The new Evelina was not seen much with the other cousins, and she
made no acquaintances in the village. Whether she was to inherit all
the Adams property or not, she seemed, at any rate, heiress to all
the elder Evelina's habits of life. She worked with her in the
garden, and wore her old girlish gowns, and kept almost as close at
home as she. She often, however, walked abroad in the early dusk,
stepping along in a grave and stately fashion, as the elder Evelina
had used to do, holding her skirts away from the dewy roadside weeds,
her face showing out in the twilight like a white flower, as if it
had a pale light of its own.

Nobody spoke to her; people turned furtively after she had passed and
stared after her, but they never spoke. This young Evelina did not
seem to expect it. She passed along with the lids cast down over her
blue eyes, and the rose and lavender scent of her garments came back
in their faces.

But one night when she was walking slowly along, a full half-mile
from home, she heard rapid footsteps behind, and the young minister,
Thomas Merriam, came up beside her and spoke.

"Good-evening," said he, and his voice was a little hoarse through
nervousness.

Evelina started, and turned her fair face up towards his.
"Good-evening," she responded, and courtesied as she had been taught
at school, and stood close to the wall, that he might pass; but
Thomas Merriam paused also.

"I--" he began, but his voice broke. He cleared his throat angrily,