The young man did not know what he was doing or where he was. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. Another horn now resounded from the further extremity of the thoroughfare; this was answered by a third; and presently a fourth, and more remote blast, took up the note of alarm. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not.
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