A lonely unfrequented path, winding by Oranside, to a little clump of houses, not very far off, almost too few to be dignified by the name of hamlet, ran close to the high, encircling hedge, which shut in at that side the grounds of Merkland. Not far from the principal entrance was a little gate, across which the branches nearly joined, and which was never used, except by Anne herself, in her solitary rambles. She lingered at it, before she entered again--her dark dress scarcely distinguishable from the thick boughs behind her, as she leant upon the lintel. There was some one approaching on the road, whom Anne regarded with little interest, thinking her some resident of the hamlet, returning to her home; but as the passenger came in front of Merkland, she suddenly stopped, and standing still upon the road, gazed on the quiet house. Her head was turned towards the gate, and Anne, startled into attention, looked upon it wonderingly--an emaciated, pale face, that spoke of suffering, with large, dark, spiritual eyes, beaming from it, as eyes can beam only from faces so worn and wasted. Wistfully the long, slow look fell upon Merkland; standing there, so firm, serene, and homelike, its light shining through the trees. And then Anne heard an inarticulate murmur, as of muttered words, and the cadence of a deep, long sigh, and the stranger--for the wan face, and thin, tall figure, were too remarkable to have escaped her notice, had the passer-by been other than a stranger--went forward upon the darkening path, scarce noting her, Anne thought, as the figure glided past her, like a spirit. The image would not leave her mind. The pale, worn face--the wistful, searching eyes--haunted her through that night, and mingled with her dreams. Strange visions of Norman, such as now filled her mind continually, received into them this stranger's spiritual face. Dangers, troubles, the whole indefinite horde of dreaming apprehensions and embarrassments clung round those wistful eyes, as round a centre. Anne could scarcely believe next morning, when she awoke, with the remembrance so clear upon her mind, that it was not some supernatural presence, lingering about her still. The morning was very bright and clear, and cold, for October was waning then into the duskier winter; and Anne, remembering her engagement with Alice, laid her work by early, and prepared to walk up to the Tower. She met Lewis, booted and spurred, at the door. "Are you going to the Tower, Anne?" he asked. "Yes," was the answer. "Well, don't be surprised if you find me at Falcon's Craig, before you." "At Falcon's Craig, Lewis! What errand have you there?" "May I not make a friendly call as well as yourself?" said Lewis, gaily. "Besides, I shall take care of you, on the way home. How do I know that the Strathoran roads are quite safe for young ladies?" "But I thought you were afraid of Miss Falconer?" said Anne.