"_October_ 3.--Ah, why was I so foolish? Why did I not go when I saw the danger so clearly, instead of cheating myself into the belief that there was none? Would that I had never come to Ashcroft, or had had the courage to leave it! These last six weeks, I do not know, I cannot tell, how they have been spent. Thornton was ever by my side, and I--did not wish him away. We sat this afternoon on the lawn under the great ash-tree,--the one under which he sat reading Dante to Eleanor the last day she was with us. The love which had burned in his eyes all day found utterance at last, and flamed out in fiery, passionate words. He drew me towards him. His vehemence frightened me, and I muttered something about Eleanor. It checked him for a moment, but, quickly recovering, he spoke freely of himself and of her,--of the love which had existed between them,--a feeling so feeble and so poor, compared to that which he felt for me, as to be unworthy of the name. He entreated, he implored my love. I was silent. He bent over me, gazing into my face. There was a traitor lurking in my heart, which looked out of my eyes, and spoke without my consent. He understood that language but too well. I bent my eyes upon the ground,--his arm was around my waist, his hand clasped mine, his lips approached my cheek. A shadow seemed suddenly to come between me and the sun. I looked up and saw Eleanor, clad in mourning, standing before us. I started at once to my feet, and, like the coward that I am, fled and left them together. I ran down to the old hawthorn-tree, against which I leaned, panting and trembling. Yet, in a few moments, ashamed of my weakness, I stole back to where I could see them unobserved. Eleanor stood upon the same spot, calm and motionless. Thornton was speaking, but I was too far off to hear more than the sound of his voice. When he had ended, he approached her, as if to bid her adieu; but she passed him with a stately bow, and entered the hall-door. Thornton took his way to the stables, and I soon heard the clattering of his horse's hoofs on the hard gravelled road. When the sound died away in the distance, I stole into the house and crept up to my chamber. How long I was there I could not tell; but when I heard the bell ring for tea, I washed my face and smoothed my hair. I would not be so cowardly as to fear to see Eleanor again, and perhaps it would be better for us both to meet in the presence of a third person. "Mrs. Bickford was alone at the table. 'Miss Purcill would not come down tonight,--she was fatigued with her journey.'