Nan turned her head aside, and spoke in a queer, muffled tone. "Very well; but we'll go round the back way. It's only five minutes longer, and it's quiet. I don't want to meet any one. You'll do that to oblige me, won't you, Maud, as you have finished your shopping?" Of course she would. Maud gave a little grip to her sister's arm, and turned willingly enough up the side street which led off the high road. As in all small towns, the change from town to country came surprisingly quickly. Three minutes' walk took the sisters into a pretty lane running parallel with the High Street, and commanding a sweeping view over the countryside. Here were no houses, only an avenue of beeches, with here and there a seat in a position of welcome shade. Maud often returned home by this quieter route, and seated herself on one of the benches to make up her accounts and enjoy the view at one and the same time. It was a favourite spot; but after this morning she could never pass it without a shrinking of the heart, a sickly remembrance of misery. At the first seat Nan slackened her pace insinuatingly, while Maud marched ahead, intentionally obtuse; but at the second a hand was laid on her arm, and such a trembling voice besought her to stop, that she forgot herself in sympathetic alarm. "Nan, you _do_ look ill! As white as a sheet. Lean forward and put your head on your knee, as low as you can get it! That is the best thing to do if you feel faint. Sit still for a minute, and then we will make another dash for home. You ought to lie down!" But Nan sat bolt upright, clasping her fingers in nervous misery. "I'm not faint. I'm thinking of you, not myself!--Maud darling; it's been a mistake--we were all mistaken; but you are so good, you will be brave for our sakes, if not your own. It would break our hearts to see you suffer." She stopped short with a little sob of agitation, and Maud stared at her with wondering eyes. "Suffer! I? Why should I suffer?" Then the colour rushed in a sudden wave to her cheeks, and her voice broke in the single, stifled inquiry, "Ned?" "Yes. It is Lilias! He has asked mother for Lilias. She came upstairs and sent me out to meet you, so that you might not hear it suddenly. She thought you would rather have it so." "How kind of her! That was good of you both!" said Maud calmly. Her heart had stopped for a moment, and was now beating away at extraordinary speed; a singing noise was in her ears: it was as if some one had dealt her a violent blow, and she was as yet too stunned to realise its nature. She turned her head aside, and _gazed_ vaguely up and down. A nursemaid wheeled a perambulator on the opposite pavement, while a little white-robed figure trotted at her side, tossing a ball in the air. Maud watched her movements with fascinated gaze. It seemed as though some tremendous issue depended on whether the ball was caught in those tiny, uncertain fingers.