Lunch over, I had to be quick if I would not be left behind. I foresaw small pleasantness in my self-imposed trip. Miss Millington was barely civil, and Maggie would scarcely answer when I spoke. Nona and the little ones, of course, followed suit.
So we started,—I, left to walk apart;—Denham rushing hither and thither; Maggie and Nona each hanging affectionately to one of "Millie's" arms, and the little ones keeping close to them, declining to approach me.
The first part of our way lay along the main road, going up the valley. I noted the gathering clouds, and made up my mind privately that we were in for heavy rain. But I said nothing. Others would see for themselves in time.
As we neared the Stockmoors' farm-house, I was somewhat in advance of the rest. Denham had climbed a bank for a flower, and the five stopped short,—perhaps to watch him, perhaps to note something else.
For I glanced back, and saw them gazing towards the whitewashed farm-house which lay close ahead. Involuntarily I looked in the same direction.
A young man was coming through the garden-gate; —a small gate, leading from the tiny flower-garden.
What first struck me was a certain familiarity in his figure and attitude,—the slight lithe figure, the soldierly bearing, the grace, ease, and promptitude with which he swung open the gate and stepped out upon the road.
In a moment I was face to face with Arthur Lenox!
If it had been anywhere else—if I had been behind the others instead of before,—if I had not been conscious of one dozen curious eyes close at hand,—most of all, if I could have had the least assurance that Arthur cares for me still,—I think I must have given some little word or look of welcome, which might perhaps have led to more!
But as things were, it was impossible! How could I, knowing that Miss Millington stood there? How could I, knowing what Miss Millington has seen of my secret thoughts?—If she did see it, which I can never really doubt. How could I, feeling all the while that Arthur Lenox may have utterly changed, may have given up even the wish to meet me again? No; I knew then, and I know still, that I had no choice.