letter into the hands
of a clerk, who promised, with a smile, that it should at once be put
into the right place. Emily found the smile hard to bear, but
fortunately she was unknown.

Then she set forth homewards. Such news as this, that she would see and
speak with Wilfrid in a few hours, set self-command at defiance. Between
joy at the thought that even now he was nearing her, and fear of the
events which might have led him to such a step, she was swayed in a
tumult of emotion. She longed to open the letter, yet felt she could not
do so in the public roads. She tried to think whether any ill chance
could possibly interpose to prevent her being at the place of meeting;
none was to be anticipated, unless, what was very unlikely, her mother
should propose to join her afternoon walk. But what could his coming
mean? She feared that she understood too well.

Often she had to check the over-haste of her pace, and the way seemed
terribly long, but at length she was at home and close shut in her
bedroom. The letter did not aid her to account for his coming; it had
been written late on Friday night, but made absolutely no reference to
what had passed between Wilfrid and his relations. It was a long and
passionate poem of his love, concerned not with outward facts, but with
states of feeling. Only at the end he had added a postscript, saying
that he should write again on Monday.

It was difficult to live through the morning. She felt that she must be
busy with her hands, and, her mother's objections notwithstanding, set
herself resolutely to active housework. Her anxious feelings in this way
toned themselves to mere cheerfulness. She listened with unfailing
patience to the lengthily described details of domestic annoyances of
which Mrs. Hood's conversation chiefly consisted, and did her best to
infuse into her replies a tone of hopefulness, which might animate
without betraying too much. The hours passed over, and at length it was
time to set forth. Mrs. Hood showed no desire to leave home. Emily,
though foreseeing that she might again be late for tea, did not venture
to hint at such a possibility, but started as if for a short walk.

Not much more than a mile from Banbrigg, in a direction away alike from
the Heath and from Dunfield, is the village of Pendal, where stand the
remains of an ancient castle. Very slight indeed are these relics, one
window and some shapeless masses of defaced masonry being alone exposed;
but a h