Waveney's restlessness had amounted almost to disease that day; she simply could not sit still. All the morning she had been wandering over the common with the little dogs running beside her, and the moment luncheon was over she started off on an errand to the Model Lodging-house. Her limbs ached with fatigue, but a streak of red sunset, casting a glow on the river, attracted her irresistibly, and though the light had long faded, and the air was chill and damp, she still paced up and down; but she started, and a sudden giddiness came over her, as a deep voice accosted her. "Miss Ward, is this wise or right? Have you no regard for your health?" and Thorold's voice was unusually stern; but even in that dim light, the drawn pallor of her face frightened him. Could sickness and sorrow of heart have wrought this change in these few days? "Perhaps I have walked too much," she returned, faintly. "I am so fond of walking, and the river is so beautiful, and there is nothing else to do." And then a sudden impulse of self-preservation made her catch at his arm. "I am so giddy," she said, in a tired little voice. "If I only could sit down a moment!" "There is a seat near," he returned, quietly; "let me help you." And then his strong arm almost lifted her off the ground. The next moment she was on the bench; but his arm was still around her. She was not faint; her eyes were wide open and fixed on the water, but her strength had gone, and, as far as he could judge, she seemed scarcely conscious of her surroundings. She even submitted like a child when he drew her head against his shoulder. "Do not try to speak. It will pass, and you will be better soon." And then he felt her pulse. The feeble beats spoke of utter exhaustion. Very likely she had eaten nothing all day. There was only one thing to be done. She must be warmed and fed, and then he must take her home. "Do you think you could walk a little now?" he asked, when a few minutes had passed, and the cold breeze from the river seemed to pierce through him. "It is not safe to sit any longer. There is a frost to-night, and we have only such a little way to go. Will you try?--and I will help you." "Oh, yes, why not?" returned Waveney, dreamily. "But it is not a little way to the Red House, is it?" And then she rose stiffly, and if Thorold had not held her she would have fallen. "Why am I like this?" she panted. "I have never been weary before." "You have walked too far," was his sole answer, "and you are numb with cold." And then, half-supporting, half-carrying her in his man's strength, they reached the bridge. Under the gaslight he saw she had revived a little, and then he made her take his arm. The town was lighted, and there were plenty of passers-by; but, happily, there was not far to go. More than once, even in that short distance, he was obliged to let her pause for a minute. As he opened the little gate, she pressed his arm feebly.