From his laboratory--the laboratory in which his father had worked, in which he had lost his life--Eglington had seen the trim, graceful figure.

He watched it till it moved into the wooded path.

Then he left his garden, and, moving across a field, came into the path ahead of her.

Walking swiftly, he reached the old mill, and waited.
She came slowly, now and again stooping to pick a flower and place it in her belt.

Her bonnet was slung on her arm, her hair had broken a little loose and made a sort of hood round the face, so still, so composed, into which the light of steady, soft, apprehending eyes threw a gentle radiance.