sen, not from any definite causes
beyond those of absence, increasing age, and diverging sympathies.

Next, his bright particular star, Elfride. The face of Elfride was more
womanly than when she had called herself his, but as clear and healthy
as ever. Her plenteous twines of beautiful hair were looking much as
usual, with the exception of a slight modification in their arrangement
in deference to the changes of fashion.

Their two foreheads were close together, almost touching, and both were
looking down. Elfride was holding her watch, Knight was holding the
light with one hand, his left arm being round her waist. Part of the
scene reached Stephen's eyes through the horizontal bars of woodwork,
which crossed their forms like the ribs of a skeleton.

Knight's arm stole still further round the waist of Elfride.

'It is half-past eight,' she said in a low voice, which had a peculiar
music in it, seemingly born of a thrill of pleasure at the new proof
that she was beloved.

The flame dwindled down, died away, and all was wrapped in a darkness to
which the gloom before the illumination bore no comparison in apparent
density. Stephen, shattered in spirit and sick to his heart's
centre, turned away. In turning, he saw a shadowy outline behind
the summer-house on the other side. His eyes grew accustomed to the
darkness. Was the form a human form, or was it an opaque bush of
juniper?

The lovers arose, brushed against the laurestines, and pursued their
way to the house. The indistinct figure had moved, and now passed across
Smith's front. So completely enveloped was the person, that it was
impossible to discern him or her any more than as a shape. The shape
glided noiselessly on.

Stephen stepped forward, fearing any mischief was intended to the other
two. 'Who are you?' he said.

'Never mind who I am,' answered a weak whisper from the enveloping
folds. 'WHAT I am, may she be! Perhaps I knew well--ah, so well!--a
youth whose place you took, as he there now takes yours. Will you let
her break your heart, and bring you to an untimely grave, as she did the
one before you?'

'You are Mrs. Jethway, I think. What do you do here? And why do you talk
so wildly?'

'Because my heart is desolate, and nobody cares about it. May hers be so
that brought trouble upon me!'

'Silence!' said Stephen, staunch to Elfride in spite of himself. 'She
would harm nobody wilfully, never would she! How do you come here?'

'I saw the two c