g
over the slopes for some one whom he had expected to come after him all
the time? Had he ever told her to stand by him? to say what he said, to
back him up? Had there ever been another man standing with that big 6
wavering between her and him like a ghost? Had all that been at all, or
was it merely a foolish dream? And ought she to go back now, and find
the man before he disappeared, and tell him it was all true, yet somehow
a dreadful, dreadful mistake?

Elinor sat down again abruptly on her seat, and put her handkerchief to
her forehead and pushed back the damp clusters of her hair, turning her
face to the wind to get a little refreshment and calm, if that were
possible. She heard in the sunny distance behind her, where the garden
and the peaceful house lay in the light, the clang of the gate, a sound
which could not be mistaken. The man then had gone--if there was
anything to rectify in what she said it certainly could not be rectified
now--he was gone. The certainty came to her with a feeling of relief. It
had been horrible to think of standing before the two men again and
saying--what could she have said? She remembered now that it was not her
assertion alone, but that it all hung together, a whole structure of
incidents, which would be put wrong if she had said it was a mistake--a
whole account of Phil's time, how it had been passed--which was quite
true, which he had told them on his arrival; how he had been going to
Ireland, and had stopped, longing for a glimpse of her, his bride,
feeling that he must have her by him, see her once again before he came
for her to fetch her away. He had told the ladies at the cottage the
very same, and of course it was true. Had he not come straight from
Scotland with his big bundle of game, the grouse and partridges which
had already been shared with all the friends about? Was he not going off
to Ireland to-morrow to fulfil his first intention? It was all quite
right, quite true, hanging perfectly together--except that curious
falling out of a day. And then again Elinor's brain swam round and
round. Had he been two days at the cottage instead of one, as he said?
Was it there that the mistake lay? Had she been in such a fool's
paradise having him there, that she had not marked the passage of
time--had it all been one hour of happiness flying like the wind? A
blush, partly of sweet shame to think that this was possible, that she
might have been such a happy fool as to ignore the