sed by a huge cloak of ivy,
which had grown so luxuriantly and extended so far from its base, as to
increase the apparent bulk of the chimney to the dimensions of a tower.
Some little distance from the back of the house rose the park boundary,
and over this were to be seen the sycamores of the grove, making slow
inclinations to the just-awakening air.

Stephen crossed the little wood bridge in front, went up to the cottage
door, and opened it without knock or signal of any kind.

Exclamations of welcome burst from some person or persons when the door
was thrust ajar, followed by the scrape of chairs on a stone floor, as
if pushed back by their occupiers in rising from a table. The door was
closed again, and nothing could now be heard from within, save a lively
chatter and the rattle of plates.

Chapter VIII

'Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord.'

The mists were creeping out of pools and swamps for their pilgrimages
of the night when Stephen came up to the front door of the vicarage.
Elfride was standing on the step illuminated by a lemon-hued expanse of
western sky.

'You never have been all this time looking for that earring?' she said
anxiously.

'Oh no; and I have not found it.'

'Never mind. Though I am much vexed; they are my prettiest. But,
Stephen, what ever have you been doing--where have you been? I have
been so uneasy. I feared for you, knowing not an inch of the country. I
thought, suppose he has fallen over the cliff! But now I am inclined to
scold you for frightening me so.'

'I must speak to your father now,' he said rather abruptly; 'I have so
much to say to him--and to you, Elfride.'

'Will what you have to say endanger this nice time of ours, and is it
that same shadowy secret you allude to so frequently, and will it make
me unhappy?'

'Possibly.'

She breathed heavily, and looked around as if for a prompter.

'Put it off till to-morrow,' she said.

He involuntarily sighed too.

'No; it must come to-night. Where is your father, Elfride?'

'Somewhere in the kitchen garden, I think,' she replied. 'That is his
favourite evening retreat. I will leave you now. Say all that's to be
said--do all there is to be done. Think of me waiting anxiously for the
end.' And she re-entered the house.

She waited in the drawing-room, watching the lights sink to shadows, the
shadows sink to darkness, until her impatience to know what had occurred
in the garden could no longer be controlled.