Musing sorrowfully and self-reproachfully, he came to the Ghost’s Avenue.  Up and down its aisle he walked, a fit place for remembering the past, and the sins of the present.  Yielding himself to what thoughts might arise, the strange sight he had seen here on that moonlit night, of two silent wandering figures —­ or could it be that they were one and the same, suddenly changed in hue? —­ returned upon him.  This vision had been so speedily followed by the second and more alarming apparition of Lady Euphrasia, that he had hardly had time to speculate on what the former could have been.  He was meditating upon all these strange events, and remarking to himself that, since his midnight encounter with Lady Euphrasia, the house had been as quiet as a church-yard at noon, when all suddenly, he saw before him, at some little distance, a dark figure approaching him.  His heart seemed to bound into his throat and choke him, as he said to himself:  “It is the nun again!” But the next moment he saw that it was Euphra.  I do not know which he would have preferred not meeting alone, and in the deepening twilight:  Euphra, too, had become like a ghost to him.  His first impulse was to turn aside into the wood, but she had seen him, and was evidently going to address him.  He therefore advanced to meet her.  She spoke first, approaching him with painful steps.

“I have been looking for you, Mr. Sutherland.  I wanted very much to have a little conversation with you before you go.  Will you allow me?”

Hugh felt like a culprit directly.  Euphra’s manner was quite collected and kind; yet through it all a consciousness showed itself, that the relation which had once existed between them had passed away for ever.  In her voice there was something like the tone of wind blowing through a ruin.

“I shall be most happy,” said he.

She smiled sadly.  A great change had passed upon her.

“I am going to be quite open with you,” she said.  “I am perfectly aware, as well as you are, that the boyish fancy you had for me is gone.  Do not be offended.  You are manly enough, but your love for me was boyish.  Most first loves are childish, quite irrespective of age.  I do not blame you in the least.”

This seemed to Hugh rather a strange style to assume, if all was true that his own eyes had reported.  She went on: 

“Nor must you think it has cost me much to lose it.”

Hugh felt hurt, at which no one who understands will be surprised.

“But I cannot afford to lose you, the only friend I have,” she added.

Hugh turned towards her with a face full of manhood and truth.

“You shall not lose me, Euphra, if you will be honest to yourself and to me.”

“Thank you.  I can trust you.  I will be honest.”

At that moment, without the revival of a trace of his former feelings, Hugh felt nearer to her than he had ever felt before.  Now there seemed to be truth between them, the only medium through which beings can unite.