

The little girls wondered how Mrs Denbigh could speak in such a
tone of quiet authority to Mr Donne, who was almost a member of
Parliament. But they settled that her husband must have died in
Wales, and, of course, that would make the recollection of the
country "most miserable," as she said.

Mr Donne did not dislike the answer, and he positively admired the
dignity with which she spoke. His leaving her as he did must have
made her very miserable; and he liked the pride that made he