Emmeline's mother had not gone far before she became aware that she
was followed. It was a turning of the tables which she did not
relish. As would not have been unnatural, even had she been at peace
with all the world, a certain feeling of undefined terror came upon
her and threatened to overmaster her. It was the more oppressive
that she did not choose to turn and face her pursuer, feeling that
to do so would be to confess consciousness of cause. The fate of her
daughter, seldom absent from her thoughts, now rose before her in
association with herself, and was gradually swelling uneasiness into
terror: who could tell but this man pressing on her heels in the
solitary meadow, and not the poor youth who lay dying there in the
chair, and who might indeed be only another of his victims, was the
murderer of Emmeline! Unconsciously she accelerated her pace until
it was almost a run, but did not thereby widen by a single yard the
distance between her and the curate.

When she came out on the high road, she gave a glance in each
direction, and, avoiding the country, made for the houses. A short
lane led her into Pine street. There she felt safe, the more that it
was market-day and a good many people about, and slackened her pace,
feeling confident that her pursuer, whoever he was, would now turn
aside. But she was disappointed, for, casting a glance over her
shoulder, she saw that he still kept the same distance behind her.
She saw also, in that single look, that he was well-known, for
several were saluting him at once. What could it mean? It must be
the G. B. of the Temple! Should she stop and challenge his pursuit?
The obstacle to this was a certain sinking at the heart accounted
for by an old memory. She must elude him instead. But she did not
know a single person in the place, or one house where she could seek