ot yet half-past five,
she turned and entered the south-eastern woods, which came up at this
point to the East Angels border. Once within the shaded aisles, she
walked on, following no path, but wandering at random. Any one seeing
her then would have said that the expression of her face was singularly
altered; instead of the composure that usually held sway there, it was
the expression of a person much agitated mentally, and agitated by
unhappiness. She walked on with irregular steps, her hands interlocked
and hanging before her, palms downward, her eyes on the ground. After
some time she paused, and seemed to make an effort to press back her
troubles, not only a mental effort, but a physical one, after the manner
of people whose sensibilities are keen; she placed her hands over her
forehead and eyes, and held them there with a firm pressure for several
minutes; then she let them drop, and looked about her.

She had wandered far, she was near the eastern boundary of the wood;
Madam Giron's house was in sight--only a field lay between. She was
sufficiently acquainted with the forest to know that one of the paths
must be near; three paths crossed it, leading from East Angels to the
Giron plantation and beyond, this should be the most easterly of the
three; she turned to look for it.

It was not distant, and before long she came upon it. But at the moment
she did so she caught a glimpse of Evert Winthrop's figure; he was on
the other side of the path, at some distance from her; in the wood, but
nearer its edge than she was. Seated on a camp-stool, he was apparently
using the last of the daylight to finish a sketch. For he had taken to
sketching during his long stay at East Angels, producing pictures which
were rather geometrical, it is true; but he maintained that there was a
great deal of geometry in all landscape.

Margaret had now entered the path, and was walking towards home.

It happened that Winthrop at this moment looked up; but he did not do so
until her course had carried her so far past him that it was not
necessary for her to give sign of having seen him. He was too far off to
speak; there was, in fact, a wide space between them, though they could
see each other perfectly. But though, by the breadth of a second, he had
failed to look up in time to bow to her, he was in time to see that she
had observed him--her eyes were in the very act of turning away. In that
same instant, too, Margaret perceived that he s