Except at certain points, where the moonlight found its way through open spaces in the verdure, the grassy path which he was now following wound onward in shadow.  How far he had advanced he had not noticed, when he heard a momentary rustling of leaves at some little distance in advance of him.  The faint breeze had died away; the movement among the leaves had been no doubt produced by the creeping or the flying of some creature of the night.  Looking up, at the moment when he was disturbed by this trifling incident, he noticed a bright patch of moonlight ahead as he advanced to a new turn in the path.

The instant afterward he was startled by the appearance of a figure, emerging into the moonlight from the further end of the shrubbery, and rapidly approaching him.  He was near enough to see that it was the figure of a woman.  Was it one of the female servants, hurrying back to the house after an interview with a sweetheart?  In his black evening dress, he was, in all probability, completely hidden by the deep shadow in which he stood.  Would he be less likely to frighten the woman if he called to her than if he allowed her to come close up to him in the dark?  He decided on calling to her.

“Who is out so late?” he asked.

A cry of alarm answered him.  The figure stood still for a moment, and then turned back as if to escape him by flight.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said.  “Surely you know my voice?”

The figure stood still again.  He showed himself in the moonlight, and discovered—­Sydney Westerfield.

“You!” he exclaimed.

She trembled; the words in which she answered him were words in fragments.

“The garden was so quiet and pretty—­I thought there would be no harm—­please let me go back—­I’m afraid I shall be shut out—­”

She tried to pass him.  “My poor child!” he said, “what is there to be frightened about?  I have been tempted out by the lovely night, like you.  Take my arm.  It is so close in here among the trees.  If we go back to the lawn, the air will come to you freely.”

She took his arm; he could feel her heart throbbing against it.  Kindly silent, he led her back to the open space.  Some garden chairs were placed here and there; he suggested that she should rest for a while.

“I’m afraid I shall be shut out,” she repeated.  “Pray let me get back.”

He yielded at once to the wish that she expressed.  “You must let me take you back,” he explained.  “They are all asleep at the house by this time.  No! no! don’t be frightened again.  I have got the key of the door.  The moment I have opened it, you shall go in by yourself.”

She looked at him gratefully.  “You are not offended with me now, Mr. Linley,” she said.  “You are like your kind self again .”

They ascended the steps which led to the door.  Linley took the key from his pocket.  It acted perfectly in drawing back the lock; but the door, when he pushed it, resisted him.  He put his shoulder against it, and exerted his strength, helped by his weight.  The door remained immovable.