Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. "Come," said Wild, turning authoritatively to Jack,—"you have overstayed your time. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. It was so hopeless to put it to them. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason.
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