So saying, he jumped over the stile, while his companion turned round and walked slowly through the wood. He threaded the tracks and glades with perfect case; but at the point where the next turn would bring him into view of the great ash-tree and the open space overlooking the water-lily pond he paused and grew visibly paler. "I must remember that it cannot be much to him; if he has answered my appeal it cannot be _much_ to him--it cannot be agreeable. I wish I'd asked a little more about him. However, now for it." He turned round the dump of trees by which he stood, and stopped with a start. "What! someone else! Oh, of all the ill luck," he thought, as he saw under the tree a grey pony and a wheeled chair, in which was a young man sketching the pond and the trees beyond it. Edgar was half sitting up against his cushions, and had pushed the soft cap which he wore back from his brows, so that his face was clearly visible; but he himself was looking the other way, and, intent on his sketch, did not observe that anyone was approaching. The new-comer looked at him at first without any recognition. Who could the invalid be who had permission to sketch in the Ashcroft wood and seemed so much at home there? He had better walk quietly on, and pass by as if by accident. But, as he came nearer, Edgar threw back his head to look at his drawing, and something in the gesture struck on the stranger with a sudden thrill. He saw the dark hair, the long, delicate features. Could it be--was it possible? Was _this_ the one he came to meet--evidently unwarned and unexpectant--and--like _this_? As he paused, bewildered, doubtful how to proceed, Edgar turned his head and saw him. He saw the dark man with a pointed beard, whom Wyn had described on the authority of Florence as having been in the wood the day before, and, laying down his pencil, said, courteously, but with some decision, and in a voice at once recognisable: "Excuse me, but perhaps you are not aware that this wood is private?" The stranger made three or four steps forward, till he stood close beside the pony chair. "Oh yes," he said, "of course I know that. You--you did not receive my letter?" "You are--you are _Alwyn_!" gasped Edgar, breathless and dizzy with the shock that came without a moment's doubt or a moment's warning. "Edgar! Yes, yes, I wrote. I did not mean to take you by surprise. But it is I--prepared for what welcome you will give me." Edgar was so near fainting that welcome of any sort was beyond his power; but, as his senses came back, he saw Alwyn leaning over him, looking at him with frightened eyes, not daring to lift, hardly to touch him, and almost as much taken aback as himself by the unexpected state in which he found him. Edgar lay looking at him for a moment or two. "Then--you are alive?" he said slowly. "Yes," said Alwyn, "I wrote to you to ask you if you would see me. I gave the letter to a boy, here in the wood--"