The carriage-road up to the convent made a circuit, and swept round to the other side of the little declivity:  but in front, separated from the highroad by a hedge, there was only the slope of a ploughed field, with a gate at the lower end, opening on to a narrow path that led straight through it up the hill; and this path Graham and Madelon followed, to where it joined a weed-grown footway skirting the outer wall of the building.  There was a garden inside apparently, for trees were waving their topmost branches overhead, and vines, and westeria, and Virginia creeper hung down in long, many-coloured tangled shoots and tendrils over the angle of the wall outside.  A little beyond was a side-door, with a bench placed beside it; and above, surmounted by a crucifix under a little pent-house, a narrow shelf on which stood an empty bowl and spoon, just placed there probably by some wandering pensioner, who had come there, not in vain, to seek his evening meal.

“Shall we sit down for a minute and rest?” said Graham.

Madelon seated herself at his side without speaking; she had been talking fast enough, and not without cheerfulness, during the early part of her walk; but since they had come within sight of the convent, her chatter had died away into silence.  Perhaps she was tired, for she sat quite still now, and showed no wish to resume the conversation.  The sound of the city chimes died away; the little bell in the belfry close by kept up its sharp monotone for a minute longer, and then it too was hushed; the trees whispered and rustled, the grasshoppers chirped shrilly all around, but a great stillness seemed to fall upon the darkling earth as the grey evening came down, and enfolded it in its soft mists.  Grey fields stretched away on either hand, grey clouds that had been rosy-red half an hour ago, floated overhead; only the trees looked dark against the tender grey sky, the encircling hills of Liege against the lingering twilight glow.

The silent influence of the hour made itself felt on these two also, perhaps, for neither of them spoke at first; indeed, Graham’s thoughts had wandered far beyond the horizon before him, when he was aroused by the sound of a little sob, and turning round, he saw that Madelon was crying.

“What is it, Madelon?” he said; “are you tired?  What is the matter?”

She did not answer at once, she was struggling with her tears; at last out came the grief.

“It—­it all looks so sad, and gloomy, and triste,” she said.  “I do not want to come here and be shut up in the convent; oh, take me away, take me away!”

She clung to Graham as if she were to be parted from him that moment, whilst he soothed her as best he could.

“We will go away at once if you like,” he said; “I think we did wrong to come at this time of the evening; everything looks grey and cheerless now—­you will see to-morrow how much brighter it will all appear.”