He travelled all night and got to Stratford early in the afternoon. He had given no notice of his coming, either at the Abbey or South Hill, and his first visit was naturally to the house that held his betrothed. His limbs were cramped and stiffened by the long journey, and he despatched his valet and his portmanteau to Goring in a fly, and walked across the fields to South Hill. It was a long walk and he took his time about it, stopping now and then to look somewhat wistfully at the brown river, on whose breast the scattered leaves were drifting. The sky was dull and gray, with only faint patches of wintry sunlight in the west; the atmosphere was heavy; and the year seemed ever so much older here than in Scotland. He passed Baddesley and Arden, with only a glance across the smooth lawn at the Rectory, where the china-asters were in their glory, and the majolica vases under the rustic verandah made bright spots of colour in the autumn gloom. Then, instead of taking the meadow-path to South Hill, he chose the longer way, and followed the windings of the Avon, intending to let himself into the South Hill grounds by the little gate near Daphne’s boat-house. He was within about a quarter of a mile of the boat-house when he saw a spot of scarlet gleaming amidst the shadows of the rustic roof. The boat-house was a thatched erection of the Noah’s Ark pattern, and the front was open to the water. Below this thatched gable-end, and on a level with the river, showed the vivid spot of red. Gerald quickened his pace unconsciously, with a curious eagerness to solve the mystery of that bit of colour. Yes; it was as he had fancied. It was Daphne, seated alone and dejected on the keel of her upturned boat. The yellow collie darted out and leapt up at him, growling and snapping, as he drew near her. Daphne looked at him—or he so fancied—with a piteous half-beseeching gaze. She was very pale, and he thought she looked wretchedly ill. ‘Have you been ill?’ he asked eagerly, as they shook hands. ‘Quiet, you mongrel!’ to the suspicious Goldie. ‘Never was better in my life,’ she answered briskly. ‘Then your looks belie you. I was afraid you had been seriously ill.’ ‘Don’t you think if I had Lina would have mentioned it to you in a postscript, or a _nota bene_, or something?’ ‘Of course.’ ‘I detest cold weather, and I am chilled to the bone, in spite of this thick shawl,’ she answered lightly, glancing at the scarlet wrap which had caught Gerald’s eye from afar. ‘I wonder you choose such a spot as this for your afternoon meditations. It is certainly about the dampest and chilliest place you could find.’ ‘I did not come here to meditate, but to read,’ answered Daphne. ‘I have got Browning’s new poem, and it requires a great deal of hard thinking before one can quite appreciate it; and if I tell you that Aunt Rhoda is in the drawing-room, and means to stick there till dinner-time, you will not require any further reason for my being here.’