She turned from the rosy river, and set out to walk down the Embankment to the next bridge, from where she proposed to take the conveyance that had thrilled her stepmother that afternoon with a sense of incredible adventure. The pavement stretched empty and darkening in front of her, and at the far end the lamplighter had started on his luminous round. Some two hundred yards off a figure was walking quickly towards her, and long before she could distinguish face or feature, Elizabeth, with heart in sudden tumult, saw who it was. Almost at the same moment she saw him pause suddenly in his rapid progress, and halt as if undetermined whether or no to turn and retrace his steps. But he came on again, and soon they stood face to face. All the tumult in her had died down again; she held out her hand with the friendliest, most unembarrassed smile.
"At last, Edward!" she said. "And we shall meet again soon. Aunt Julia has asked mamma and me down for next Sunday."
He looked at her a moment without speaking. She saw that his breath came quickly as if he had been running.
"I know. She told me she was going to write," he said.
"She met mamma this afternoon, and said it instead."
"Must I go away?" he asked. "Of course I will if you wish it. But—but mayn't I see you again?"
At his voice, at the entreaty in his eyes, all but her love for him, unstained and bright-burning, vanished utterly.
"Yes, why not, if you want to?" she said. "But I shall understand so well if you do not."
"I have wanted nothing else every day," he said.
All her heart went out to him.