“Perhaps he loved me better than he knew, and repented when too late the miserable betrayal that wrecked my life,” she thought, softening more and more toward him whom she knew she ought to hate. But before either one could utter another word, the prattling voice of a little child was heard, and Pansy looked up and saw Mrs. Meade and little Pet coming along the path toward where she sat. Pet caught sight of the two sitting there together, and ran forward with a cry of delight. “Pretty yady, pretty yady!” he cried joyously, and climbed into Pansy’s lap and kissed her. CHAPTER XXVI. THE ENEMY AT WORK. Norman Wylde seemed almost petrified with amazement at the scene before him. He gazed in wonder at Pansy and the child, and from them to Mrs. Meade. The old housekeeper, on her part, was surprised, too. She scarcely knew what to make of finding Norman Wylde here with Mrs. Falconer, but she knew not what to say. She could only stand and stare with a look of wonder on her fat face, which was flushed crimson from walking in the hot sun. Perhaps Pansy understood something of the surprise she was exciting in Norman Wylde’s mind, for the color rose warmly into her face as she returned the child’s caress and arose in a hasty way, gently putting him down upon the seat, and turning toward Mrs. Meade. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Meade. I am glad you have brought your sweet little boy out for a holiday,” she exclaimed, adding sweetly: “I wish I could stay for another romp with him, such as I had the other day. But I have an engagement in a few minutes. Good afternoon, Mr. Wylde. I have quite enjoyed my little chat with you while I rested under these beautiful trees.” He rose and bowed courteously, giving her a glance of grave friendliness that made her heart beat faster as she walked away, leaving all her heart behind her with her child and the father of her child, for--guilty wretch though she believed him--she could not strangle her yearning love. “I believe that he is sorry for his sin,” she kept telling herself, as some palliative of her tenderness for him, when suddenly she heard quick footsteps behind her and a hand stealthily touched her elbow. “He has followed me,” she thought, with some alarm, and turned her head quickly. Then a low cry of dismay and anger came from her lips. Mr. Finley, the grocer, her feared and hated stepfather, was walking along by her side, leering wickedly down into her face with an air of recognition that almost made her heart stop its beating. “Good afternoon, Pansy. I am glad to see that you are making it up with your old lover. I was behind a tree, watching you two while you sat on that bench talking. You find the old love as sweet as ever, eh? Well, no one can blame you for not loving that old man you married for his money,” were the impertinent words that greeted her astonished ears. She drew herself up haughtily, and tried to freeze him with her indignant glance.