ded along the path that skirted the field. "The truth is, I was
afraid--that is, I thought you were--someone else," flushing with the
consciousness that she was saying more than she had meant to say.

He hastened to assure her that it had been quite evident no discourtesy
was intended; mentally, the while, congratulating himself upon not being
"someone else," then quietly changed the subject. "I have not seen your
brother since we left Oxford, Miss Verschoyle. Your only brother, is he
not?"

"Yes; and I am his only sister. My mother, Laurence, and I live at the
Priory."

"Mrs. Verschoyle is well, I hope?" with suddenly developed interest in
everything that concerned her.

"My mother is not worse, I am glad to say, than she has been the last
five years. She is always an invalid." Had not Laurence told him that
much?

[Illustration: "THERE IS THE PRIORY!"]

"Was it anxiety about her mother's health that had brought that look to
her face?" he was thinking. "No; it must be something more than, or at
any rate different from, the kind of trouble which might spring from
such a cause."

He murmured a few words of sympathy; her clear eyes turned to meet his,
with how different an expression from that he had first seen in them!
There was even a little girlish fun in them, as she asked:--

"What kind of place do you imagine the Priory to be, Mr. Meredith?"

"Well, one naturally attaches a little mediaeval romance to the idea of a
Priory"; adding, after a moment's reflection--there were certainly no
signs of prosperity about her--"and it ought to be somewhat dilapidated,
I suppose--in the picturesque stage of decay. It must be difficult to
keep those old places in thorough repair."

"Very," she replied, her face shadowing. Then, with a side glance at him
and again attempting a jesting tone, she went on: "Difficult, too, as it
crumbles away, to find room for ancient retainers, old pictures,
heirlooms, and the rest of it. Now prepare your mind, Mr. Meredith, when
we turn this next bend--There is the Priory!"

He was prepared now to see some dilapidated old place, but hardly for
that which met his view. The Priory! That desolate-looking remnant of a
building, standing forlornly against the summer sky! Portions of the
walls, some high, some low, and all of great thickness, still remained
here and there, indicating the plan of the old Priory; but, at this
distance, even these seemed to form part of the surrounding brickfiel