He
wondered what he should do if he came face to face with Oliver. The
innkeeper had assured him that the squire seldom came out, but spent his
days locked in the great attics at the top of the house. Smoke came from
the chimneys of them, even in the hottest days of summer, and weird tales
were told of the devilries there committed.
Arthur went on, hoping in the end to catch sight of Margaret, but he
saw no one. In that grey, chilly day the woods, notwithstanding their
greenery, were desolate and sad. A sombre mystery seemed to hang over
them. At last he came to a stone bench at a cross-way among the trees,
and, since it was the only resting-place he had seen, it struck him that
Margaret might come there to sit down. He hid himself in the bracken.
He had forgotten his watch and did not know how the time passed; he
seemed to be there for hours.
But at length his heart gave a great beat against his ribs, for all at
once, so silently that he had not heard her approach, Margaret came into
view. She sat on the stone bench.
Pages:
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304