In this strange mood, he walked steadily down into the valley and along a lane which would take him to Tweedy's by a short cut. Tall hedges bright with changing leaves enclosed this lane and it was fringed by autumn flowers and overhung by loaded boughs. A wind brought to him the rich smell of hay and apples and stirred the rustling leaves which strewed the ruts before him. A small bird piped drowsily.
Then, suddenly, as he pushed aside a screen of branches, he knew that this visit to Arcady was not to be fruitless after all, that there was a purpose behind it; and learnt, suddenly, why Destiny had sent him there.
For, suddenly, he saw her.
III
His coming took her by complete surprise and, for a time which might be measured in seconds, she remained unconscious of his presence. She was sitting on a stile which led into an orchard on the left side of the lane, her face and figure steeped in the golden sunlight and boldly framed by sprays of scarlet leaves against a background of clear sky. Her head was partly turned away but Hector could see that she was unusually pretty. The soft freshness of girlhood blended in her face with the character of womanhood and her hair—he had never seen anything like her hair, a kind of ruddy gold, almost copper, shot with sunbeams which played in it as if they were alive. She wore a dress that was soft and white and billowy and from her arm hung a small straw hat on two blue ribbons.
So much he saw in the first swift moment. And then he perceived that she was crying, not noisily or violently, but quietly, with slowly welling tears. He wondered why. Presently he noticed that she was holding out her skirt in front and staring at it with a world of misery in her eyes. There was a jagged rent in the skirt. A tiny bit of stuff fluttering on a nail in the stile told him everything. And now she found relief from her vexation in the customary feminine manner.
Hector, sensing nothing more than its rarer beauty, was for a moment lost in admiring contemplation of the perfect picture. The moment passing, he wavered between pity and amusement. From this mood he slowly fluttered back to earth, to a realization that he was staring with unforgivable rudeness, that he was intruding on a lady's privacy and that courtesy demanded he should make his presence known without further delay. But still he could not bear to speak and break the spell. And, while he hesitated, she glanced up with a startled expression and met his eyes with hers.
Had he been a Chinese mandarin in full regalia she could not have looked more astonished or alarmed.
"What—what—who are you?" she asked him.
And Hector, stepping back in some confusion, like a boy caught stealing jam, stammered: