She was pretty certain that he would be waiting there, for, though he had made no actual declaration of love to her, she had seen plainly at their last meeting that he was on the high-road to doing so. Comparing him with Harry in her mind, she knew that he was the more attractive of the two, partly because of the mystery surrounding him, and partly because, as a man, he was a more imposing person. Harry was a boy. But what Harry lacked in personal importance was made up to him a thousandfold by his accessories; the actual man mattered little to her. She had hardly discovered more about Rhys than he had told her on the evening of their first meeting, for though she had tried to question him about himself on subsequent occasions, she had got at nothing new. To-night she resolved to find out something further.
Dusk had fallen when she reached the Pedlar’s Stone; she knew nothing of its history nor the reason of its existence, and her curiosity about outdoor things was so small, that it had never occurred to her to ask him about it. She stood beside it looking round at the darkening landscape, never suspecting that, apart from the Pig-driver and a few of his dependents, she was almost the only person in Crishowell parish who would venture to do so. Had she known it, the idea would hardly have troubled her, for though not physically brave, she was too unimaginative to be upset by anything she could neither see nor feel. She stepped up on to the bank in which it was embedded, and looked through the straggling hazels for some sign of Rhys. Not a live thing was to be seen. She shuddered a little at the awful loneliness that hung around, and for a moment a kind of panic took her. It was almost as though the atmosphere of horror raised round the place by popular tradition had made itself tangible and leaped upon her. She turned quickly to come down the bank, screaming at the sudden apparition of Rhys’ figure. He stood a few paces off, with his arms folded, watching her.
“How you startled me!” she exclaimed, half angry; “where did you come from?”
“I have followed you for some way,” he replied, smiling as he took her hand.
“I don’t like that,” she said pettishly; “it is horrid to think of some one walking behind one when one does not suspect it.”
“Are you angry with me?” asked Rhys. “Don’t be unkind after I’ve waited for you every evening for the last four days.”
“But I told you I should be away from Crishowell. I only came back the day before yesterday. I enjoyed myself very much too.”
“I am glad of that,” said Rhys, in a voice which gave the lie to his words.
“I was staying at such a delightful place,” she continued, pausing for the expected question.