a--"there are
people turning round to look at us. I don't know what I should do in
those circumstances; perhaps, as you say, I should think it better to
end it all." She looked aside as she spoke, for her dark eyes had filled
with heavy tears. How she wished at that moment that she could "end it
all" as easily as she said the words! "Sit down for a little time, will
you, father?" she asked. "It is a warm morning, and I am rather tired."

She had another reason for wishing to sit down. She had observed that
for some time a tall woman in black had been apparently regarding them
with interest, following them at a little distance, slackening and
quickening her pace in accordance with their own. The stranger was
thickly veiled; and, when she saw that Cynthia and her father were
walking towards a vacant seat, she turned in the same direction. There
was nothing to prevent her from sitting down on the same bench, and
either putting a stop to all private conversation or listening to what
they had to say; but Cynthia was equal to the emergency. She turned her
head and gave the woman a long look, half of inquiry, half of disdain,
which seemed to overawe the intruder, who stood by the bench for a
moment rather uncertainly. Then Cynthia touched her father's arm.

"Do you know this person?" she asked in a low voice, but one so clear
that it must have reached the woman's ears.

"Know her?" said Westwood, starting and looking suspiciously at the
black figure. "No, I don't know her, unless she's---- She's very much
like a person staying with my landlady just now--a Miss Meldreth. I
wonder---- Shall I speak to her, Cynthia?"

But the woman had already moved from her standing position by the bench,
and was walking away as fast as she could conveniently go. She had fair
hair and a fine figure, but her face could not be seen.

"It is very like," said Westwood, standing up and staring after her.
"She's been very friendly with me since I came; and I've had tea with
her and Mrs. Gunn more than once. Strange to relate; she comes from
Beechfield too. She's the daughter of old Mrs. Meldreth, who used to
keep the sweetie-shop; don't you remember her?"

"Then she was watching you--following you! Oh, father, do be careful!"

"What should she be watching me for?" said Westwood, but with rather a
troubled look upon his face. "I've never had aught to do with her."

"Did you hear of her at all at Beechfield?"

"There was a bit of gossip about h