Behind one of the old oaks which we have described in the preceding chapter, shrouding himself from observation like a hunter watching for his game, or an Indian for his enemy, but with different, very different purpose, Tyrrel lay on his breast near the Buck-stane, his eye on the horse-road which winded down the valley, and his ear alertly awake to every sound which mingled with the passing breeze, or with the ripple of the brook. "To have met her in yonder congregated assembly of brutes and fools"--such was a part of his internal reflections,--"had been little less than an act of madness--madness almost equal in its degree to that cowardice which has hitherto prevented my approaching her, when our eventful meeting might have taken place unobserved.--But now--now--my resolution is as fixed as the place is itself favourable. I will not wait till some chance again shall throw us together, with an hundred malignant eyes to watch, and wonder, and stare, and try in vain to account for the expression of feelings which I might find it impossible to suppress.--Hark--hark!--I hear the tread of a horse--No--it was the changeful sound of the water rushing over the pebbles. Surely she cannot have taken the other road to Shaws-Castle!--No--the sounds become distinct--her figure is visible on the path, coming swiftly forward.--Have I the courage to show myself?--I have--the hour is come, and what must be shall be." Yet this resolution was scarcely formed ere it began to fluctuate, when he reflected upon the fittest manner of carrying it into execution. To show himself at a distance, might give the lady an opportunity of turning back and avoiding the interview which he had determined upon--to hide himself till the moment when her horse, in rapid motion, should pass his lurking-place, might be attended with danger to the rider--and while he hesitated which course to pursue, there was some chance of his missing the opportunity of presenting himself to Miss Mowbray at all. He was himself sensible of this, formed a hasty and desperate resolution not to suffer the present moment to escape, and, just as the ascent induced the pony to slacken its pace, Tyrrel stood in the middle of the defile, about six yards distant from the young lady. She pulled up the reins, and stopped as if arrested by a thunderbolt.--"Clara!"--"Tyrrel!" These were the only words which were exchanged between them, until Tyrrel, moving his feet as slowly as if they had been of lead, began gradually to diminish the distance which lay betwixt them. It was then that, observing his closer approach, Miss Mowbray called out with great eagerness,--"No nearer--no nearer!--So long have I endured your presence, but if you approach me more closely, I shall be mad indeed!" "What do you fear?" said Tyrrel, in a hollow voice--"What can you fear?" and he continued to draw nearer, until they were within a pace of each other.