They walked on--she blindly holding herself as far as possible from him; he, with the mingled ardour and maladroitness of his character, longing and not quite venturing to cut the whole coil, and silence all this mood in her, by some masterfulness of love. Suddenly she paused--she stepped to him--she laid her fingers on his arms--bright tears shone in her eyes. "You can't--you can't belong to that--when we are married?" "To the Third Order? But, dear!--there is nothing in it that conflicts with married life! It was devised specially for persons living in the world. You would not have me give up what has been my help and salvation for ten years?" He spoke with great emotion. She trembled and hid her face against him. "Oh! I could not bear it!" she said. "Can't you realise how it would divide us? I should feel outside--a pariah. As it is, I seem to have nothing to do with half your life--there is a shut door between me and it." A flash of natural, of wholly irresistible feeling passed through him. He stooped and kissed her hair. "Open the door and come in!" he said in a whisper that seemed to rise from his inmost soul. She shook her head. They were both silent. The deep shade of the "wilderness" trees closed them in. There was a gentle melancholy in the autumn morning. The first leaves were dropping on the cobwebbed grass; and the clouds were low upon the fells. Presently Laura raised herself. "Promise me you will never press me," she said passionately; "don't send anyone to me." He sighed. "I promise." CHAPTER III One afternoon towards the end of Mr. Williams's visit, Laura was walking along a high field-path that overlooked the whole valley of the Flent. Helbeck had gone to meet the Bishop on some urgent business; but the name of his Catholic affairs was legion. The weather, after long days of golden mist, of veiled and stealing lights on stream and fell, had turned to rain and tumult. This afternoon, indeed, the rain had made a sullen pause. It had drawn back for an hour or two from the drenched valleys, even from the high peaks that stood violet-black against a space of rainy light. Yet still the sky was full of anger. The clouds, dark and jagged, rushed across the marsh lands before the northwest wind. And the colour of everything--of the moss, the peaks, the nearer crags and fields--was superbly rich and violent. The soaked woods of the park from which she had just emerged were almost black, and from their heart Laura could hear the river's swollen voice pursuing her as she walked. There was something in the afternoon that reminded her of her earliest impressions of Bannisdale and its fell country--of those rainy March winds that were blowing about her when she first alighted at the foot of the old tower.