coming suddenly clearer in
mind than she had known him to be for a long time. For some days he had
been the old Charles--tender, whimsical, gallant, the Charles with whom,
at a time when every girl is in love with love, she had alack! fallen in
love. Then once more the cloud had come down, shadowing a dreary waste
of days--dark days of oppression and of silence, alternating with sudden
bursts of unreasonable and unreasoning rage.

James Mottram had come, and come frequently, during that time of misery.
But his manner had changed. He had become restrained, as if watchful of
himself; he was no longer the free, the happy, the lively companion he
had used to be. Catherine scarcely saw him out of Charles's presence,
and when they were by chance alone they talked of Charles, only of
Charles and of his unhappy condition, and of what could be done to
better it.

And now James Mottram had given up coming to Edgecombe in the old
familiar way; or rather--and this galled Catherine shrewdly--he came
only sufficiently often not to rouse remark among their servants and
humble neighbours.

* * * * *

Catherine Nagle was on the edge of the wood, and looking about her she
saw with surprise that the railway men she had come down to see had
finished work for the day. There were signs of their immediate
occupation, a fire was still smouldering, and the door of one of the
shanties they occupied was open. But complete stillness reigned in this
kingdom of high trees. To the right and left, as far as she could see,
stretched the twin lines of rude iron rails laid down along what had
been a cart-track, as well as a short cut between Edgecombe Manor and
Eype Castle. A dun drift, to-day's harvest of dead leaves, had settled
on the rails; even now it was difficult to follow their course.

As she stood there, about to turn and retrace her steps, Catherine
suddenly saw James Mottram advancing quickly towards her, and the
mingled revolt and sadness which had so wholly possessed her gave way to
a sudden, overwhelming feeling of security and joy.

She moved from behind the little hut near which she had been standing,
and a moment later they stood face to face.

James Mottram was as unlike Charles Nagle as two men of the same age, of
the same breed, and of the same breeding could well be. He was shorter,
and of sturdier build, than his cousin; and he was plain, whereas
Charles Nagle was strikingly handsome. Also his