Not much more than a mile from Banbrigg, in a direction away alike from the Heath and from Dunfield, is the village of Pendal, where stand the remains of an ancient castle.  Very slight indeed are these relics, one window and some shapeless masses of defaced masonry being alone exposed; but a hill close beside them is supposed to cover more of the fabric, though history tells not how or when the earth was so heaped up.  The circle of the moat is still complete, and generally contains water.  Pendal Castle Hill, as the locality is called, is approached by a rustic lane leading from the village; it is enclosed like an ordinary meadow, and shadowed here and there with trees.  On Sundays and holidays it is a resort much favoured by Dunfieldians; at other times its solitude is but little interfered with.  Knowing this, Emily had appointed the spot for the meeting.  She had directed Wilfrid to take a train from Dunfield to Pendal, and had described the walk up to the castle hill.

He was not before her this time, and there were endless reasons for fear lest she should wait in vain.  She remained standing on the inner side of the stile by which the field was entered, and kept her gaze on the point where the lane turned.  A long quarter of an hour passed, then of a sudden the expected form appeared.

There had been no train to Pendal at the right time; he had taken a meal at Dunfield station, and then had found a cab to convey him to the village.

Wilfrid was very calm, only the gleam of his fine eyes showed his delight at holding her hands again.  They walked to the side of the hill remote from the road.  Wilfrid looked about him, and remarked that the place was interesting.  He seemed in no hurry to speak of what had brought him here; they walked hand in hand, like children.  ’Emily’—­and then his name in return, with interchange of looks; was it not enough for some minutes?

‘There is a fallen trunk,’ Wilfrid said, pointing to a remoter spot.  ‘Shall we sit there?’

‘How well it has been managed,’ he exclaimed when they had seated themselves.  ’You remember the fairy tales in which the old woman bids some one go to a certain place and do such and such a thing and something is sure to happen?  “And it befell just as the old woman had said."’

‘And I am the old woman.  They call her a witch in the stories.’

’A witch, yes; but so young and beautiful.  What delight it was to find your letter, dearest!  What careful directions!  I laughed at your dreadful anxiety to make it quite, quite clear.  Won’t you take the glove off?  How your hand trembles; no, I will unbutton it myself.’

He kissed the fingers lightly, and then held them pressed.

‘But why have you come all this distance, Wilfrid?’

’Would it not be enough if I said I had come to see you?  What distance would be too far for that?’

‘But you were to have left England to-day?’