There was a slight stir near him; and on a mossy seat, that was arranged to take advantage of a remarkably good point of view of the old Hall, he saw Elsie sitting. She had her drawing-materials with her, and had probably been taking a sketch. Redclyffe was ashamed of having been overheard by any one giving way to such idle passion as he had been betrayed into; and yet, in another sense, he was glad,--glad, at least, that something of his feeling, as yet unspoken to human being, was shared, and shared by her with whom, alone of living beings, he had any sympathies of old date, and whom he often thought of with feelings that drew him irresistibly towards her. “Elsie,” said he, uttering for the first time the old name, “Providence makes you my confidant. We have recognized each other, though no word has passed between us. Let us speak now again with one another. How came you hither? What has brought us together again?--Away with this strangeness that lurks between us! Let us meet as those who began life together, and whose life-strings, being so early twisted in unison, cannot now be torn apart.” “You are not wise,” said Elsie, in a faltering voice, “to break the restraint we have tacitly imposed upon ourselves. Do not let us speak further on this subject.” “How strangely everything evades me!” exclaimed Redclyffe. “I seem to be in a land of enchantment, where I can get hold of nothing that lends me a firm support. There is no medium in my life between the most vulgar realities and the most vaporous fiction, too thin to breathe. Tell me, Elsie, how came you here? Why do you not meet me frankly? What is there to keep you apart from the oldest friend, I am bold to say, you have on earth? Are you an English girl? Are you one of our own New England maidens, with her freedom, and her know-how, and her force, beyond anything that these demure and decorous damsels can know?” “This is wild,” said Elsie, straggling for composure, yet strongly moved by the recollections that he brought up. “It is best that we should meet as strangers, and so part.” “No,” said Redclyffe; “the long past comes up, with its memories, and yet it is not so powerful as the powerful present. We have met again; our adventures have shown that Providence has designed a relation in my fate to yours. Elsie, are you lonely as I am?” “No,” she replied, “I have bonds, ties, a life, a duty. I must live that life and do that duty. You have, likewise, both. Do yours, lead your own life, like me.” “Do you know, Elsie,” he said, “whither that life is now tending?” “Whither?” said she, turning towards him. “To yonder Hall,” said he. She started up, and clasped her hands about his arm. “No, no!” she exclaimed, “go not thither! There is blood upon the threshold! Return: a dreadful fatality awaits you here.” “Come with me, then,” said he, “and I yield my purpose.” “It cannot be,” said Elsie. “Then I, too, tell you it cannot be,” returned Redclyffe. [Endnote: 2.]