The young man gazing at her felt his heart shaken by a pain which was worse than anything he had suffered yet. He was a skulking fugitive, a disgraced man, one who had taken dark oaths against society and authority, and was seeking to flee from the men who would have held him to them. What link was there between him and Veronica Leigh? He bitterly recalled the proverb, "Necessity makes strange bed-fellows." Necessity had obliged the maiden, in the throes of her desperate struggle for liberty, to trust herself to him for a few short hours. Those hours had changed the face of the world for him. For her they were no doubt already half-forgotten. She had, as it were, set her foot upon his neck to climb out of the pit. Here she was once more, seated at her ease among the elect, safe, cherished, and no more in need of her slum companion. He thought of the kindly, peremptory, half-patronizing letter he had written to her, and grew hot all over to think that he had dared. The figures of the three were disappearing down the drive together. He crept into the summer-house, where there were not so many pea-sticks as usual, sat down upon the dusty bench, and let his head drop into his hands. There was a swelling at his throat as if he must choke. The air was full of the tossing chimes, which, as he sat there, changed to the monotonous stroke of the five minutes bell. It was a knell, ringing for him, he thought--the knell of Felix Vanston, now forever dead and lost. Ask _her_ to run away and marry him, upon a pound a week! Only in that bitter moment did he realize that he had meant to beg and pray her to do so. One sometimes has no measure by which to gauge height, except the violence of one's fall. * * * * * * * A sound, slight but distinct--the rattle of gravel beneath a light foot, the rustle--indescribable--of a woman's apparel--and he lifted his dim eyes to see Rona standing in the doorway. With no word spoken she slipped inside the hut, round behind the bunches of sticks, to where he sat. "David--here I am," she said, timidly. He made her no reply, but let his craving eyes rest upon her. She flushed, and began to tremble. His evident misery pained her. Also, the surprise was not only upon his side. This young man was not the ragged, famished outcast who had grappled with her in his weakness and extremity, dragging her back to safety as she overhung the abyss. She, too, was smitten with the feeling that they were strangers. Into his soul were thronging all kinds of desires and consciousnesses, for the first time. He wished he were shaved. He wished he had a better suit; he wished he were handsome; he longed to be rich. True, the disfiguring blue glasses were hidden in his pocket; but even so, what kind of a champion was he, dusty pilgrim that he was, for this princess?