on turn up a certain shady lane at right angles to the
road she had followed, he ran hastily down the staircase, crossed the
barley (which now covered the field) by the path not more than a foot
wide that he had trodden for himself, and got into the lane at the other
end. By slowly walking along in the direction of the turnpike-road he
soon had the satisfaction of seeing her coming. To his surprise he also
had the satisfaction of perceiving that neither boy nor dog was in her
company.

They both blushed as they approached, she from sex, he from inexperience.
One thing she seemed to see in a moment, that in the interval of her
absence St. Cleeve had become a man; and as he greeted her with this new
and maturer light in his eyes she could not hide her embarrassment, or
meet their fire.

'I have just sent my page across to the column with your book on Cometary
Nuclei,' she said softly; 'that you might not have to come to the house
for it. I did not know I should meet you here.'

'Didn't you wish me to come to the house for it?'

'I did not, frankly. You know why, do you not?'

'Yes, I know. Well, my longing is at rest. I have met you again. But
are you unwell, that you drive out in this chair?'

'No; I walked out this morning, and am a little tired.'

'I have been looking for you night and day. Why do you turn your face
aside? You used not to be so.' Her hand rested on the side of the
chair, and he took it. 'Do you know that since we last met, I have been
thinking of you--daring to think of you--as I never thought of you
before?'

'Yes, I know it.'

'How did you know?'

'I saw it in your face when you came up.'

'Well, I suppose I ought not to think of you so. And yet, had I not
learned to, I should never fully have felt how gentle and sweet you are.
Only think of my loss if I had lived and died without seeing more in you
than in astronomy! But I shall never leave off doing so now. When you
talk I shall love your understanding; when you are silent I shall love
your face. But how shall I know that you care to be so much to me?'

Her manner was disturbed as she recognized the impending self-surrender,
which she knew not how to resist, and was not altogether at ease in
welcoming.

'O, Lady Constantine,' he continued, bending over her, 'give me some
proof more than mere seeming and inference, which are all I have at
present, that you don't think this I tell you of presumption in me! I
have been