Nearly an hour passed, and as yet no one had gone by whom even at that distance she could possibly mistake for Henry; when suddenly her heart bounded within her, for a hundred yards or more away, and just at the turn of the station road, a view of which she commanded through a gap in the trees and fence, she caught sight of the figure of a man who walked with a limp. Hastening from the summer-house, she pushed her way through the under-growth and the hedge beyond, taking her stand at a bend in the path. Here she waited, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps and of a man’s voice, Henry’s voice, humming a tune that at the time was popular in the streets of London. A few seconds passed, which to her seemed like an age, and he was round the corner advancing towards her, swinging his stick as he came. So intent was he upon his thoughts, or on the tune that he was humming, that he never saw her until they were face to face. Then, catching sight of a lady in a grey dress, he stepped to one side, lifting his hand to his hat,—looked up at her, and stopped dead. “Henry,” she said in a low voice. “What! are you here, Joan,” he asked, “and in that dress? For a moment you frightened me like a ghost—a ghost of the past.” “I am a ghost of the past,” she answered. “Yes, that is all I am—a ghost. Come in here, Henry; I wish to speak to you.” He followed her without a word, and presently they were standing together in the summer-house. Henry opened his lips as though to speak; but apparently thought better of it, for he said nothing, and it was Joan who broke that painful silence. “I have waited for you here,” she began confusedly, “because I have things that I must tell you in private.” “Yes, Mrs. Rock,” he answered; “but do you not think, under all the circumstances, that it would be better if you told them to me in public? You know this kind of meeting might be misunderstood.” “Do not speak to me like that, I beg,” she said, clasping her hands and looking at him imploringly; then added, “and do not call me by that name: I cannot bear it from you, at any rate as yet.” “I understand that it is your name, and I have no title to use any other.” “Yes, it is my name,” she answered passionately; “but do you know why?” “I know nothing except what your letters and your husband have told me, and really I do not think that I have any right to inquire further.” “No, but I have a right to tell you. You think that I threw you over, do you not, and married Mr. Rock for my own reasons?” “I must confess that I do; you would scarcely have married him for anybody else’s reasons.” [Illustration: ] ‘I have waited for you here … because I have things that I must tell you in private.’