stood still, covering her face with her hands as if she
would force back the tears already rolling down her cheeks. I remained
by her side, and after a pause I said, with gentle earnestness--

"Tell me what has happened, Francis; it will be a relief to you and
ease your mind."

"Yes," she resumed, calmly, "I must confide my sufferings to some
one, but not now. I will not spoil our morning walk by calling up
such a frightful scene. I can myself scarcely understand how it is
possible that I, who cannot bear to see dumb creatures suffer, have
to reproach myself with the death of one of my fellow-men."

"I beseech you to tell me all, trusting in me for my sincerest
sympathy."

"Not now," she cried; "what good would it do? It would only embitter
the few minutes we have to spend together."

"May I help you with a word it seems to cost you trouble to
pronounce? Is it not a certain unfortunate incident with regard to
your coachman?"

"Just so, that's it," she replied, assuming her defiant and bitter
tone. "If you wish to know more about it, ask the people at the
farm--they know all the particulars."

"I shall take good care not to go making inquiries into your secrets
behind your back, Francis."

"My secrets!" she exclaimed, her voice quivering with
indignation. "There is no secret in the matter. It is a question
of a dreadful accident, which happened on the public high-road
in the presence of a crowd of spectators attracted by the noise;
but the occasion was not lost to set public opinion against me. Was
it not Major Frank, who never acted like anybody else--Major Frank
the outlaw! It would have been a pity to let such an opportunity
of blackening her character pass. I ought to have reflected that
you would have heard the story; and very likely you are come here
'to interview' the heroine of such a romantic adventure. It would
be a pity you should lose your pains. There's the farm--go straight
on and ask the people to tell you all about the affair between Major
Frank and her coachman Harry Blount; both the man and his wife were
witnesses. And, Jonker van Zonshoven, when they have satisfied you, you
may return to the Werve to take your leave, and return as you came."

And off she ran, without giving me time to answer, leaving me in a
state of terrible confusion.

One thing at last seemed clear to me; I had lost her for ever. Should I
follow and overtake her? She appeared resolute to tell me no more. Yet
I must kn