The south wind lifted the hair from her brow and wafted the fragrance of hawthorn buds and spring flowers to greet her, but it brought no warning message; the birds singing gayly, the sun shining so brightly could not tell her that the first link in a terrible chain was to be forged that morning.
Half-way down the cliff, where the path was steep and narrow, Beatrice suddenly met the stranger.

A stranger was a rarity at the Elms.

Only at rare intervals did an artist or a tourist seek shelter and hospitality at the old farm house.

The stranger seemed to be a gentleman.

For one moment both stood still; then, with a low bow, the gentleman stepped aside to let the young girl pass.