It was late in the afternoon before I set off, and I didn't walk fast. A sort of tiredness was on me those days, and not caring much for anything; so I hadn't the spirit to run and be gay, as I'd have done a few weeks back. I loitered through the village, finding my way to the common by slow degrees, and then I loitered round it, getting ragged-robins out of the hedge, and blue speedwells, and meadow-sweet. For a good while I kept near that part of the common where the big village boys were playing cricket; but presently I left them behind, and got away to a lonelier part. The sun was low by that time, shining with a yellow light through the branches of the trees; for there were many trees scattered about by ones or twos, and in little clumps, divided by open spaces. I liked to feel myself alone, to know that nobody was watching me. If mother hadn't said what she did, I should have sat down on the grass and given myself over to thinking—not of Mary mostly, though I did feel her going, but of her brother. I could always sit and think of Walter Russell, for any time, and never want to be disturbed. It's wonderful how little I thought of poor Rupert in those days. But I knew mother would question me when I got home; so I walked on, till I was so tired I had to stop. And then I stood, leaning against the trunk of an old elm, with the sunbeams shining full on me, and a gold light all over the grass. It was a pretty evening; one of the prettiest I have ever seen. I wondered what Mary was doing just then. She would have reached home some time before,—the little home she had often described to me, till I seemed to know every corner of it. Most likely she had unpacked and put everything away, and she and her brother would be sitting down for a long talk together, one on each side of the round table in their parlour. How happy they would be! He was such a kind good brother, and Mary so devoted to him. She might sometimes find fault with "Walter," but she loved him with all her heart. I didn't think that any wonder either. So happy together: talking, smiling, laughing, telling everything that had happened, making merry little jokes. Yes, I could picture it all! And I, out there on the common, away from them both, felt so lonely. These thoughts were filling my mind, and I think I sighed more than once, with the longing to see Mr. Russell again. I had shut my eyes, that I might the better picture those two in their parlour. Something made me open my eyes—I don't know what, unless it was the sound of a step on the grass, which I could not have said I heard—but I looked up. And he was there; in front of me! For a moment I felt stupefied, dazed! I couldn't believe what I saw. I couldn't believe he was Mr. Russell himself. He said "Kitty!" And then I had no more doubt. CHAPTER VI. THE EARL'S GIFT. "Kitty!" says he. "Why, Kitty, don't you know me?"