scattered on the path, some of them showing
a capability of rolling to great lengths. There was much to be done in
picking up, and not a word was spoken; but when Arthur hung the basket
over her arm again, the poor child felt a strange difference in his look
and manner. He just pressed her hand, and said, with a look and tone
that were almost chilling to her, "I have been hindering you; I must not
keep you any longer now. You will be expected at the house. Good-bye."

Without waiting for her to speak, he turned away from her and hurried
back towards the road that led to the Hermitage, leaving Hetty to pursue
her way in a strange dream that seemed to have begun in bewildering
delight and was now passing into contrarieties and sadness. Would he
meet her again as she came home? Why had he spoken almost as if he were
displeased with her? And then run away so suddenly? She cried, hardly
knowing why.

Arthur too was very uneasy, but his feelings were lit up for him by a
more distinct consciousness. He hurried to the Hermitage, which stood in
the heart of the wood, unlocked the door with a hasty wrench, slammed
it after him, pitched Zeluco into the most distant corner, and thrusting
his right hand into his pocket, first walked four or five times up and
down the scanty length of the little room, and then seated himself on
the ottoman in an uncomfortable stiff way, as we often do when we wish
not to abandon ourselves to feeling.

He was getting in love with Hetty--that was quite plain. He was ready
to pitch everything else--no matter where--for the sake of surrendering
himself to this delicious feeling which had just disclosed itself. It
was no use blinking the fact now--they would get too fond of each other,
if he went on taking notice of her--and what would come of it? He should
have to go away in a few weeks, and the poor little thing would be
miserable. He MUST NOT see her alone again; he must keep out of her way.
What a fool he was for coming back from Gawaine's!

He got up and threw open the windows, to let in the soft breath of the
afternoon, and the healthy scent of the firs that made a belt round the
Hermitage. The soft air did not help his resolution, as he leaned out
and looked into the leafy distance. But he considered his resolution
sufficiently fixed: there was no need to debate with himself any longer.
He had made up his mind not to meet Hetty again; and now he might
give himself up to thinking how immensely ag