She had pressed more closely to him, her eyes strainingly fixed upon his face, her whole frame trembling. Her agitation communicated itself to Gilbert, like some subtle electric thrill. Over his blue-gray eyes there was a kind of film, and a tremor in his voice, as he said— ‘For your sake, my sister ... but ... if anything hinders me from seeing you again to-day, Eleanor, good-bye.’ He stooped his head, and his lips rested for a second, no more, upon her brow. And then she was alone again. * * * * * Michael and Ada walked slowly down the sloping square, where they saw scarcely any one. Then, turning a corner, they emerged in the main street of the old town, which also sloped steeply downhill. The sunlight was streaming gaily upon this street; the shops were open, and many people were moving to and fro. In it were situated the house of Ada’s father, her former home; the schoolroom in which the concert had taken place, and several other public buildings—all clustering together, in homely vicinity, as they do in towns of this size. As they proceeded down this street they, of course, attracted notice. It was not a usual thing to see Michael walking in a leisurely manner down the town at that hour of the day. And it was more than a year since his companion had been seen in the places where her figure had once been familiar. People looked at them—came to their doors in curiosity, and gazed at and after them, and Michael knew that his companion was trembling from head to foot. Her face was deadly pale; her eyes were fixed upon the ground. But she neither hurried, nor faltered in her step, walking straight onwards, down the hill, and towards the mills. When they were nearly there, and the number of people who were about had sensibly diminished, he spoke to her, for the first time, quietly and tranquilly— ‘Now, Ada, shall we return? I think you have walked far enough.’ ‘Not that way,’ she replied, in a fluttering voice. ‘I can’t face it again. We’ll cross the footbridge, and go round the other side, where it’s quieter.’ He humoured her, and they went through the dark passage, and emerged on the bridge. ‘Now,’ said she, ‘won’t you turn back, sir? I don’t want to keep you, and I can go well enough by myself this way. It is very quiet.’ ‘Yes, very quiet,’ replied he composedly. ‘I will walk round with you. My time is quite at your disposal.’ She hesitated for a moment, and he saw that she looked at him in a stealthy, side-long manner, of which he took no notice, openly. Happening to turn his head, he saw Gilbert just behind them. He wondered how he had got there, but felt a sense of relief in knowing that he was present, and obeying a sign of his brother’s hand, took no notice of him. Midway over the bridge, Ada walked more slowly, raised her head, and began to look about her. ‘Why,’ she observed, ‘the river is in spate; that’s the rains up by Cauldron, I suppose?’