At that instant, the solitude was broken by the apparition of a dusty
wayfarer in knickerbockers and soft felt hat, coming towards them up the
road. He was a man of middle height and rather slim. He appeared about
five-and-thirty years of age. He had fair hair, and a strange, whimsical
face, irregular of feature, with a small moustache covering the upper
lip.

Miss Du Prel looked startled, as she caught sight of the travel-stained
figure. She flushed deeply, and her expression changed to one of
bewilderment and uncertainty, then to one of incredulous joy. She
hastened forward, at length, and arrested the wayfarer.

"Professor Fortescue, don't you remember me?" she cried excitedly.

He gazed at her for a second, and then a look of amazement came into his
kind eyes, as he held out his hand.

"Miss Du Prel! This is incredible!"

They stood, with hand locked in hand, staring at one another. "By what
happy misunderstanding am I thus favoured by the gods?" exclaimed the
Professor.

Miss Du Prel explained her presence.

"Prodigious!" cried Professor Fortescue. "Fate must have some strange
plots in the making, unless indeed we fall to the discouraging
supposition that she deigns to jest."

He said that he was on a walking tour, studying the geology of the
district, and that he had written to announce his coming to his old
friends, Mr. and Mrs. Fullerton, and to ask them to put him up. He
supposed that they were expecting him.

Miss Du Prel was greatly excited. It was so long since they had met, and
it was so delightful to meet again. She had a hundred enquiries to make
about common friends, and about the Professor's own doings.

She forgot Temperley's name, and her introduction was vague. The
Professor held out his hand cordially. Temperley was not allowed to feel
an intrusive third. This was in consequence of the new-comer's
kindliness of manner, and not at all because of Miss Du Prel, who had
forgotten Temperley's elegant existence. She had a look of surprise when
he joined in the conversation.

"I can scarcely believe that it is ten years since I was here," cried
the Professor, pausing to look over a gate at the stretch of country.

"I used to visit my friends at Dunaghee every autumn, and now if some
one were to assure me that I had been to sleep and dreamt a ten years'
dream, I should be disposed to credit it. Every detail the same; the
very cattle, the very birds--surely just those identical sparrows used
t