His voice and manner implied some unutterable dread of the future, which his words had not confessed.

Miss Garth followed him into the garden, and called to him.

He heard her, but he never turned back: he quickened his pace, as if he desired to avoid her.

She watched him across the lawn in the warm summer moonlight.

She saw his white, withered hands, saw them suddenly against the black background of the shrubbery, raised and wrung above his head.