"I told her she looked woebegone, and that it was no good. She frets about things that are no business of hers, if you must know," owned Sybil, reluctantly. "She has taken it into her head that Maud--that she and Paul aren't suited to each other, and has let the idea run away with her. I suppose I was stupid myself, not to put a veto upon it flat,--but the truth is I do think they are an ill-assorted couple, and can't make out how they ever came to take to each other." "I once thought it was something else on Leo's part," said Sue, in rather a low voice. "If it is only that, I think, I hope, we are all mistaken." "We?" cried Sybil, struck by the word. "Because I think as you do," said Sue, quietly. * * * * * The short light of a November day was beginning to fade when Leonore, after a minute's cautious listening and watching from above, stole downstairs equipped to go out, and safely reached the garden-door without encountering any one. She was in the act of unlocking it, when Paul appeared. "You are going out?" said he, mechanically. "No, I am not," said she--and passed out before his eyes. For a few minutes she ran aimlessly hither and thither, crossing and recrossing her steps, while from time to time casting furtive glances at the windows of the house, as though to see if she were being watched or not--but satisfied apparently upon this point, she made a sudden dart for the woods beyond, and was almost immediately lost to view. Yet here again she hesitated, for the paths were numerous. There was the one she had first trodden on her return to the Abbey three years before. She recalled the beauty, the wild freshness of that twilight hour. It had so exhilarated her that while desirous of walking soberly as befitted the occasion, she had longed to run! Her first very real but transient sorrow had worn off, and there was no one to see her--yet something restrained her. It was not kind to Godfrey's memory; he had been so good to her, so uniformly affectionate and indulgent towards her, that she would not seem to slight him even in solitude. As for the dancing blood in her veins, she told herself it was purely physical. She was so well and strong that she could not help feeling just a little happy. And though she had often traversed the same narrow little winding path since, she had never perhaps felt quite the same again. On the other hand, there lay the short cut to Claymount--that was Val's way. She would not take Val's way, although of late Val had ceased to frequent it. He had no object in doing so, since Leonore was never to be met with now. Once or twice he had adverted to this, but she had replied evasively. Val did not interest her, did not amuse her any longer. He grew tiresome since he had taken to making remarks upon her altered appearance, and putting direct, awkward questions.