than two o'clock in the afternoon when Adam came in sight of
the grey town on the hill-side and looked searchingly towards the green
valley below, for the first glimpse of the old thatched roof near the
ugly red mill. The scene looked less harsh in the soft October sunshine
than it had in the eager time of early spring, and the one grand charm
it possessed in common with all wide-stretching woodless regions--that
it filled you with a new consciousness of the overarching sky--had a
milder, more soothing influence than usual, on this almost cloudless
day. Adam's doubts and fears melted under this influence as the delicate
weblike clouds had gradually melted away into the clear blue above him.
He seemed to see Dinah's gentle face assuring him, with its looks alone,
of all he longed to know.

He did not expect Dinah to be at home at this hour, but he got down from
his horse and tied it at the little gate, that he might ask where she
was gone to-day. He had set his mind on following her and bringing her
home. She was gone to Sloman's End, a hamlet about three miles off, over
the hill, the old woman told him--had set off directly after morning
chapel, to preach in a cottage there, as her habit was. Anybody at the
town would tell him the way to Sloman's End. So Adam got on his horse
again and rode to the town, putting up at the old inn and taking a
hasty dinner there in the company of the too chatty landlord, from whose
friendly questions and reminiscences he was glad to escape as soon as
possible and set out towards Sloman's End. With all his haste it was
nearly four o'clock before he could set off, and he thought that as
Dinah had gone so early, she would perhaps already be near returning.
The little, grey, desolate-looking hamlet, unscreened by sheltering
trees, lay in sight long before he reached it, and as he came near he
could hear the sound of voices singing a hymn. "Perhaps that's the last
hymn before they come away," Adam thought. "I'll walk back a bit and
turn again to meet her, farther off the village." He walked back till he
got nearly to the top of the hill again, and seated himself on a loose
stone, against the low wall, to watch till he should see the little
black figure leaving the hamlet and winding up the hill. He chose
this spot, almost at the top of the hill, because it was away from all
eyes--no house, no cattle, not even a nibbling sheep near--no presence
but the still lights and shadows and the great emb