ent they were standing near a corner, where a
turning path made an angle in the iron rails, Mr. Dunn having proposed
that they should wait there for a few minutes before they returned
home, as it was probable that Bernard and Miss Dunstable might come
up. They had been there for some five or ten minutes, and Lily had
asked her first question about the Crawleys,--inquiring of Mr. Dunn
whether he had heard of a terrible accusation which had been made
against a clergyman in Barsetshire,--when on a sudden her tongue was
paralysed. As they were standing, Lily's horse was turned towards the
diverging path, whereas Mr. Dun was looking the other way, towards
Achilles and Apsley house. Mr. Dunn was nearer to the railings, but
though they were thus looking different ways they were so placed
that each could see the face of the other. Then, on a sudden, coming
slowly towards her along the diverging path and leaning on the arm of
another man, she saw--Adolphus Crosbie.

She had never seen him since a day on which she had parted from him
with many kisses,--with warm, pressing, eager kisses,--of which
she had been nowhat ashamed. He had then been to her almost as her
husband. She had trusted him entirely, and had thrown herself into
his arms with full reliance. There is often much of reticence on the
part of a woman towards a man to whom she is engaged, something also
of shamefacedness occasionally. There exists a shadow of doubt, at
least of that hesitation which shows that in spite of vows the woman
knows that a change may come, and that provision for such possible
steps backward should always be within her reach. But Lily had cast
all such caution to the winds. She had given herself to the man
entirely, and had determined that she would sink or swim, stand
or fall, live or die, by him and by his truth. He had been as
false as hell. She had been in his arms, clinging to him, kissing
him, swearing that her only pleasure in the world was to be with
him,--with him, her treasure, her promised husband; and within a
month, a week, he had been false to her. There had come upon her
crushing tidings, and she had for days wondered at herself that they
had not killed her. But she had lived, and had forgiven him. She had
still loved him, and had received new offers from him, which had been
answered as the reader knows. But she had never seen him since the
day on which she had parted from him at Allington, without a doubt as
to his faith. Now h