the road.

"Stay!" he says, overtaking me once again, as I reach it, and laying his
hand in detention on my arm. "One word more! I should be sorry to part
from you--such friends as we have been"--(with a sneer)--"without _one_
good wish. Lady Tempest, I hope"--(smiling with malevolent irony)--"that
your fidelity will be rewarded as it deserves."

"I have no doubt of it!" reply I, steadily; but even as I speak, a sharp
jealous pain runs through my heart. Thank God! he cannot see it!

CHAPTER XXXI.

Yes, here out in the open it is still quite light; it seems two hours
earlier than it did below in the dark dingle--light enough as plainly to
see the faces of those one meets as if it were mid-day. I suppose that
my late companion and I were too much occupied by our own emotions to
hear, or at least notice the sound of wheels approaching us; but no
sooner have I turned and left him, before I have gone three paces, than
I am quickly passed by an open carriage and pair of grays--_quickly_,
and yet slowly enough for me to recognize the one occupant. As to
her--for it is Mrs. Huntley--she must have seen me already, as I stood
with Mr. Musgrave on the edge of the wood, exchanging our last bitter
words.

It is impossible that she could have helped it; but even had it been
possible--had there been any doubt on the subject, that doubt would be
removed by the unusual animation of her attitude, and the interest in
her eyes, that I have time to notice, as she rolls past me.

I avert my face, but it is too late. She has seen my hat thrown on
anyhow, as it were with a pitchfork--has seen my face swollen with
weeping, and great tears still standing unwiped on my flushed cheeks.
What is far, _far_ worse, she has seen him, too. This is the last drop
in an already over-full cup.

There is nothing in sight now--not even a cart--so I sit down on a heap
of stones by the road-side, and, covering my hot face with my hands, cry
till I have no more eyes left to cry with. Can _this_ be the day I
called good? Can _this_ be that bright and merry day, when I walked
elate and laughing between the deep furrows, and heard the blackbird and
thrush woo their new loves, nor was able myself to refrain from singing?

My brain is a black chaos of whirling agonies, now together, now
parting; so that each may make their separate sting felt, and, in turn,
each will have to be faced. Preeminent among the dark host, towering
above even the thought o