"Reading now, I suppose," whispered Tom, as if he feared to disturb her. "She has changed her place and she is reading;" and he began to speculate whether she sat on the ottoman, or on the sofa, or in the cushioned arm-chair, with her novel in her hands. But his sidelong glances could not penetrate the panes, which returned only reflections of the sky or black shadow, excepting of the one object, the deserted frame which stood close to their surface. There was a time, not long ago either, when Tom Sedley would have run across the grass to the drawing-room windows, and had he seen Agnes within would have made a semi-burglarious entry through one of them. But there had come of late, on a sudden, a sort of formality in his relations with Agnes; and so he walked round by the hall-door, and found the drawing-rooms empty, and touching the bell, learned that Miss Agnes had gone out for a walk. "I've a message to give her from Miss Charity; have you any idea which way she went?" He found himself making excuses to the servant for his inquiry. A short time since he would have asked quite frankly where she was, without dreaming of a reason; but now had grown, as I say, a reserve, which has always the more harmless incidents of guilt. He was apprehensive of suspicion; he was shy even of this old servant, and was encountering this inquiry by an explanation of his motives. "I saw her go by the beech-walk, sir," said the man. "Oh! thanks; very good." And he crossed the grass, and entered the beech-walk, which is broad and straight, with towering files of beech at each side, and a thick screen of underwood and evergreens, and turning the clump of rhododendrons at the entrance of the walk, he found himself, all on a sudden, quite close to Agnes, who was walking toward him. She stopped. He fancied she changed colour: had she mistaken him for some one else? "Well, Agnes, I see the sun and the flowers prevailed, though we couldn't; and I'm glad, at all events, that you have had a little walk." "Oh! yes, after all, I couldn't really resist; and is Charity coming?" "No, you are not to expect her till tea-time. She's gone with Miss Flood somewhere, and she sent me to tell you." "Oh! thanks;" and Agnes hesitated, looking towards home, as if she intended returning. "You may as well walk once more up and down; it does look so jolly, doesn't it?" said Tom; "pray do, Agnes." "Well, yes, once more I will; but that is all, for I really am a little tired." They set out in silence, and Tom, with a great effort, said,-- "I wonder, Agnes, you seem so cold, I mean so unfriendly, with me; I think you do; and you must be quite aware of it; you must, _indeed_, Agnes. I _think_ if you knew half the pain you are giving me--I really do--that you wouldn't." The speech was very inartificial, but it had the merit of going direct to the point, and Miss Agnes began,-- "I haven't been at all unfriendly."