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she takes； the fear at her heart becomes colder。 If he should not
come！ Oh； how dreary it was—the thought of going out at the
other end of the wood； into the unsheltered road； without having
seen him。 She reaches the first turning towards the Hermitage；
walking slowly—he is not there。 She hates the leveret that runs
across the path； she hates everything that is not what she longs
for。 She walks on； happy whenever she is coming to a bend in the
road； for perhaps he is behind it。 No。 She is beginning to cry： her
heart has swelled so； the tears stand in her eyes； she gives one
great sob； while the corners of her mouth quiver； and the tears roll
down。
She doesn’t know that there is another turning to the
Hermitage； that she is close against it； and that Arthur
Donnithorne is only a few yards from her； full of one thought； and
a thought of which she only is the object。 He is going to see Hetty
again： that is the longing which has been growing through the last
three hours to a feverish thirst。 Not； of course； to speak in the
caressing way into which he had unguardedly fallen before dinner；
but to set things right with her by a kindness which would have
the air of friendly civility； and prevent her from running away with
wrong notions about their mutual relation。
If Hetty had known he was there； she would not have cried； and
it would have been better； for then Arthur would perhaps have
behaved as wisely as he had intended。 As it was； she started when
he appeared at the end of the side…alley； and looked up at him with
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two great drops rolling down her cheeks。 What else could he do
but speak to her in a soft； soothing tone； as if she were a bright…
eyed spaniel with a thorn in her foot？
“Has something frightened you； Hetty？ Have you seen anything
in the wood？ Don’t be frightened—I’ll take care of you now。”
Hetty was blushing so； she didn’t know whether she was happy
or miserable。 To be crying again—what did gentlemen think of
girls who cried in that way？ She felt unable even to say “no；” but
could only look away from him and wipe the tears from her cheek。
Not before a great drop had fallen on her rose…coloured strings—
she knew that quite well。
“Come； be cheerful again。 Smile at me； and tell me what’s the
matter。 Come； tell me。”
Hetty turned her head towards him； whispered； “I thought you
wouldn’t come；” and slowly got courage to lift her eyes to him。
That look was too much： he must have had eyes of Egyptian
granite not to look too lovingly in return。
“You little frightened bird！ Little tearful rose！ Silly pet！ You
won’t cry again； now I’m with you； will you？”
Ah； he doesn’t know in the least what he is saying。 This is not
what he meant to say。 His arm is stealing round the waist again； it
is tightening its clasp； he is bending his face nearer and nearer to
the round cheek； his lips are meeting those pouting child…lips； and
for a long moment time has vanished。 He may be a shepherd in
Arcadia for aught he knows； he may be the first youth kissing the
first maiden； he may be Eros himself； sipping the lips of Psyche—it
is all one。
There was no speaking for minutes after。 They walked along
with beating hearts till they came within sight of the gate at the
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end of the wood。 Then they looked at each other； not quite as they
had looked before； for in their eyes there was the memory of a kiss。
But already something bitter had begun to mingle itself with
the fountain of sweets： already Arthur was uncomfortable。 He took
his arm from Hetty’s waist； and said； “Here we are； almost at the
end of the Grove。 I wonder how late it is；” he added； pulling out
his watch。 “Twenty minutes past eight—but my watch is too fast。
However； I’d better not go any further now。 Trot along quickly
with your little feet； and get home safely。 Good…bye。”
He took her hand； and looked at her half…sadly； half with a
constrained smile。 Hetty’s eyes seemed to beseech him not to go
away yet； but he patted her cheek and said “Good…bye” again。 She
was obliged to turn away from him and go on。
As for Arthur； he rushed back through the wood； as if he
wanted to put a wide space between himself and Hetty。 He would
not go to the Hermitage again； he remembered how he had
debated with himself there before dinner； and it had all come to
nothing—worse than nothing。 He walked right on into the Chase；
glad to get out of the Grove； which surely was haunted by his evil
genius。 Those beeches and smooth limes—there was something
enervating in the very sight of them； but the strong knotted old
oaks had no bending languor in them—the sight of them would
give a man some energy。 Arthur lost himself among the narrow
openings in the fern； winding about without seeking any issue； till
the twilight deepened almost to night under the great boughs； and
the hare looked black as it darted across his path。
He was feeling much more strongly than he had done in the
morning： it was as if his horse had wheeled round from a leap and
dared to dispute his mastery。 He was dissatisfied with himself；
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irritated； mortified。 He no sooner fixed his mind on the probable
consequences of giving way to the emotions which had stolen over
him to…day—of continuing to notice Hetty； of allowing himself any
opportunity for such slight caresses as he had been betrayed into
already—than he refused to believe such a future possible for
himself。 To flirt with Hetty was a very different affair from flirting
with a pretty girl of his own station： that was understood to be an
amusement