Suddenly the voices of students were heard below and the crunching of their steps along the path, She had lingered too long and must abide the issue, for presently she heard him coming up the stairs. Then she thought that it he was buoyant, if he entered light-heartedly, she would leave without a word, cured of her fancy that he loved her. The door opened slowly, and she remained motionless where she stood, her hands resting on the cold stone window-ledge, her eyes fixed intently on the distant hills. But all her senses were conscious of him. She felt that she could see him, that he too was sad, that she heard him sigh, though the only sound in the room during his moment of speechless surprise was the purring of the flames in the fireplace. "Miss Wycliffe," he ventured doubtfully. Remembering his experience in the mist, he had almost believed that he was again the victim of an hallucination, but her swift turning, her illuminating smile, were very different from that ghostly vanishing. "How extraordinary you will think it of me, Mr. Leigh," she said, coming toward him, "to call on you in this fashion." She stood near him, her hands involved in the folds of her cloak, her bearing one of spontaneity and candour. He pulled off his cap and stood waiting. None of the conventional greetings passed between them. He did not even ask her to be seated, so great was his bewilderment, his anxiety to know why she had come. The emotion that had stirred her in Cardington's room seemed gone now. Her smile conveyed an humorous appreciation of her unconventional act. The gaze of her eyes was spiritual and clear. "I have come to you as to a friend," she explained with sweet seriousness. "You know the trouble I have brought upon myself, upon my father, upon Mr. Emmet, upon every one. I am in great distress of mind. I want to do the right thing, if it is possible to right so much wrong at this late date. I have become confused as to my duty. My husband thinks one thing--my father thinks another--and I don't know what I ought to do. You have been in Mr. Emmet's confidence and in mine. I want you to give me your advice." "Perhaps you should have chosen a more disinterested judge, Miss Wycliffe," he returned; "but you were right at least in feeling that you could come to me as to a friend. In fact, I was thinking of coming to you, perhaps not altogether as a mere friend--but let that go now. Why should n't one who would have been something nearer, if it had been possible, be at least that? And more--I am grateful to you for giving me this opportunity. I take it as a proof that you have restored me in some measure to your confidence, after I had deserved to lose it entirely."