te and started up to meet her. And then
he knew why his father and sister looked uncomfortable. Elizabeth was
changed; it was plain enough that Elizabeth must be ill.

She was thinner than he had ever seen her, and her face had grown pale.
But the fixed gravity and mournfulness of her expression struck him even
more than the sharpened contour of her features or the dark lines
beneath her eyes. She looked as if she suffered: as if she was suffering
still.

"You are ill!" he said, abruptly, holding her by the hand and looking
down into her face.

"That's what I've been saying all along!" muttered Mr. Heron. "I knew he
would be shocked by her looks. You should have prepared him, Kitty."

"I have had neuralgia, that is all," said Elizabeth, quietly.

"Strathleckie does not suit you; you ought to go away," remarked
Percival, devouring her with his eyes. "What have you been doing to
yourself?"

"Nothing: I am perfectly well; except for this neuralgia," she said,
with a faint, vexed smile. "Did you have a comfortable journey, and have
you breakfasted?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Then you will come out with me for a little stroll? I want to show you
the grounds; and the others can spare you to me for a little while," she
went on, with perfect ease and fluency. The only change in her manner
was its unusual gravity, and the fact that she did not seem able to meet
Percival's eye. "Are you too tired?"

"Not at all." And they left the room together.

She took him down the hill on which the house stood, by a narrow,
winding path, to the side of a picturesque stream in the valley below.
He had seen the place before, but he followed her without a word until
they reached a wooden seat close to the water's edge, with its back
fixed to the steep bank behind it. The rowan trees, with their clusters
of scarlet berries, hung over it, and great clumps of ferns stood on
either hand. It was an absolutely lonely place, and Percival knew
instinctively that Elizabeth had brought him to it because she could
here speak without fear of interruption.

"It is a beautiful place, is it not?" she said, as he took his seat
beside her.

He did not answer. He rather disdained the trivial question. He was
silent for a few minutes, and then said briefly:--

"Tell me why you wanted me."

"I have been unhappy," she said, simply.

"That is easy to be seen."

"Is it? Oh, I am sorry for that. But I have had neuralgia. I have,
indeed. That makes me l