ble to go
through in his present state of mind. He went to Hampton by train,
lunched again at the King's Arms, though but hastily, and at length
reached the spot in the park where his eyes had discovered Emily
reading.

It was not such a day as Wednesday had been; the sun shone
intermittently, but there was threatening of rain. A vehicle now and
then drove along the avenue taking holiday-makers to the Palace, and,
near the place where Wilfrid walked, a party was picnicking under the
trees. But he in vain sought for one who wandered alone, one who, in the
distance, could move him to uncertain hope.

Why had he come? Suppose he did again meet Emily, what had he to say to
her? Long and useless waiting naturally suggested such thoughts, and the
answer to them was a momentary failing at the heart, a touch of fear.
Was he prepared to treat this temporary coldness between Beatrice and
himself as a final rupture? Was his present behaviour exactly that of a
man who recognises rules of honour? If he had no purpose in wishing to
see Emily but the satisfaction of a desire about which he would not
reason, was it not unqualified treachery in which he was involving
himself, treachery to two women and to one of them utter cruelty? He
turned to walk towards the lake, desperate that his hope had failed, and
at the same time--strange contradiction--glad in the thought that,
having once yielded, he might overcome his madness. He passed the lake,
and reached the exit from the park. At the same moment Emily was
entering.

Her face expressed an agony of shame; she could not raise her eyes,
could not speak. She gave him her hand mechanically, and walked on with
her looks averted. Her distress was so unconcealed that it pained him
acutely. He could not find words till they had walked a distance of
twenty or thirty yards. Then he said:

'I came purposely to-day, in the hope that you might by chance be here.
Do I annoy you?'

She half turned her face to him, but the effort to speak was vain.

A still longer silence followed. Wilfrid knew at length what he had
done. That utterance of his had but one meaning, Emily's mute reply
admitted of but one interpretation. His eyes dazzled; his heart beat
violently. A gulf sank before him, and there was no longer choice but to
plunge into it. He looked at his companion, and--farewell the solid
ground.

'Emily, is it your wish that I should leave you?'

She faced him, moved her lips, motioned 'no'