the road, and ran at full
speed towards the lake, diverging neither to the right nor to the
left, but breaking his way without the slightest apparent difficulty
through everything that opposed him.

Very soon he came to the little bridge, and here, struck by some new
instinct, he halted. He did not appear to be out of breath, but he
leaned on the rail of the bridge and groaned like a dying man. His
ghastly face made a blot in the mimic scenery of the place, which was
really very pretty. The bridge commanded no view, for the little creek
it spanned, and into which the stream ran, gave a turn before it grew
into the neck of the lake; but it was hedged in by greenery, and the
still pool beneath it was starred with water-lilies, turning their
innocent eyes up to the blue sky, and looking as peaceful as though
there were no stormy winds or waters in the world to toss them.
Amongst these water-lilies a moorhen had built her nest, and presently
she came clucking out right under Arthur's feet, followed by ten or a
dozen little hurrying black balls, each tipped with sealing-wax red.
She looked very happy with her brood--as happy as the lilies and the
blue sky--and the sight made him savage. He took up a large stone that
lay by him and threw it at her. It hit her on the back and killed her,
and Arthur laughed loud as he watched her struggle, and then lie
still, while the motherless chicks hurried, frightened, away. And yet
since he was a boy he had never till now wantonly injured any living
creature.

Presently, the dead water-hen floated out of sight, and he roused
himself, straightened his clothes, which had been somewhat torn and
deranged, and, with a steady step and a fixed smile upon his lips,
went forward, no longer at a run, but walking quietly up the path that
led to the big oak and shaded glen. In five minutes he was there.

Again he paused and looked. There was something to see. On one of the
stone seats, dressed in black, her face deathly pale, her head resting
on her hand, and trouble in her eyes, sat Angela. On the other was her
constant companion, the dog which he had given her. He remembered how,
a little more than a year before, she had surprised him in the same
way, and he had looked upon her and loved her. He could even smile at
the strange irony of fate that had, under such curiously reversed
circumstances, brought him back to surprise her, to look upon her, and
hate her.

She moved uneasily, and glanced