blance of gaiety that had wholly deceived them. But all the time her
heart had been heavy within her, and her remembrance of Cyril's grieved
look came between her and enjoyment.

It had been a lovely afternoon when she had started for her walk, but
now some heavy clouds were obscuring the blue sky. The air felt heavy
and oppressive, and Audrey quickened her steps, fearing lest a storm
should overtake her in the long unsheltered lanes that still lay between
her and home. She drew her breath a little as she approached the place
where she had parted with Cyril more than two hours ago. Then she gave a
great start, and again the blood rushed to her face, for through a gap
in the hedge she could see a brown tweed coat quite plainly. He was
still there--still in the same position. She could see the line of his
shoulders as he stooped a little over the gate, with the peak of his cap
drawn over his eyes.

Audrey slackened her pace. She felt a little breathless and giddy. She
would have to pass him quite close, and, of course, if he meant to speak
to her----But no: though he heard her footsteps, and half turned his
head and seemed to listen, he did not move his arms from the gate. He
evidently meant to take no advantage, to let her pass him if she wished
to do so. Audrey could read this determination in his averted face. Most
likely he wished her to think that his abstraction was too great to
allow him to notice her light footfall; he would make it easy for her to
pass him--a man's eyes can only see what they are looking at. But this
time Audrey's prudence counselled her in vain; her soft heart would not
allow her to go past him as a stranger. She stopped and looked at him;
but Cyril did not turn his head.

'Mr. Blake,' she said gently; and then he did move slightly.

'I am not in your way, I hope,' he said rather coldly. 'I did not know
it was so late, or I would have gone back. Please do not let me keep
you, Miss Ross; I am afraid there will be a storm directly.'

'In that case you had better come with me,' she returned, trying to
speak with her usual friendly ease. But his proud, sad look rather
daunted her. How could she leave him and go on her way, when he seemed
so utterly cast down and miserable; and it was all her fault? 'Please do
not shake your head, Mr. Blake. I know you are hurt with me because I
was rather abrupt just now; but I meant nothing at all, only that I was
in a hurry, and----'

'That you did not wish