had frequently felt the same quick, hard beat in the femoral artery
of his lambs when overdriven. It suggested a consumption too great
of a vitality which, to judge from her figure and stature, was
already too little.

"What is the matter?"

"Nothing."

"But there is?"

"No, no, no! Let your having seen me be a secret!"

"Very well; I will. Good-night, again."

"Good-night."

The young girl remained motionless by the tree, and Gabriel descended
into the village of Weatherbury, or Lower Longpuddle as it was
sometimes called. He fancied that he had felt himself in the
penumbra of a very deep sadness when touching that slight and fragile
creature. But wisdom lies in moderating mere impressions, and
Gabriel endeavoured to think little of this.




CHAPTER VIII