"Let us sit down," she said at last, gently disengaging herself from
him. "There are so many things I want to ask you."

"And I too," he answered. "I have something to say--something I cannot
keep to myself any longer."

He led the way to a fallen tree, a little removed from the footpath.
They were scarcely seated, however, before he turned his head sharply
in the direction from which he had come. His whole frame seemed to
have become suddenly rigid with an intense effort of listening. He
raised his finger with a warning gesture.

"Sit still," he whispered. "Don't say anything. There is someone
coming."

Her hand fell upon his. They sat side by side in an almost breathless
silence, safely screened from observation unless the passers-by,
whoever they might be, should be unusually curious.

It was Pauline and Rochester who came--Pauline in a tailor-made gown
of dark green cloth--Pauline, slim, tall and elegant. Rochester was
bending toward her, talking earnestly. He wore a tweed shooting suit,
and carried a gun under either arm.

"You see who it is?" Lois whispered.

Saton nodded. His face had darkened, his cheeks were almost livid. His
eyes followed the two with an expression which terrified the girl who
sat by his side.

"Bertrand," she whispered, "why do you look like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, without moving his eyes from the spot where
those two figures had disappeared.

She shivered a little.

"You looked as though you hated Mr. Rochester. You looked angry--more
than angry. You frightened me."

"I do hate him," Saton answered slowly. "I hate him as he hates me. We
are enemies."

"Yet you were not looking at him all the time," she persisted. "You
looked at Pauline, too. You don't hate her, do you?"

He drew a little breath between his clenched teeth. If only this child
would hold her peace!

"No!" he said. "I do not hate Lady Marrabel."

"Is it because he has interfered between us," she asked timidly, "that
you dislike Mr. Rochester so much? Remember that very soon I shall be
of age."

"He has no right to interfere in my concerns at all," Saton answered,
evasively. "Hush!"

The two had halted at a little wooden gate which led into the strip of
field dividing the two plantations. Rochester was looking back along
the footpath by which they had come. They could hear his voice
distinctly.

"Johnson must have got lost," he remarked, a little impatiently. "I
will leave my second gun here f