It was Sunday evening, and all the inmates of Glanyravon Farm were either at church or chapel, with the exception of Netta and one of the servants, who remained to watch the sick Gladys.  Netta said she had a headache, and preferred staying at home.  By way of curing it she put on her best bonnet and went for a walk.  As soon as she was out of sight of the house she set off at a pace that did not bespeak pain of any kind.  She soon struck out of the country road, with its hedges of hawthorn, into a field, and thence into a small wood or grove, almost flanking the road.  The warm June sun sent his rays in upon her through the trees, and helped them to cast checkered shadows upon her path, lighting up, every here and there, a bunch of fern or flowers, and brightening the trunks of the interlacing trees.  As she saw the lights and shadows dancing before her she became serious for a moment, and fancied they were like the will-o’-the-wisp, and portended no good; but she soon quickened her pace, and at the first opening went out again into the road, where the sun was uninterrupted in his gaze, and her few fanciful thoughts took flight.

She glanced furtively into one or two cottages as she passed them, and the absence of all inmates seemed to reproach her for her Sunday evening falsehood.  At last she reached a small cross-road or lane, down which she turned, heedless of the profusion of wild roses that actually canopied the way.  Another path, narrower still, and thickly bordered with blackberry bushes in full blossom, brought her to what seemed a large mass of brambles, low underwood, and occasional young oaks.  There were, however, little patches of grass here and there amongst the thicket, and into one of these she got with some difficulty.  This was the hall from which diverged one or two little passages, that looked so dark, narrow, and brambly, that they appeared inaccessible.  But Netta managed to push aside some briars with her parasol and enter one.  Almost at her first footstep she tore her pretty muslin dress, but folding it closer round her, she pushed her way.  The smart pink bonnet was in great danger, but escaped uninjured.

At last she found herself on the brink of a deep ravine, almost precipitous, and heard the sound of rushing water beneath her.  Large, gloomy trees outspread their brawny arms on each side of this gorge and lovingly embraced above it, so that the rays of the sun were again thwarted in their purpose, and turned and twisted about before they could glance upon the dark waters below.

Netta did not know all the tangles and tears she was to meet with when she set out on her walk.  She had not visited this spot for some time, and then she had taken a more frequented path, on the other side of the ravine.  She looked around, and down into the depth below, but she could see nothing but trees and brushwood.  She was not strong-minded, so she began to be afraid.  However, summoning up her courage, she pushed into a kind of broken stony path, down the side of the gully, and at the expense of a few more rents in the muslin dress, and some scratches on her hands, she succeeded in scrambling to the bottom.