She took him down the hill on which the house stood, by a narrow, winding path, to the side of a picturesque stream in the valley below. He had seen the place before, but he followed her without a word until they reached a wooden seat close to the water's edge, with its back fixed to the steep bank behind it. The rowan trees, with their clusters of scarlet berries, hung over it, and great clumps of ferns stood on either hand. It was an absolutely lonely place, and Percival knew instinctively that Elizabeth had brought him to it because she could here speak without fear of interruption. "It is a beautiful place, is it not?" she said, as he took his seat beside her. He did not answer. He rather disdained the trivial question. He was silent for a few minutes, and then said briefly:-- "Tell me why you wanted me." "I have been unhappy," she said, simply. "That is easy to be seen." "Is it? Oh, I am sorry for that. But I have had neuralgia. I have, indeed. That makes me look pale and tired." Percival threw his arm over the back of the seat with an impatient motion, and looked at the river. "Nothing else?" he asked, drily. "It seems hardly worth while to send for me if that was all. The doctor would have done better." "There is something else," said Elizabeth, in so quiet and even a voice as to sound almost indifferent. "Well, I supposed so. What is it?" "You are making it very hard for me to tell you, Percival," said she, with one of her old, straight glances. "What is it you know? What is it you suspect?" "Excuse me, Elizabeth, I have not said that I know or suspect anything. Everybody seems a little uncomfortable, but that is nothing. What is the matter?" As she did not answer, he turned and looked at her. Her face was pale, but there was a look of indomitable resolve about her which made him flinch from his purpose of maintaining a cold and reserved manner. A sudden fear ran through his heart lest Kitty's warning should be true! "Elizabeth," he said, quickly and passionately, "forgive me for the way in which I have spoken. I am an ill-tempered brute. It is my anxiety for you that makes me seem so savage. I cannot bear to see you look as you do: it breaks my heart!" Her lip trembled at this. She would rather that he had preserved his hard, sullen manner: it would have made it more easy for her to tell her story. She locked her hands closely together, and answered in low, hesitating tones:-- "I am not worth your anxiety. I did not mean to be--untrue--to you, Percival. I suffered a great deal before I made up my mind that I had better tell you--everything." A tear fell down her pale cheek unheeded. Percival rose to his feet. "I don't think there is much to tell, is there?" he said. "You mean that you wish to give me up, to throw me over? Is that all?" His words were calm, but the tone of ironical bitterness in which they were uttered cut Elizabeth to the quick. She lifted her head proudly.