annoyance of having dressed herself in vain than
disappointment at not seeing him which vexes Eleanor.

"I dislike people throwing you over at the last moment; it is very
inconsiderate and unkind. But I suppose he can't help it, poor fellow,"
with a touch of regret for her petulance. "I am very extravagant, Ma. I
spend no end on clothes, though you wouldn't think it to look at me now.
Philip just trots off to the City and makes the money, so it does not
matter a bit."

Mr. Grebby expresses lavish sorrow at Mr. Roche's non-appearance, while
Eleanor wanders out down the budding lanes towards the station, just as
if Philip were coming after all, only there is neither tumult of sorrow
nor joy in her heart. She feels just indifferent to everything and
everybody. The hedges are sprouting with young green. Surely the world
is fair to all eyes but Eleanor's!

Her head is bent, she is gazing on the ground.

Suddenly a shadow crosses her path--the shadow of a man.

She looks up slowly, standing still, rooted to the spot.

A cold chill creeps through her veins, gradually changing to burning
fire. She can neither speak nor move, the hedges seem to fly round, the
trees spin, the twittering birds shriek!

"_Carol!_"

The word breaks from her lips at last like a cry.

Why has Philip failed her, why is he not here to save?

Someone is holding her hand in a passionate clasp, someone presses her
cheeks, her lips! Is it a dream or reality, life or death?

The spring bursts suddenly into smiles. Nature laughs loudly, all the
world is one wide pleasure field, a place to love, to die in for joy!

"Why did you run away?" he whispers, still holding her in his arms. "Why
did you hide yourself from me, shut out the light from my days? It was
cruel, Eleanor. Surely you knew I would have gone to the end of the
world to find you, and you thought to evade me here."

"Fate has willed it otherwise. How did you discover me?"

"Giddy Mounteagle gave me your address. I never gave her a moment's
peace till she divulged it, poor woman."

A spark of anger flashes in Eleanor's love-laden eyes.

"The traitress!" she murmurs under her breath.

"Ah! do not say that. She is happy herself, and I was so miserable,
_you_ were so miserable."

"How do you know?"

"I have read your heart like a book--it is mine and no other's. I mean
to take it--cherish it--keep it--always!"

"You stole it from Philip--you stole it from me!" sh