The blood rushed into the reader's pallid cheeks. The very encounter which he had at times dreaded, while threading his way through the crowded streets, was here pressed upon him in a manner which he could not elude. Would he wish, then, to avoid it? Perhaps not. But in the first confusion of his feelings, joy had only a small share. Again all his plans were frustrated. He seemed to be a mere plaything in the hands of destiny. It wanted yet some time of the appointed hour when the lover sought the rendezvous. Backwards and forwards, with uneven steps, he paced the grass between the cottage and the Serpentine-river. The thought of avenging the desolation around him again presented itself to his fancy: again he resisted it, and vowed that no such selfish impulse should sully his affection for Mildred. But the idea recalled the death-bed injunctions of his father, and reminded him that he had been on the point of entirely submitting to his adversary's triumph. He began to think that the task which had been imposed upon him was beyond his strength. His dreamy and lonely youth had ill prepared him for the storms of riper years. He was infirm of purpose and irresolute of heart. The approach of a female form fluttered his pulse, and in a moment he was at Mildred's side. The greeting was incoherent and abrupt. "Randolph," the lady said, "I have sought you, because I have no other succour left. Do you know, have they told you, that my bridal is at hand?" Her lover started, and remembered, as in a flash of lightning, what he had heard from old Jeffrey. "It was false," he said. "Dearest, I knew it was false." "Ay," she continued. "But it has become very like truth. Do you know that everybody believes it? that everybody looks upon Mildred Pendarrel.... Oh, my mother, my mother, why have you driven me to this?" She spoke with passionate sorrowfulness of accent. Well might Randolph say there was no happiness in love like theirs. "Yes, the day is fixed. I am a prisoner till it comes. I am here only by stealth. I do not know what will become of me. I can bear it no longer." The words followed one another in rapid succession. Mildred was trying to forget herself in the quickness of her utterance. "The day will never dawn," Randolph exclaimed. "Are we not vowed to each other? Are we not pledged for ever? Let us fly, dearest. Let us be united before the world, as we are in our hearts. But, no, no," he suddenly ejaculated, with a burst of anguish. "Do you know who I am? An outcast, without house or name. Dishonoured and infamous. What can I offer you? How can you share my lot? It must not be, dearest Mildred, it can never be."