Yes, here out in the open it is still quite light; it seems two hours earlier than it did below in the dark dingle--light enough as plainly to see the faces of those one meets as if it were mid-day.

I suppose that my late companion and I were too much occupied by our own emotions to hear, or at least notice the sound of wheels approaching us; but no sooner have I turned and left him, before I have gone three paces, than I am quickly passed by an open carriage and pair of grays--_quickly_, and yet slowly enough for me to recognize the one occupant.

As to her--for it is Mrs.Huntley--she must have seen me already, as I stood with Mr.Musgrave on the edge of the wood, exchanging our last bitter words.
It is impossible that she could have helped it; but even had it been possible--had there been any doubt on the subject, that doubt would be removed by the unusual animation of her attitude, and the interest in her eyes, that I have time to notice, as she rolls past me.
I avert my face, but it is too late.

She has seen my hat thrown on anyhow, as it were with a pitchfork--has seen my face swollen with weeping, and great tears still standing unwiped on my flushed cheeks.
What is far, _far_ worse, she has seen him, too.

This is the last drop in an already over-full cup.
There is nothing in sight now--not even a cart--so I sit down on a heap of stones by the road-side, and, covering my hot face with my hands, cry till I have no more eyes left to cry with.