Arnold's affectionate nature--simple, loyal, clinging where it once fastened--was wounded to the quick.

Geoffrey's fast-retreating figure, in the open view before him, became blurred and indistinct.

He put his hand over his eyes, and hid, with a boyish shame, the hot tears that told of the heartache, and that honored the man who shed them.
He was still struggling with the emotion which had overpowered him, when something happened at the place where the roads met.
The four roads pointed as nearly as might be toward the four points of the compass.

Arnold was now on the road to the eastward, having advanced in that direction to meet Geoffrey, between two and three hundred yards from the farm-house inclosure before which he had kept his watch.

The road to the westward, curving away behind the farm, led to the nearest market-town.