picture—­the single figure against a background of green bushes.  And if this were indeed she, how splendid the world would all become in a moment!  In his eagerness of anticipation he forgot his fear.  What would she say?  Was he to hear her laugh once more, and take her hand?  Alas!  When he got close enough to make sure, he found that his beautiful figure belonged to a somewhat pretty, middle-aged lady, who had brought a bag of scraps with her to feed the ducks.  The world grew empty again.  He passed on, in a sort of dream.  He only knew he was in Kensington Gardens; and that once or twice he had walked with her down those broad alleys in the happy summer-time of flowers, and sunshine, and the scent of limes.  Now there was a pale blue mist in the open glades; and a gloomy purple instead of the brilliant green of the trees; and the cold wind that came across rustled the masses of brown orange leaves that were lying scattered on the ground.  He got a little more interested when he neared the Round Pond; for the wind had freshened; and there were several handsome craft out there on the raging deep, braving well the sudden squalls that laid them right on their beam-ends, and then let them come staggering and dripping up to windward.  But there were two small boys there who had brought with them a tiny vessel of home-made build, with a couple of lugsails, a jib, and no rudder; and it was a great disappointment to them that this nondescript craft would move, if it moved at all, in an uncertain circle.  Macleod came to their assistance—­got a bit of floating stick, and carved out of it a rude rudder, altered the sails, and altogether put the ship into such sea-going trim that, when she was fairly launched, she kept a pretty good course for the other side, where doubtless she arrived in safety, and discharged her passengers and cargo.  He was almost sorry to part with the two small ship-owners.  They almost seemed to him the only people he knew in London.

But surely he had not come all the way from Castle Dare to walk about Kensington Gardens!  What had become of that intense longing to see her—­to hear her speak—­that had made his life at home a constant torment and misery?  Well, it still held possession of him; but all the same there was this indefinable dread that held him back.  Perhaps he was afraid that he would have to confess to her the true reason for his having come to London.  Perhaps he feared he might find her something entirely different from the creature of his dreams.  At all events as he returned to his room and sat down by himself to think over all the things that might accrue from this step of his, he only got farther and farther into a haze of nervous indecision.  One thing only was clear to him:  with all his hatred and jealousy of the theatre, to the theatre that night he would have to go.  He could not know that she was so near to him—­that at a certain time and place he would certainly see her and listen to her—­without going.  He bethought him,