stood there, doubtful as Cain on the outskirts of the unknown, he
caught the sound of a footfall on the lonely and stone-strewn
path.

The ground sloped steeply away to the left, and slowly mounting
the hillside came mildly on an old lady he knew, a Miss Sinnet,
an old friend of his mother's. There was just such a little seat
as that other he knew so well, on the brow of the hill. He made
his way to it, intending to sit quietly there until the little
old lady had passed by. Up and up she came. Her large bonnet
appeared, and then her mild white face, inclined a little towards
him as she ascended. Evidently this very seat was her goal; and
evasion was impossible. Evasion!... Memory rushed back and set
his pulses beating. He turned boldly to the sun, and the old
lady, with a brief glance into his face, composed herself at the
other end of the little seat. She gazed out of a gentle reverie
into the golden valley. And so they sat a while. And almost as if
she had felt the bond of acquaintance between them, she presently
sighed, and addressed him: 'A very, very, beautiful view, sir.'

Lawford paused, then turned a gloomy, earnest face, gilded with
sunshine. 'Beautiful, indeed,' he said, 'but not for me. No, Miss
Sinnet, not for me.'

The old lady gravely turned and examined the aquiline profile.
'Well, I confess,' she remarked urbanely, 'you have the advantage
of me.'

Lawford smiled uneasily. 'Believe me, it is little advantage.'