she said. The carriage came, and she was
gone.

CHAPTER XXI.

MOONSHINE.

After the day of rain, and the afternoon of clearing wind and
clouds, the evening of Mrs. Merrick's party passed into one of
those strange, unearthly nights when the whole world seems
resolved into moonlight and a midsummer night's dream. So
while gas and hot-house flowers had it all their own way in
the house at Merricksdale, over the rest of the outside world
the wondrous moonlight reigned supreme. Not white and silvery,
but as it were gilded and mellowed with the summer warmth.
Step by step it invaded the opening ranks of forest trees; and
dark shadows wound noiselessly away from the close pursuit.
Not a wind whispered; not a moving thing was in sight along
the open road. Except indeed Mr. Rollo, who--not invited to
Mrs. Merrick's, and just returned from a short journey--was
getting over the ground that lay between the railway station
and home on foot. And his way took him along the highway that
stretched from Crocus to the gates of Chickaree.

Now moonlight is a very bewildering thing--and thoughts do
sometimes play the very will-o'-the-wisp with one. And when
somebody you know is at a party, there is a funny inclination
to go through the motions at least, and be up as late as
anybody else. So it was with a somewhat sudden recollection
that Mr. Rollo bethought him of what his watch might say. Just
then he was in a belt of shadow, where trees crowded out the
moon; but the next sharp turn of the road was all open and
flooded with the yellow light.

It would be quite too much to suppose that the gentleman in
question was particularly open to impressions--and it is
certain that his thoughts at that minute were well wrapped up
in their own affairs; and yet as he went round the turn,
passing out of the line of shadow into absolute moonshine
again, there came upon him a strange sense of some presence
there besides his own. But what the evidence was, whether it
had smote upon his eye or upon his ear, of that Mr. Rollo was
profoundly ignorant. Yet it is safe to say that he came out of
his musings and looked about him. Only a midsummer night's
dream still: the open road for a mile ahead in full view, the
dark line of trees on each side as motionless as if asleep.
But the utter hush was perhaps more suggestive than the stir
of a breezy night: it seemed as if everything was listening
and held its breath to hear.

The gentleman in question