DEAR MARGERY, -

You must not suppose that, because I spoke somewhat severely to you
at our chance encounter by the hollow tree, I have any feeling
against you. Far from it. Now, as ever, I have the most grateful
sense of your considerate kindness to me on a momentous occasion
which shall be nameless.

You solemnly promised to come and see me whenever I should send for
you. Can you call for five minutes as soon as possible, and disperse
those plaguy glooms from which I am so unfortunate as to suffer? If
you refuse I will not answer for the consequences.

I shall be in the summer shelter of the mount to-morrow morning at
half-past ten. If you come I shall be grateful. I have also
something for you. Yours,

X.


In keeping with the tenor of this epistle the desponding, self-
oppressed Baron ascended the mount on Sunday morning and sat down.
There was nothing here to signify exactly the hour, but before the
church bells had begun he heard somebody approaching at the back.
The light footstep moved timidly, first to one recess, and then to
another; then to the third, where he sat in the shade. Poor Margery
stood before him.

She looked worn and weary, and her little shoes and the skirts of her
dress were covered with dust. The weather was sultry, the sun being