"It really is very nice," said Leo. "I have been out exploring. There is a lovely glen about a mile off, with woods and a stream--a little splashing stream--and the banks are simply covered with blue-bells. I should have picked some, but the path looked suspiciously well cared for, and there were little gates, as if it belonged to some big place; to tell the truth, I had an inkling I was trespassing, though there were no boards up. It would have been awkward to have been met by the owner, with my hands full of blue-bells. However, I mean to go again to-morrow, and spy out the land. If it's safe, you shall come." "Could I walk so far?" "You can have a little carriage, and leave it at the gate. You could not get it up the valley, as there is only a footpath, but I think you could walk that part. I can't tell you how delightful it was,--the sunlight speckling through the trees, and the cuckoos answering each other across the brook;--I could have stayed forever, but I remembered you and flew home." She flew back, however, the following evening. It was an equally calm, bright evening, after a day of heat and growth,--and buds that had been fast closed at dawn, had burst on every side. Tassels hung from the larches, giving forth their resinous fragrance; and the pink buds of young oaks, and sprays of waving yellow broom mingled with the many shades of green above and beneath. "What a heavenly spot!" sighed Leonore, enraptured. She could not resist wandering on and on; the woods at Boldero were nothing to this fairy dell, and at every tinkling waterfall, she was down the thymy bank overhanging it. But she noted anew that she was neither preceded nor followed by other invaders. She also experienced a little thrill of dismay at seeing through a vista--a long vista, it is true--a country house towards which a byepath led direct. Oh, well, she must risk it; if met--? She started and the courage of a moment before began to ebb, for something certainly moved behind the trees, and now she distinctly saw a figure on the path in front. To put a bold face upon it when no one challenged the face was easy, but it was another matter to--her pulses beat a little faster. Conning an apology, and prepared to offer it with the best grace she could muster, she walked slowly forward, with downcast eyes,--then, oh, what?--oh, who was this? She stood face to face with--Paul. Often and often afterwards she wondered how she felt, how she looked and what she did at that supreme moment? In the retrospect it was all a mist--a blurred canvas--a confused phantasm. "_Paul!_" "_Leonore!_" An outcry--then a terrible silence; agitation on his part, trepidation on hers--each alike stupefied, breathless. And Leonore's heart sank, and her eyelids fell. Was this _all_? Was this the end? Oh, misery, misery.