utes
later he was in the train and on his way to Earlsfield.

CHAPTER XXIX

"SHE IS A WICKED WOMAN"

Am I cold--
Ungrateful--that for these most manifold
High gifts, I render nothing back at all?
Not so! not cold, but very poor instead.
--E. BARRETT BROWNING.

To love, is to be made up of faith and service.
--SHAKESPEARE.

It was half-past six when Malcolm reached the well-known station, and
taking a fly bade the man drive him to the "King's Arms," an
old-fashioned inn of good repute about half a mile distant from the
Wood House. Here he secured a room for the night; ordered supper, of
which he partook without appetite; then sallied forth to pay his call.
It was late in October, and the darkness of the country roads surprised
him, accustomed as he was to the well-lighted London streets; he could
scarcely find out his bearings until a welcome light streamed out from
the windows of the Crow's Nest. Malcolm lingered a moment at the little
gate. "It was there I dwelt in my fool's paradise," he muttered, "and
tried to eat of the forbidden fruit. Now I know good and evil, and am a
sadder and wiser man." And then he went on doggedly; but he stopped
again before he reached the gate of the Wood House, for he knew
intuitively that he had stumbled into the little path leading to the
woodlands. He strained his eyes through the darkness, but could see
nothing-only the chill, damp October wind played round him, and the
smell of moist earth and decaying vegetation filled his nostrils.
"Change and decay in all around I see," he thought heavily; but as he
turned away and crossed the road a sudden remembrance came to him and
made him giddy.

It was morning or early afternoon, he forgot which, and the sunshine
was filtering through the firs, and steeping his senses with the warm,
resinous perfume--"spices of Araby," he had called it to himself, for
he loved the scent above all things. He had clambered up the bank to
pick some honeysuckle, and then the little gate had clanged on its
hinges, and he had peeped through the brambles to see who was coming.

And of course he knew who it was--that tall, robust young woman in the
white sun-bonnet who came down the path swinging her arms slightly, but
with the free proud step of an empress. "Elizabeth, Elizabeth!" he had
whispered even then, and all the manhood within him seemed to welcome
her grac