questioningly at the girl's profile.

A few minutes later the service was over, and the congregation sauntered
out down the aisle. A gawky group of men remained loitering by the
church door: one of them called to Anthony; but, nodding curtly, he
passed on, and strode away down the road, across the grey upland
meadows, towards home. As soon as he had breasted the hill, however, and
was no longer visible from below, he turned abruptly to the left, along
a small, swampy hollow, till he had reached the lane that led down from
the fell-side.

He clambered over a rugged, moss-grown wall, and stood, gazing
expectantly down the dark, disused roadway; then, after a moment's
hesitation, perceiving nobody, seated himself beneath the wall, on a
projecting slab of stone.

Overhead hung a sombre, drifting sky. A gusty wind rollicked down from
the fell--huge masses of chilly grey, stripped of the last night's mist.
A few dead leaves fluttered over the stones, and from off the fell-side
there floated the plaintive, quavering rumour of many bleating sheep.

Before long, he caught sight of two figures coming towards him, slowly
climbing the hill. He sat awaiting their approach, fidgeting with his
sandy beard, and abstractedly grinding the ground beneath his heel. At
the brow they halted: plunging his hands deep into his pockets, he
strolled sheepishly towards them.

'Ah! good day t' ye, Anthony,' called the old man, in a shrill,
breathless voice. ''Tis a long hill, an' my legs are not what they were.
Time was when I'd think nought o' a whole day's tramp on t' fells. Ay,