Mr. Grebby expresses lavish sorrow at Mr. Roche's non-appearance, while Eleanor wanders out down the budding lanes towards the station, just as if Philip were coming after all, only there is neither tumult of sorrow nor joy in her heart. She feels just indifferent to everything and everybody. The hedges are sprouting with young green. Surely the world is fair to all eyes but Eleanor's! Her head is bent, she is gazing on the ground. Suddenly a shadow crosses her path--the shadow of a man. She looks up slowly, standing still, rooted to the spot. A cold chill creeps through her veins, gradually changing to burning fire. She can neither speak nor move, the hedges seem to fly round, the trees spin, the twittering birds shriek! "_Carol!_" The word breaks from her lips at last like a cry. Why has Philip failed her, why is he not here to save? Someone is holding her hand in a passionate clasp, someone presses her cheeks, her lips! Is it a dream or reality, life or death? The spring bursts suddenly into smiles. Nature laughs loudly, all the world is one wide pleasure field, a place to love, to die in for joy! "Why did you run away?" he whispers, still holding her in his arms. "Why did you hide yourself from me, shut out the light from my days? It was cruel, Eleanor. Surely you knew I would have gone to the end of the world to find you, and you thought to evade me here." "Fate has willed it otherwise. How did you discover me?" "Giddy Mounteagle gave me your address. I never gave her a moment's peace till she divulged it, poor woman." A spark of anger flashes in Eleanor's love-laden eyes. "The traitress!" she murmurs under her breath. "Ah! do not say that. She is happy herself, and I was so miserable, _you_ were so miserable." "How do you know?" "I have read your heart like a book--it is mine and no other's. I mean to take it--cherish it--keep it--always!" "You stole it from Philip--you stole it from me!" she cries, her voice shaken by fear and dread. "You see me as I am--weak, defenceless--loving you to my shame--my destruction. I am in your power body and soul--you have got my will as well--it is yours--all yours. Think for a moment, Carol, before you keep these stolen goods--what they cost--you and me. Pity me in this hopeless moment of surrender--make it less hard to part. Are we to lose everything? Think of your soul--and my soul. I believe that we both have them now in the palms of our hands--to cast into Hell--to lift up to Heaven! You should be the stronger. Remember what it is to be a man!" "What is your ideal of poor mankind?" he asks hoarsely. "To give--not take," replies Eleanor, in the words of Charles Kingsley, which rise suddenly as an inspiration to her tortured mind. "To serve--not rule. To nourish--not devour. To help--not crush. If need, to die--not live!" "Then I will rise to your standard," he said boldly. "Eleanor, I will kill myself." "How?" she asks.