But she was not there, nor was she to be seen elsewhere in the lane; for this descended a gentle slope until it plunged, still under his eyes, among the thatched roofs and quaint cottages of the village, whence the smoke of the evening meal rose blue among the trees.  Soane’s eyes returned to the main road; he expected to hear her laugh, and see her emerge at his elbow.  But the length of the highway lay empty before, and empty behind; and all was silent.  He began to look blank.  A solitary house, which had been an inn, but was now unoccupied, stood in the angle formed by Manton Lane and the road; he scrutinised it.  The big doors leading to the stable-yard were ajar; but he looked in and she was not there, though he noted that horses had stood there lately.  For the rest, the house was closed and shuttered, as he had seen it that morning, and every day for days past.

Was it possible that she had changed her mind?  That she had played or was playing him false?  His heart said no.  Nevertheless he felt a chill and a degree of disillusion as he rode down the lane to the foot-bridge; and over it, and on as far as the first house of the village.  Still he saw nothing of her; and he turned.  Riding back his search was rewarded with a discovery.  Beside the ditch, at the corner where the road and lane met, and lying in such a position that it was not visible from the highway, but only from the lower ground of the lane, lay a plain black fan.

Sir George sprang down, picked it up, and saw that it was Julia’s; and still possessed by the idea that she was playing him a trick he kissed it, and looked sharply round, hoping to detect her laughing face.  Without result; then at last he began to feel misgiving.  The road under the downs was growing dim and shadowy; the ten minutes he had lingered had stolen away the warmth and colour of the day.  The camps and tree-clumps stood black on the hills, the blacker for the creeping mist that stole beside the river where he stood.  In another ten minutes night would fall in the valley.  Sir George, his heart sinking under those vague and apparently foolish alarms which are among the penalties of affection, mounted his horse, stood in his stirrups, and called her name—­’Julia!  Julia!’—­not loudly, but so that if she were within fifty yards of him she must hear.

He listened.  His ear caught a confused babel of voices in the direction of Marlborough; but only the empty house, echoing ‘Julia!’ answered him.  Not that he waited long for an answer; something in the dreary aspect of the evening struck cold to his heart, and touching his horse with the spur, he dashed off at a hand-gallop.  Meeting the Bristol night-wagon beyond the bend of the road he was by it in a second.  Nevertheless, the bells ringing at the horses’ necks, the cracking whips, the tilt lurching white through the dusk somewhat reassured him.  Reducing his pace, and a little ashamed of his fears, he entered the inn grounds by the stable entrance, threw his reins to a man—­who seemed to have something to say, but did not say it—­and walked off to the porch.  He had been a fool to entertain such fears; in a minute he would see Julia.