yet were trying to the last to keep up an
appearance of activity. For a minute Molly gazed after them. Then
her eyes wandered to the light that shimmered over the meadows, and
descending the stone steps into the side-garden, she walked slowly
through the miniature maze, where the paths were buried deep in
wine-coloured leaves which had drifted from the half bared trees on the
lawn. Abel was coming, she knew, and she waited for him in a stillness
that seemed akin to that softly breathing plant life around her. It was
the hour for which she had hungered for weeks, yet now that it had come,
she could hardly recognize it for the thing she had wanted. A sudden
blight had fallen over her, as though she had brought the presence of
death with her out of that still chamber. Every sound was hushed into
silence, every object appeared as unsubstantial as a shadow. Beyond the
lawn, over the jewelled meadows, she could see the white spire of Old
Church rising above the coloured foliage in the churchyard, and beyond
it, the flat ashen turnpike, which had led hundreds of adventurous feet
toward the great world they were seeking. She remembered that the sight
of the turnpike had once made her restless; now it brought her only a
promise of peace.

Turning at the sound of a step on the dead leaves, she saw that Abel
had entered the garden, and was approaching her along one of the
winding paths. When he reached her, he spoke quickly without taking her
outstretched hand. The sun was in his eyes and he lowered them to the
over-blown roses in a square of box.

"I came over earlier," he said, "but I couldn't see any one except Mr.
Chamberlayne."

"He told me you would come back. That was why I waited."

For a moment he seemed to struggle for breath. Then he said quickly.

"Molly, do you believe it was an accident?"

She started and her hands shook.

"He said so at the end--otherwise--how--how could it have happened?"

"Yes, how could it have happened?" he repeated, and added after a pause,
"He was a fine fellow. I always liked him."

Her tears choked her, and when she had recovered her voice, she put
a question or two about Blossom--delaying, through some instinct of
flight, the moment for which she had so passionately longed.

"It was all so unnecessary," she said, "that is the worst of it. It
might just as easily not have happened."

"I wish I could be of some use," he answered. "Perhaps Mr. Chamberlayne
has thought of somethin