It might have been fancied that, with his heart so full of the great intention, he would be walking like one in a dream, taking no thought of the things about him; but so far from his being like this, he looked upon everything that he came across with an affection such as he had never known before. He felt that these things of Nature were closer to him than they had ever been--in fact, for some of them he felt as would an explorer in a strange land who suddenly comes upon a number of people and recognizes in each a relation of his own. He had never been in such close touch with Nature before, and every step that he took was one of rejoicing. He dallied so much in strange ways that it was actually as far on in the day as seven o’clock before he found himself in that narrow steep lane close to a narrower and steeper one, which led up to Athalsdean Farm--this was where his motor had broken down, and she had come upon him searching (by the aid of his chauffeur’s eyes) for the cause of the mischief. He had not yet reached the exact spot, when he saw her turning from the farm lane to the one through which he was walking; but she was not coming toward him; her turn took her in the opposite direction. He shouted to her, and she glanced round, and then stood still. She was at that instant under an ash that was not yet fully clothed with leaves; the sunlight shone upon her bare head. Bare? Well, scarcely bare with that splendour of wreathed tresses crowning her; but she wore no hat, and carried no sunshade. Her dress was a print, made very short, so that her serviceable shoes and her ankles were fully exposed. Such leaves as were upon the boughs cast dark shadows upon her dress, but her head was altogether in the sunshine. She waited for him, rosy and eager--she could not control her eagerness--she could not trust herself to speak a word of greeting in reply to his. “I have been in search of you,” he said. “For long?” “For long? All my life, Priscilla. I want you, Priscilla--I never wanted anything so much. I need you. I cannot do without you.” He had not released the hand that she gave him, but he did not hold it so tightly but that she could have taken it from him if she had been so minded; but it so happened that she was not so minded. She allowed him to keep it, and he drew her to him. He put his other hand on her waist, and then slipped it up to the back of her head. That was how he kissed her, with his hand at the back of her head; and that was how she allowed him to kiss her at 7.5 a.m. on that fresh June morning, when the hedgerows were giving in scent to the sun the dews that had lain upon them, keeping them fresh through the night. “You do not say a word,” he complained, when he had kissed her and kissed her--on the cheeks, the chin, the eyes, and the mouth--when he had held her so close to him that she felt deliciously dishevelled, and for some seconds found it difficult to breathe. “Not a word!”