Till--remembrance came, and the torn edge flapped unheeded.

From below, where a frequented road came near at the point, there broke upon her ear sounds and voices,--children returning late from school, lingering and playing by the way--laughing and singing over their game.

She crouched till they were past--then hurried forward.

At length she came to an opening in the woods; a spot whose view of the surrounding country often attracted her thither--and from habit she paused and gazed.

It was such an afternoon as she loved; a red sky, a misty landscape, the near trees still ablaze with autumn tints. In the distance a flying train threaded its way whistling; the white steam appearing and disappearing behind wooded heights and promontories.

How often had she stood thus; how familiar was the scene!--but she could not linger now.

There was something she was searching for which she did not find. She had only seen it once, and then by chance,--in the present confused whirl of her brain she could not remember landmarks, nor identify localities.

But it was there, somewhere,--and she must look, look till she found it.

A branch snapped behind, and she spun round, terrified. Who--what was that?

The woods were almost silent, birds had ceased to sing, and rabbits were in their holes. After a minute's breathless suspense, she crept on a pace or two, and listened again,--but there was not a rustle, not a sound. She fled onwards.

A pile of logs and a rough saw-pit,--yes, yes,--she knew the saw-pit, she had pa.s.sed the saw-pit that other day, and Val and she had sat upon the logs. Val had kicked about the splinters at his feet, and formed them into heaps. And it was close, close by, that--oh, it was so close that she shivered and trembled, and clung to the edge of the pit as a support, and at last sank upon her knees.

But she was not praying--she was not even thinking;--there was nothing more to think about,--she rose and crept down the slope, to where lay a deep, black pool.

And out of the pool crawled a toad. Its head came first; the ugly, flat head that, but for its movement, might have been mistaken for a lump of slime,--then one long-jointed, sluggish leg, and then the other, followed by a sudden leap, and a leap, ah! the loathsome thing!--in her direction. Involuntarily she also leaped--backwards.

Not there--not just there; she shuddered as the reptile startled in its turn, turned and plunged again into the water, where, no doubt, were others of its kind, many and vile....

The stem of a bulrush shook, suggestive of hideous gambols at its roots....

The whole place looked so foul and evil that a wild desire to flee from it did actually, and as it were involuntarily, drag Leonore's nerveless feet a few yards from the edge--but there she halted, muttering to herself in broken, meaningless utterances. She thought she was goading herself back--back--back;--and she began to go back.

"Caught you up at last, Leo. What a walker you are! I followed you out, and guessed I should overtake you if I held on," continued the cheerful voice, as Paul tumbled down the bank, slipping and sliding, and steadying himself with his stick till he reached Leo's side. "A bit damp here though, isn't it?"

"Go away--go away, Paul." She tried to push him aside, he was between her and the pool.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to intrude; but, I say this is just the sort of thing to be very pleasant at the time, but----"

"Go--go!"

"But it will find out the weak spot afterwards, and then the aches and pains!"

"_I_ shall have no aches and pains, and you--you needn't stay. I don't want you, I won't have you;" cried Leo, wildly. "Why did you come? Why did you follow me? Who gave you leave to spy upon me?"

"I took my own leave," said Paul, and dropped his cheery note, fixing his eyes steadily on hers. "You will come away--from here--with me;"--and she felt his hand close upon her arm.

She looked at it, and at him stupidly. She made no outcry.

"Come," repeated Paul.

She shook her head.

"You are going to come. That was what brought me here. Do you understand me, Leo?"

"No--no." She made a faint, weak effort to release herself.

"You must obey me."

"I shall not."

"You must obey a Higher Power than mine. In G.o.d's name I command you to leave this baleful spot."

"Paul!" But she obeyed, cowering.

In silence they moved on, neither knowing which way they trod, then suddenly: "It was you who broke that branch I heard--you who tracked me all the way--I heard something--it was _you_ I heard? How could you?--how could you?--?" cried Leo, sobbing aloud. "Oh, to think that it was _you_!"

"It was I, dear Leo, sent to save you in your hour of need. You are ill--you are not yourself--you know not what you are doing;--but there is One who watches over His children, and in the hour of danger and temptation----"

"But why did he send _you_? Paul, do you believe you were really sent by Him?" she was awed, but scarcely subdued--"because _I_ don't. I cannot think even G.o.d would be so cruel as to choose _you_----" she broke off panting.

"He chooses His own instruments, Leo. Do not let this distress you, dear little sister--I may call you 'sister,' mayn't I?--You can trust me, can you not? Lean on me," he drew her hand within his arm, "and tell me you forgive----"

"Forgive--forgive?" she sobbed afresh. "Is it I to forgive--I who have done it all? Paul, don't you _know_? Don't you _see_?"

"I only see a poor little lamb that has lost its fold."

"But the little lamb has been straying in other folds, and it was so dark there, Paul--so dark and cold,--oh, Paul, why did you stop me?

Why--why did you save me? You know. _You know_;"--her sobs were heartrending.

He was silent.

"You were happy till you came here," said Leo, brokenly. "You loved Maud--at least you thought you did, and she, she still thinks she loves you. She----"

"Hush--no more. You must not say such things, Leo." He was calm no longer; the sweat broke out upon his brow.

"But it is the truth. Oh, it is--it is the truth."

"There are truths that must not be spoken. You must not, you shall not say what you would repent of all your life."

"Who is to speak if I do not? I am the only one----"

"Am I fallen so low that I would let _you_ proclaim the secrets of my coward heart? If _my_ lips are sealed, so shall _yours_ be," he cried, in great agitation. "If I have made a terrible mistake, it is my own mistake, and I shall abide by it."

"Paul--Paul,--" she clung more closely to him. "Say you forgive me, Paul."

"There is nothing to forgive. Take care. You nearly fell, Leo. Try to look where you are going in this dim light." The accents of forced composure fell like cold lead upon her heart. She had touched him for a moment, and a nerve had vibrated to her touch--but he was slipping from her again. He continued:--

"Since your penetration has discovered----"