acheson, who was already in
the front garden. His attack was so violent that Macheson had no
alternative. He knocked him into the middle of his rose bushes, and
opened the gate, to find himself face to face with the last person in
the world whom he expected to see in Thorpe. It was Wilhelmina herself
who was a spectator of the scene!

"Mr. Macheson," she said gravely, "what is the meaning of this?"

Macheson was taken too completely by surprise to frame an immediate
answer. Stephen Hurd rose slowly to his feet, dabbing his mouth with his
handkerchief.

"A little disagreement between us," he said, with an evil attempt at a
smile. "We will settle it another time."

"You will settle it now," the lady of the Manor said, with authority in
her tone. "Shake hands, if you please. At once! I cannot have this sort
of thing going on in the village."

Macheson held out his hand without hesitation.

"The quarrel was not of my seeking," he said. "I bear you no ill-will,
Hurd. Will you shake hands?"

"No!" Stephen Hurd answered fiercely.

Macheson's hand fell to his side.

"I am sorry," he said.

"You will reconsider that, Mr. Hurd," Wilhelmina said quietly.

"No!" he answered. "I am sorry, Miss Thorpe-Hatton, to seem ungracious,
but there are reasons why I cannot accept his hand. He knows them well
enough. We cannot possibly be friends. Don't let us be hypocrites."

Wilhelmina turned away coldly.

"Very well," she said. "Mr. Macheson, will you walk with me a little
way? I have something to say to you."

"With pleasure," he answered. "I'm sorry, Hurd," he added, turning
round.

There was no answer. Together they walked up the village street. Already
the shock of seeing her had passed away, and he was fighting hard
against the gladness which possessed him. He had paid dearly enough
already for his folly. He was determined that there should be no return
of it.

"Which way were you going?" she asked.

"To the hills," he answered. "I can leave you at the church entrance.
But before you go----"

"I am not going," she answered. "I should love a walk. I will come with
you to the hills."

He looked at her doubtfully. She appeared to him so different a person
in her country clothes--a dark brown tailor-made suit, with short skirt,
a brown tam-o'-shanter and veil. She was not much more than a child
after all. Her mouth was a little sad, and she was very pale and seemed
tired.

"If you care to walk so far," he said gr