She remained thus for a long time; at last some sudden thought appeared to strike her, which brought with it an absolute necessity for self-control and immediate action. She rose to her feet, muttering: "He will be here again soon; he must not find me like this!" She walked to the mirror, arranged her disordered dress and hair, and stood gazing at her own features in a sort of wondering pity; they were so death-like and contracted, with suffering that she felt almost as if looking into the face of a stranger. At length she caught up a cloak which lay on the sofa, wrapped herself in it and went out of the house. She took her way through the woods, walking rapidly, quite regardless that the moisture from the damp earth was penetrating her thin shoes, not feeling the keenness of the wind, which was growing chill with the approach of evening. The expression of her face changed; she was deadly pale still, but a look of resolution had settled over her features, and a naturally strong will had begun to assert itself. Beyond the shrubbery that thick grove of evergreens extended to the very shore, and into their shadow Elizabeth walked with a determined step. Evidently waiting for some one she paced up and down among the trees, the dry leaves rustling under her tread and making her start, as if she feared being surprised in that solitary spot by some curious wanderer. It was growing almost twilight, but still she kept up that dreary promenade, struggling bravely with herself, and trying to restrain the agonizing thoughts which threatened to overwhelm her forced composure. "He will not come," she muttered; "I must wait--wait--he will not come to-day." She shuddered at the very sound of her own voice, but it seemed to have disturbed some one else; for a step sounded on the grass, and a man came out from the deeper recesses of the grove, and paused for a moment, glancing on either side as if uncertain which path to pursue. It was Mr. North. CHAPTER XX. AN INTERVIEW IN THE WOODS. Elizabeth saw the man and yet neither moved or spoke, but remained standing there in dumb silence, gazing at him with an expression in which so many diverse emotions struggled, that it would have been difficult to decide which feeling was paramount. The flutter of her cloak caught his attention, and he came hurriedly forward with a smile on his lips, holding out his hand in an easy, reckless fashion. "Ten thousand pardons," he exclaimed, "I fear that I have kept you waiting--I shall never forgive myself." She put up her hand as if to check him, feeling, perhaps, some mockery in these words which was not apparent in his voice. "We need not make excuses to each other," she said, in a cold, hard tone, "neither you nor I came here for that." "Scarcely, I believe," and he laughed in a reckless way, which appeared natural to him.