ite, and she carried
her hat in her hand. There were rims under her eyes. She walks
slowly. She is afraid--a little hysterical. You see her?"

He pointed out of the window. The woman nodded.

"Sit down," she muttered. "We shall see."

He sank into a low chair, with his face turned toward the window. No
further words passed between them. They sat there till the sun sank
behind the hills, and the dusk began to cast shadows over the land.

A servant came and said something about dinner. Rachael waved her
away.

"In an hour, or an hour and a half," she said.

The shadows grew deeper. Rachael's face seemed unchanged, but
Saton had grown so pale that his fixed eyes seemed to have become
unnaturally large. Sometimes his lips moved, though the sounds which
he uttered never resolved themselves into speech. At last Rachael rose
to her feet. She pointed out of the window. Saton gave a little gasp.

"She is there?" he asked, breathlessly.

"She comes," Rachael answered. "See that you do not lose your power
again. I am exhausted. I am going to rest."

She passed out of the room. Saton went and stood before the low
window. Slowly, and with hesitating footsteps, Lois came up the path,
lifted the latch of the little gate, and stood in the garden, close to
a tall group of hollyhocks.

Saton went out to her.

"You have come to tell me that you are sorry?" he said.

"Yes!" she answered.

"You did not mean what you said?"

"No!"

"Come in," he whispered.

He laid his fingers upon her hand, and she followed him into the room.
She was very pale, and she was breathing as though she had been
running. He passed his arm around her waist.

"You are not angry with me any longer?" he whispered in her ear. "You
will kiss me?"

"If you wish," she answered.

He looked into her eyes for a moment. Then he took her into his arms.

"Dear Lois," he whispered, "you must never be so unkind to me again."

CHAPTER XXIII

AN UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTER

Rochester and Pauline were driving through the country lanes in a
small, old-fashioned pony carriage. Westward, the clouds were still
stained by a brilliant sunset. The air was clear and brisk, chill with
the invigorating freshness of the autumn evening. Already the
stillness had come, the stillness which is the herald of night. The
laborers had deserted the fields, the wind had dropped, a pleasant
smell of burning weeds from a bonfire by the side of the road crept
into the air.