of that mysterious personality
into Acol village, the deep friendship which had grown in Sue's heart
for Richard Lambert would have warmed into a more passionate attachment.

But she was too young to reflect, too impulsive to analyze her feelings.
The mystery which surrounded the foreigner who lodged at the Quakeress's
cottage had made strong appeal to her idealism.

His first introduction to her notice, in the woods beyond the park gate
on that cold January evening, with the moon gleaming weirdly through the
branches of the elms, his solitary figure leaning against a tree, had
fired her imagination and set it wildly galloping after mad fantasies.

He had scarcely spoken on that first occasion, but his silence was
strangely impressive. She made up her mind that he was singularly
handsome, although she could not judge of that very clearly for he wore
a heavy mustache, and a shade over one eye; but he was tall, above the
average, and carried the elaborate habiliments which the Cavaliers still
affected, with consummate grace and ease. She thought, too, that the
thick perruque became him very well, and his muffled voice, when he
spoke, sounded singularly sweet.

Since then she had seen him constantly. At rare intervals at first, for
maidenly dignity forbade that she should seem eager to meet him. He was
ignorant of whom she was--oh! of that she felt quite quite sure: she
always wore a dark tippet round her shoulders, and a hood to cover her
head. He seemed pleased to see her, just to hear her voice. Obviously he
was lonely and in deep trouble.

Then one night--it was the first balmy evening after the winter
frosts--the moon was singularly bright, and the hood had fallen back
from her head, just as her face was tilted upwards and her eyes glowing
with enthusiasm. Then she knew that he had learnt to love her, not
through any words which he spoke, for he was silent; his face was in
shadow, and he did not even touch her; therefore it was not through any
of her natural senses that she guessed his love. Yet she knew it, and
her young heart was overfilled with happiness.

That evening when they parted he knelt at her feet and kissed the hem of
her kirtle. After which, when she was back again in her own little room
at Acol Court, she cried for very joy.

They did not meet very often. Once a week at most. He had vaguely
promised to tell her, some day, of his great work for the regeneration
of France, which he was carrying ou