In the momentary mean time, however, she had failed to observe that, after the first start and following tremor, her companion stood quite still, and was now looking in the lad's face with roseate cheeks and tear-filled eyes, apparently forgetting to draw her hand from his, or to move her shoulder from under his caress.

The next moment, up, with hasty yet dignified step, came the familiar form of their own minister, the Rev.

Clement Sclater, who, with reproof in his countenance, which was red with annoyance and haste, laid his hands on the lad's shoulders to draw him from the prey on which he had pounced.
"Remember, you are not on a hill-side, but in a respectable street," said the reverend gentleman, a little foolishly.
The youth turned his head over his shoulder, not otherwise changing his attitude, and looked at him with some bewilderment.

Then, not he, but the young lady spoke.
"Gibbie and I are old friends," she said, and reaching up laid her free hand in turn on his shoulder, as if to protect him--for, needlessly, with such grace and strength before her, the vision of an old horror came rushing back on the mind of Ginevra.
Gibbie had darted from his companion's side some hundred yards off.
The cap which Mr.Sclater had insisted on his wearing had fallen as he ran, and he had never missed it; his hair stood out on all sides of his head, and the sun behind him shone in it like a glory, just as when first he appeared to Ginevra in the peat-moss, like an angel standing over her.

Indeed, while to Miss Kimble and the girls he was "a mad-like object" in his awkward ill-fitting clothes, made by a village tailor in the height of the village fashion, to Ginevra he looked hardly less angelic now than he did then.