of those ancient love-songs of the hot-blooded Tuscan peasants her aunt
always scolded. Nothing she did was right, for the simple reason that
she was an unwelcome visitor.

She was alone. Rover was conducting sheep to Stamford market, as was his
duty every week; therefore in the fading daylight she went along,
immersed in her own sad thoughts. Her walk at that hour was entirely
aimless. She had only gone forth because of the irritation she felt at
her aunt's constant complaints. So entirely engrossed was she by her own
despair that she had not noticed the figure of a man who, catching sight
of her at the end of Woodnewton village, had held back until she had
gone a considerable distance, and had then sauntered leisurely in the
direction she had taken.

The man kept her in view, but did not approach her. The high, red
mail-cart passed, and the driver touched his hat respectfully to her.
The man who collected the evening mail from all the villages between
Deene and Peterborough met her almost every evening, and had long ago
inquired and learnt who she was.

For nearly two miles she walked onward, until, close by the junction of
the road which comes down the hill from Nassington, the man who had been
following hastened up and overtook her.

She heard herself addressed by name, and, turning quickly, found herself
face to face with James Flockart.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE VELVET PAW

The new-comer stood before Gabrielle, hat in hand, smiling pleasantly
and uttering a greeting of surprise.

Her response was cold, for was not all her present unhappiness due to
him?

"I've come here to speak to you, Gabrielle--to speak to you in
confidence."

"Whatever you have to say may surely be said in the hearing of a third
person?" was her dignified answer. His sudden appearance had startled
her, but only for a moment. She was cool again next instant, and on her
guard against her enemy.

"I hardly think," he said, with a meaning smile, "that you would really
like me to speak before a third party."

"I really care nothing," was her answer. "And I cannot see why you seek
me here. When one is hopeless, as I am, one becomes callous of what the
future may bring."

"Hopeless! Yes," he said in a changed voice, "I know that; living in
this dismal hole, Gabrielle, you must be hopeless. I know that your
exile here, away from all your friends and those you love, must be
soul-killing. Don't think that I have not reflected upon it a