ely have liked to see her; I never knew a man who didn't. If he
has ever met her, he must remember her. But perhaps he will want to run
away, if he knows any one who knows him has found him out. Perhaps it
will be better not to tell him--just yet."

CHAPTER VIII

UNDER THE APPLE TREE

"A walk, Miss Mathewson? Yes, I'll take a walk--or a pill--or whatever is
due. Did you ever have a more obedient patient?"

John Leaver rose slowly from the steamer-chair in a corner of the porch
where he had been lying, staring idly at the vines which sheltered him
from the village street, or out at the strip of lawn upon which the early
evening light was falling. His tall figure straightened itself; evidently
it cost him an effort to force his shoulders into their naturally erect
carriage. But as he walked down the path by Miss Mathewson's side there
was not much look of the invalid about him. His face, though still rather
thin, showed a healthy colour, the result of constant exposure to the sun
and air. His days were spent wholly out of doors.

"Which way, this time?" Amy asked, as they reached the street.

"Away from things rather than toward them, please. I shall be very glad
when I can tramp off into the open country."

Amy glanced across the street. "Don't you want to approach a visit to the
country by exploring the old garden, over there? I hear that it has all
sorts of treasures of old-fashioned flowers in it. Do you care for old
gardens?"

"Very much, though it is a long time since I've been in one."

"Have you heard that the old house over here is to have a new tenant?"

"No, I haven't heard."

Leaver opened the gate in the hedge for his companion, looking as if the
least interesting thing in the world to him were the matter of tenants
for the little old cottage before him. But his tone was, as always,
courteously interested.

"I was so sorry, the other day, that it happened you didn't meet Mrs.
Burns's friend, such an interesting young woman. She is coming here to
open a photographic studio in this old house--as an experiment."

"A professional photographer?"

"I believe not--as yet. She would still call herself an amateur, but from
the pictures she showed us she would seem an expert. I never saw anything
like them. Dr. Burns--he had never met her--was very much taken with
them, especially with one of the little old lady, her grandmother, whom
she is to bring here."

They strolled along the moss-grown