And Betty Alden, whose light footfall had not been heard through the sound of the falling waters, quietly looked into William Pabodie’s face, superbly glanced over Gillian’s, let her eyes rest for a moment upon the branch of lilac which Gillian had seized, although Pabodie all unconsciously still held it, and then, with one of those smiles upon her lips which most women remember to have smiled, and most men shiver in remembering to have seen, she turned and climbed the little path to the mill door. “And now you’ll never speak to me again, lest Betty Alden should chide,” cried Gillian, turning sharply aside, and with a gesture of inimitable grace resting her folded arms against a tree-trunk, and laying her forehead upon them, while a storm of unfeigned sobs and tears shook the very tree she leaned on. William Pabodie, flinging the lilac branch to the ground, would have passed her by, but she made no movement to detain him, and so he lingered, looked at her in sore perplexity for a moment, then said in a voice of contemptuous kindness,-- “It distresses me to see you so, Gillian, and in very truth there’s no call for it; I’m not your lover, and that you know”-- “Oh, yes, I know it, I know it! Poor me, there’s none to love me, and those I could love to the death care less for me than for another’s frown.” “Nay, mistress, I’m one that fears no woman’s frown, nor change my friends to suit any fancy but mine own.” “But alas, Gillian’s not one of those friends!” “Why, yes you are, Gillian, yes you are as much my friend as--as ever.” “I’m your friend? Ay, but are you mine, Will?” “Yes--that is to say”-- “That is to say, so far as Betty Alden permits,” cried Gillian, honestly losing control of herself, and flashing into the young man’s eyes a look that made him start back as Julio did when Lamia suddenly revealed herself a serpent. Without a word he strode past her and up the hill, where seeking out his friend, Will Bradford, he drew him aside and said, “Would you do me a kindness, Will?” “You know I would, man. What is it?” “Take Gillian Brewster away as soon as may be.” “Oho! What has she done now?” “That’s what I can’t tell you, Bill, but you’ll trust me that it’s no discourtesy that I can help, to make such a petition.” “I know that, Bill Pabodie.” “Well, then”-- “I’ll manage it, but not of a sudden.” “No, no; only so that I may get a quiet word with Betty before I leave.” “Ay, it’s in that quarter the storm is brewing, is it? Well, in an hour or so I’ll manage it.” But before the hour was over Gillian herself, for after all she was as yet but a young maid, and not seasoned in such matters as another ten years might have seasoned her, came to William, and resting on his arm said plaintively,-- “I’m very weary, Will. When might we be leaving?”