"Fond of me! I didn't want him to be fond of me. I don't suppose he ever thought much about me. I could not help thinking of him."--She had nothing to say to this, and therefore walked on silently by his side. "I suppose he has not any idea of coming back here again?" "What; to Belton? No, I do not think he will come to Belton any more." "Nor will you go to Aylmer Park?" "No; certainly not. Of all the places on earth, Will, to which you could send me, Aylmer Park is the one to which I should go most unwillingly." "I don't want to send you there." "You never could be made to understand what a woman she is; how disagreeable, how cruel, how imperious, how insolent." "Was she so bad as all that?" "Indeed she was, Will. I can't but tell the truth to you." "And he was nearly as bad as she." "No, Will; no; do not say that of him." "He was such a quarrelsome fellow. He flew at me just because I said we had good hunting down in Norfolk." "We need not talk about all that, Will." "No;--of course not. It's all passed and gone, I suppose." "Yes;--it is all passed and gone. You did not know my Aunt Winterfield, or you would understand my first reason for liking him." "No," said Will; "I never saw her." Then they walked on together for a while without speaking, and Clara was beginning to feel some relief,--some relief at first; but as the relief came, there came back to her the dead, dull, feeling of heaviness at her heart which had oppressed her after his visit in the morning. She had been right, and Mrs. Askerton had been wrong. He had returned to her simply as her cousin, and now he was walking with her and talking to her in this strain, to teach her that it was so. But of a sudden they came to a place where two paths diverged, and he turned upon her and asked her quickly which path they should take. "Look, Clara," he said, "will you go up there with me?" It did not need that she should look, as she knew that the way indicated by him led up among the rocks. "I don't much care which way," she said, faintly. "Do you not? But I do. I care very much. Don't you remember where that path goes?" She had no answer to give to this. She remembered well, and remembered how he had protested that he would never go to the place again unless he could go there as her accepted lover. And she had asked herself sundry questions as to that protestation. Could it be that for her sake he would abstain from visiting the prettiest spot on his estate,--that he would continue to regard the ground as hallowed because of his memories of her? "Which way shall we go?" he asked. "I suppose it does not much signify," said she, trembling. "But it does signify. It signifies very much to me. Will you go up to the rocks?" "I am afraid we shall be late, if we stay out long." "What matters how late? Will you come?" "I suppose so,--if you wish it, Will."