Yes; just such a face as he, a dreamer of dreams, had sometimes pictured to himself, but hardly hoped to see in the world of reality. A face too grave and troubled for her years--she looked barely eighteen--but how beautiful with its clear, steadfast eyes and general expression so simple, frank, girlish, and, at the same time, so intelligent and thoughtful! She was regarding him with a surprised, questioning look, which reminded him that he was gazing too pertinaciously. A little consciously he lifted his hat and asked: "Can you direct me to the Priory?" "The Priory?" she repeated in a low voice, her eyes fixed more intently upon him, and her hand tightening on the gate. "Mr. Verschoyle's place. I was directed at the railway station, but do not feel sure that----" "Whom do you want to see there?" she put in abruptly--almost ungraciously. Nor was the tone assumed; this was not the girl to affect the brusquerie of unconventionality any more than the suavity of conventionality--it was rather that of one in deep anxiety, and unaccustomed to veil her thoughts. "Mr. Verschoyle," he replied. "On--business?"--the expression of dread, or whatever it was, deepening in her face, white now to the lips; as, on the impulse of the moment, she pressed back the gate as though to bar the way. "No," he murmured. To have brought such a look to such a face! She still eyed him with the same unquiet scrutiny, as though debating something in her mind; then hurriedly asked: "But why? Where do you come from?" He might very well have asked what interest his relations with Verschoyle could have for her; but he felt that there was some grave reason underlying her anxiety, and was not inclined to take offence. Moreover, there was no necessity for mystery on his side; and, therefore, he might as well reply openly and directly to her question. "From Grayminster. My name is Meredith." "Are you a friend of his? Mr. Verschoyle is my brother"; still a little hesitatingly, and, as it were, on the defensive. He raised his hat again. "We were at Wadham together, Miss Verschoyle, and, chancing to be in this neighbourhood, I thought I would look him up for half an hour's talk over old times." The colour came into her cheeks and a smile to her beautiful lips, although both faded too quickly. "I remember your name now, Mr. Meredith. I have often heard my brother speak of you," moving aside for him to pass through the gate as she added: "If you will come with me, I will show you the way." He bowed, passing quickly through to her side. His indecision had entirely vanished now, and a visit to the Priory seemed the most desirable thing in the world. To think of Verschoyle not mentioning that he had a sister--and such a sister!