The dark figure of her guardian's secretary had attracted her attention
from the moment when she first saw him moving silently about the house
and park: the first words she spoke to him were words of sympathy. His
life-story--brief and simple as it had been--had interested her. He
seemed so different from these young and old country squires who
frequented Acol Court. He neither wooed nor flattered her, yet seemed
to find great joy in her company. His voice at times was harsh, his
manner abrupt and even rebellious, but at others it fell to infinite
gentleness when he talked to her of Nature and the stars, both of which
he had studied deeply.

He never spoke of religion. That subject which was on everybody's
tongue, together with the free use of the most sacred names, he
rigorously avoided, also politics, and my Lord Protector's government,
his dictatorship and ever-growing tyranny: but he knew the name of every
flower that grew in meadow or woodland, the note of every bird as it
trilled its song.

There is no doubt that but for the advent of that mysterious personality
into Acol village, the deep friendship which had grown in Sue's heart
for Richard Lambert would have warmed into a more passionate attachment.

But she was too young to reflect, too impulsive to analyze her feelings.
The mystery which surrounded the foreigner who lodged at the Quakeress's
cottage had made strong appeal to her idealism.

His first introduction to her notice, in the woods beyond the park gate
on that cold January evening, with the moon gleaming weirdly through the
branches of the elms, his solitary figure leaning against a tree, had