For me it was a delightful time. He talked of many books and countries which had interested me with a perfectly bewildering familiarity. The minutes flew along. I forgot all these troubles which had come so thick upon me as we walked side by side over the soft, spongy turf, sometimes knee deep amongst the bracken, sometimes skirting clumps of faded heather. But our walk was not to terminate altogether without incident. As we turned the corner, and came again within sight of the Vicarage gate, we found ourselves face to face with Olive Berdenstein. She stopped short when she saw us, and her face grew dark and angry. She was a strange-looking figure as she stood there in the middle of the lane waiting for us--a little over-dressed for Sunday morning parade in the Park. For a country walk her toilette was only laughable. The white lace of her skirt was soiled, and bedraggled with mud. One of her little French shoes had been cut through with a stone, and when we came in sight she was limping painfully. Her black eyes flashed upon us with a wicked fire. Her lips trembled. The look she darted upon me was full of malice. She was in a furious temper, and she had not the wit to hide it. It was to him she spoke first. “You said that you would call for me--that we would walk together this morning,” she said to him in a low, furious tone. “I waited for you one, two hours. Why did you not come?” He answered her gruffly. “I think that you must be mistaken,” he said. “There was no arrangement. You asked me to call; I said I would if I could. As it happened, I could not; I had something else to do.” “Something else! Oh, yes! so I see,” she answered, with a short, hysterical little laugh, and a glance of positive hatred at me. “Something more pleasant! I understand; we shall see. Miss Ffolliot, you are on your way home now, I presume. I will, with your very kind permission, accompany you. I wish to see your father. I will wait in your house until he can see me. If you deny me permission to enter, I will wait for the doctor. He shall tell me whether your father is not strong enough to answer me one single question, and if the doctor, too, be in your plot, and will not answer me reasonably, I will go to a magistrate at once. Oh! it will not be difficult. I will go to a magistrate. You see I am determined. If you would like to finish your amiable conversation, I will walk behind--or in front--whichever you like. Better in front, no doubt. Ha! ha! But I will come; I am determined.” She ceased breathless, her eyes on fire, her lips curled in a malicious smile. It was I on whom she had vented her passion. It was I who answered her. “You can come with me to the Vicarage if you like,” I said, coldly; “but you will not find my father. He has gone away.” “Gone away!” she repeated, incredulously. For a moment she looked black.