Once or twice she had nervously alluded to it when chatting with her sister, but Cynthia had merrily told her not to be so silly, for papa said the man must have just come out of prison, and spoken like that out of spite. "Depend upon it, Julie, you'll never see him again." Julia said nothing, but went to the window of her room, and sat there reading, and now and then lifting her eyes to gaze out at the pleasant prospect right across the fields to the ridge about a quarter of a mile away, beyond which the land sank at once towards Kilby Farm. The next moment with a faint cry she shrank back, for even at that distance she seemed to recognise the burly form of the rough fellow, seen boldly standing out against the sky as he appeared to be crossing the ridge. Then as she gazed at the figure with starting eyes it went over the edge of the hill and was gone. "I shall never dare to go out alone," she said hoarsely. "Heaven help me! What shall I do?" This was quite a couple of months after the meeting in the lane, during all which time the poor girl felt as if she were haunted by the fellow's presence, and his words were always ringing in her ears. The time had slipped away, and company had come and gone. The Perry-Mortons had been down for a second visit, ostensibly for discussions with the Rector concerning the decorations of the town house, but Cynthia read it--and told Lord Artingale her reading--that it was to worm round poor Julia, and that was what papa meant. Didn't he think it was a shame? Lord Artingale agreed with her that it was, and between them they decided in alliance to do all they could to prevent it; but unfortunately for Julia, this pair of egotists thought of little else but themselves--thoughts that were varied by a little squabbling when Cynthia showed what a peppery temper she possessed. Julia was looking languidly forward to the middle of May, when the town house was to be ready, and in busy London she felt that she should be free from the haunting presence which afflicted her so sorely that she even felt glad of Mr Perry-Morton's poetical rhapsodies as a kind of protection, though there was something terrible in his presence. In fact, this gentleman showed his admiration in a way that was painful in the extreme. He said little, but he loved her with his eyes, and when Mr Perry-Morton loved he did it in a sculpturesque manner, sitting or standing in some wonderful position, at a short distance, and then gloating--no, a Philistine would have gloated--he, one of the chosen of the Raphaelistic brotherhood, dreamed over his beloved, mentally writing fleshly poems the while--wondrous visions of rapt joyousness, mingled with ethereal admiration. But it wanted a month yet to the time for leaving the rectory, and though Julia had not seen her horror again, she felt that he was near, and that at some unexpected moment he would start up, perhaps when she was alone.