had already risen out of the glories of the shining
East, and was spreading and moving towards me.

John and I walked home together, side by
side, and we talked the happiest talk that ever
was written or spoken. The world was all
radiant over our heads and under our feet, and
we could not see even the shadow of the cloud
that was coming, coming, fast as the wheels
that were rolling, rolling, towards us from the
distance.

"Look Margery," said John, "do you see a
carriage on the road?"

I shaded my eyes with my hand, and I saw
the carriage.

"I dare say it is the Hills'," I said, and then
we walked on through the white fields and
between the bare hedges till we came out upon
the road which leads away across the moor,
between Hillsbro' Farm and Hillsbro' Hall.
There is a spot on this road which you know
well, where the ground sinks into a hollow, and
then rises in a step abrupt hill, on the top of
which any object suddenly appearing stands
out in sharp relief against the sky, in the eyes
of the traveller below. We reached the foot of
this hill, John and I; we began to ascend; I
raised my eyes, and saw a figure appear on the
brink of the hill, a woman's figure with draperies
fluttering a little as the petticoats of the market
women flutter when they tramp the road to
Hillsbro'. I raised my eyes again, and came
face to face with Rachel Leonard.

She was walking quickly, pressing forward,
wrapped in a fur mantle, with a Shetland snood
drawn round her face. I remember the momentary
expression of that face before it changed
at sight of us; the delicate brows knitted as if
in pain or anxiety; the wide dark eyes intent
upon the scenes opening before them; the
scarlet lips parted in fatigue; the glow of
exercise wandering over the cheeks.

She did not see us at first; the sun was in
her eyes; but I spoke her name aloud, and held
out my hand. She started violently, and all
the colour flew out of her cheeks. She took
my hand, and held it mechanically, but her eyes
were fixed on John. I looked at him in amazement,
seeking for some explanation of the
strange long look in her eyes, and the trembling
of her white lips, only to see both repeated in
his face, which had "been ruddy and smiling
the minute before. They stood gazing in one
another's eyes as if both were magnetised,
without either advancing a hand or attempting
a word. An indescribable chill crept over my
heart as I looked at them, and I drew my hand
from John's arm, and turned impatiently away.

He did not seem conscious of the action, but
it roused Rachel. She smiled, and extending
her hand, said, with quivering lips, which she
made vain efforts to compose:

"Mr. Hollingford, do you not remember
me? My name is Rachel Leonard."

John's gaze had never left her face, and he
could not but note the imploring look that
came into her eyes as she said these words.

"Yes," he answered, and his voice shook,
though his face kept a fixed, stern gravity.
"Yes, surely I remember you—Miss Leonard."

At this the sound of wheels was heard coming
up the hill, and with a sudden effort Rachel
changed her manner.

"Here is the carriage," she said. "I hope,
Mr. Hollingford, you will not greet Mr. and
Mrs. Hill with that panic-stricken look. You
are a great favourite with them, and they will
be glad to see you. Pray do not look so
shocked. They will think you have seen a
ghost."

"Would to God I had—rather than have
seen you," he murmured to himself, and I heard
him.

The carriage drew up beside us, and Mr.
Hill jumped out. He was an odd-looking man,
with a bald, benevolent forehead, a pair of
honest brown eyes, which glared about with a
sort of fierce good humour, white hair, and
white thick-set whiskers. Mrs. Hill sat within
the carriage, a mild-looking fat little lady, with
rosy cheeks and a piping voice, holding hugged
in her arms something which looked like a
bundle of fleecy wool, but which I afterwards
knew to be a favourite dog.

"Eh, Hollingford, my lad, I am glad to see
you. How are you? and your good mother?"
said the old gentleman, grasping John's hand,
and glaring kindly in his face.

"Well, Mr. Hill; well, thank you," answered
John, but he kept his stern, absent demeanour,
as if he could not, or would not, shake off the
spell that had come over him, which made him
look like a cold, unfaithful, unlifelike copy of
himself.

The sharp trebles of the ladies' voices rang
about my ears, but it was only by an effort that
I could take in the meaning of what they said,
so observant was I of John's severe glance
which followed every movement of Rachel, as
she stood chatting to me with a merriment
which I could not but think was nervous and
assumed.

Mr. Hill was rallying John upon his gravity,
kindly and delicately, even in the midst of the
natural noisy bluster of his manner. And
somehow I divined readily, even out of the
distraction of wonder that had come upon me,
that the fine old gentleman, remembering
certain thorns in John's way, was touched at
seeing him proud and reserved in the presence
of his natural equals, who had not sunk in the
world's favour, and who had got no stain upon
their name.

"Will you come and dine with us this evening
at seven?" said Mr. Hill. "You and I
must have much to talk about. I have been
too long absent from this place, but even
already I see new things around which delight
me. I shall be blind and helpless here till you
open my eyes and set me on my feet."

I noticed, or I fancied I noticed, that Rachel
faltered on the words she was speaking at this
moment, and that she held her breath to hear
John's reply to the invitation.

"I will go with pleasure, sir," said John.