felt a desire to be among
people, even though she could speak to no one. She came to the
tree-shadowed road which, as she well remembered, led to Mrs. Ormonde's
house. It tempted her on: she would like to look at the house. A friend
lived there, and her heart ached to be near someone who cared for her.
The prime need of her life was love, and love alone could restore her
strength and give her courage to live.

It was nearer than she thought. Though troubled by the consciousness
that she ought not to have come so far in this direction, and that
perhaps her strength would be overtaxed before she could reach home
again, she went still on and on, until, reaching the point where
another road joined that by which she had come, she found The Chestnuts
just before her. Beyond the house, the hill rose darkly and hid the
setting sun. As she stood, a man issued from the adjoining road and
walked straight towards the entrance of the garden. Her eyes followed
him, and, though for a moment she did not believe their evidence, they
told her that Egremont had passed so near to her that a whisper would
have drawn his attention.

She was in the shade of thick trees; perhaps that circumstance, and the
dark colour of her dress, accounted for his not observing her. He was
walking quickly, too, and was looking fixedly at the house.

She followed. Had her voice been at her command, in that instant of
recognition she would have called to him. But all her powers seemed to
desert her, and she was rather borne onwards than advanced by any
effort of her own.

He had passed through the gate when she reached the end of the garden
wall. Losing him from sight, she understood what she was doing, and
stayed her steps. A sense of having escaped a great danger made her
tremble so that she feared she must fall to the ground if she could not
find some place in which to rest. A few steps brought her into a piece
of common ground, which lay in the rear of the garden, and here, at the
foot of the wall, were some pieces of timber, the severed limbs of a
tree that had fallen in the past winter. Here she could sit, leaning
against the brickwork and letting her heart throb itself into quietness.

The wall was a low one, and above it in this place rose a screen of
trellis, overgrown with creepers, making the rear of a spacious
summer-house, which Mrs. Ormonde had had constructed for the use of
children who had to be sheltered from too much either of sun or bre