not wait for me. My head aches, and I cannot walk fast."

"But we shall lose you, too, Ma'm'selle," demurred the girl,
hesitatingly.

"No, no; I will follow you slowly. Go; they may fall into the water if
you linger."

"Miss Maggie's nigh sure to, with they buns!" said the girl, taking the
alarm, and without any more loitering she darted after the runaways.

Alexia did not follow. For a moment she stood on the broad gravel walk
looking about her. Groups of figures were scattered about the smooth
turf--young ladies with novels; old ladies with crochet and poodles;
nurse- [here a lack in the original text] The girl looked, not at, but
around and beyond them; her great eyes seemed to be searching, as if
surprised at not seeing something, and yet dreading to see it. Then
their expression changed; for a moment her figure swayed; the next she
was walking gracefully, slowly, languidly, toward a rustic seat which
stood upon the smooth greensward in a somewhat lonely spot. It stood at
an angle formed by two flower-beds, and was backed by a clump of
shrubbery. Upon it there was one figure seated--that of a man.

The governess approached this figure slowly. A middle-aged man,
loosely-dressed, hair turning gray, dark-complexioned, with a scar on
his cheek, a scar such as a slash with a keen-edged knife might have
made. She approached and passed him; she did not look at him; he did
not look at her; he appeared to be quite absorbed in absently cutting
and fashioning a rough stick with the aid of a large clasp-knife. He
gazed before him abstractedly, brushed the splinters of wood from his
knee, and laid the knife down upon the seat beside him, the edge of the
blade uppermost. The girl shuddered; the ivory pallor of her cheeks
grew gray beneath her veil. She passed on round the clump of bushes and
returned. The man had abandoned his whittling, and, with his chin upon
his hand, whistled as he looked down at the grass at his feet. His
right hand played absently with the open knife; now the edge was
upward, now downward, now he half closed it, then opened it wide again.
Alexia Boucheafen's breath came rapidly; one violent throb of her heart
almost suffocated her; but, graceful, upright, stately, she passed the
seat as though it were vacant; she did not appear to glance at the man
sitting there, toying with the knife, and whistling under his breath.
She passed him, and, as she did so, her gloved hand made a swift
motion, and a white