It was half-past seven before he came,--as indeed she might have known,--since that was the earliest moment at which any one could come by the first train. She could see him coming for a long way, making his way among the trees. He had not come in by any gate, but through some illegitimate byway known to the Renton boys and the poachers, so lawless were all the accessories of this extraordinary stealthy meeting. He came along rapidly, making himself audible by, now and then, the sound of the gravel sent flying by his foot, or the crackle of a fallen branch on the path. And then he came in sight, walking very quickly, with a look of abstraction, wrapped in his own thoughts. He was close upon the bank before he caught sight of Mary, whose grey gown was easily lost sight of among the branches,--then he quickened his pace, and came forward eagerly. ‘You here,’ he said, ‘Mary? I thought I should be too early for you,’ and held out both his hands for her. ‘I was so much surprised,--so anxious to know what it was. I have been out for nearly an hour, I think,’ said Mary. ‘I could not sleep.’ ‘Did I startle you?’ said Ben. ‘Not half so much, I am sure, as I was startled myself. But if I have made you uneasy I will never forgive myself,’ he went on, looking closely into her face. What could have made that difference in his look? He had always been kind,--certainly he had always been kind,--but he had never looked at her before in that wistful, anxious way. He had been protecting, superior, affectionate; but such was not his expression now. ‘Oh, it does not matter!’ said Mary; ‘but, of course, since it is something important enough to bring you from town like this,--and at this hour---- Tell me, please, and put me out of pain.’ What he did was to draw her arm closely through his own. ‘Come this way,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to be seen or interrupted. There is a corner down here where we shall be quite safe. It was very good of you, Mary, to come.’ ‘Oh, Ben,’ she cried, ‘don’t talk so, you frighten me! You never were so gentle, so soft to me before. Tell me what it is. It must be something terrible to make you look like this. What is wrong?’ ‘I don’t know if there is anything wrong,’ he said. ‘It depends upon your feelings altogether, Mary; only I never had thought of,--anything of the kind,--never! It came upon me like a thunder-clap. To be sure. I might have known. You could not but be as sweet and as pleasant in the eyes of others as you were in mine----’ ‘Ben, don’t talk riddles, I entreat of you,’ said Mary. ‘I cannot make this out to-day. A shadow would frighten me to-day. I have had too much to bear,--too much,--‘ ‘Sit down here,’ he said, tenderly; ‘you must not be frightened. There is nothing to hurt you. It is only me that it can hurt. Mary, Hillyard came to me yesterday, and said,--I suppose by this time you must know what he said?’ ‘Yes,’ she answered, first with a violent blush, and then growing suddenly hot.