II + 

The mill stood beside the village high-road, from which it was separated by the stream, the latter forming also the boundary of the mill garden, orchard, and paddock on that side. A visitor crossed a little wood bridge embedded in oozy, aquatic growths, and found himself in a space where usually stood a wagon laden with sacks, surrounded by a number of bright-feathered fowls. + 

It was now, however, just dusk, but the mill was not closed, a stripe of light stretching as usual from the open door across the front, across the river, across the road, into the hedge beyond. On the bridge, which was aside from the line of light, a young man and girl stood talking together. Soon they moved a little way apart, and then it was apparent that their right hands were joined. In receding one from the other they began to swing their arms gently backward and forward between them. + 

“Come a little way up the lane, Agatha, since it is the last time,” he said. “I don’t like parting here. You know your uncle does not object.” + 

“He doesn’t object because he knows nothing to object to,” she whispered. And they both then contemplated the fine, stalwart figure of the said uncle, who could be seen moving about inside the mill, illuminated by the candle, and circumscribed by a faint halo of flour, and hindered by the whirr of the mill from hearing anything so gentle as lovers’ talk. + 

Oswald had not relinquished her hand, and, submitting herself to a bondage she appeared to love better than freedom, Agatha followed him across the bridge, and they went down the lane engaged in the low, sad talk common to all such cases, interspersed with remarks peculiar to their own. + 

“It is nothing so fearful to contemplate,” he said. “Many live there for years in a state of rude health, and return home in the same happy condition. So shall I.” + 

“I hope you will.” + 

“But aren’t you glad I am going? It is better to do well in India than badly here. Say you are glad, dearest; it will fortify me when I am gone.” + 

“I am glad,” she murmured faintly. “I mean I am glad in my mind. I don’t think that in my heart I am glad.” + 

“Thanks to Macaulay, of honoured memory, I have as good a chance as the best of them!” he said, with ardour. “What a great thing competitive examination is; it will put good men in good places, and make inferior men move lower down; all bureaucratic jobbery will be swept away.” + 

“What’s bureaucratic, Oswald?” + 

“Oh! that’s what they call it, you know. It is⁠—well, I don’t exactly know what it is. I know this, that it is the name of what I hate, and that it isn’t competitive examination.” + 

“At any rate it is a very bad thing,” she said, conclusively. + 

“Very bad, indeed; you may take my word for that.” + 

Then the parting scene began, in the dark, under the heavy-headed trees which shut out sky and stars. “And since I shall be in London till the Spring,” he remarked, “the parting doesn’t seem so bad⁠—so all at once. Perhaps you may come to London before the Spring, Agatha.” + 

“I may; but I don’t think I shall.” + 

“We must hope on all the same. Then there will be the examination, and then I shall know my fate.” + 

“I hope you’ll fail!⁠—there, I’ve said it; I couldn’t help it, Oswald!” she exclaimed, bursting out crying. “You would come home again then!” + 

“How can you be so disheartening and wicked, Agatha! I⁠—I didn’t expect⁠—” + 

“No, no; I don’t wish it; I wish you to be best, top, very very best!” she said. “I didn’t mean the other; indeed, dear Oswald, I didn’t. And will you be sure to come to me when you are rich? Sure to come?” + 

“If I’m on this earth I’ll come home and marry you.” + 

And then followed the goodbye. + 