Her voice seemed to vibrate with scorn on the emphasized words.

“If we desired to live nearer heaven—­” she said, and then she stopped.

Alec turned perforce to tell her, what she must now perceive, that he was still close to them; but this impulse was checked by a sudden thought.  Was she not addressing himself?  Was there another man now with her?

He stopped, looked backward, listened.  He was quite alone with the lady, who went past him now, only looking, as she walked, to see why he was tarrying.  In his fierce young loyalty to her he took for granted, without question or proof, that her escort had deserted her in revenge for her disdain.  He would willingly have gone back to fetch him up, but the impossibility of finding a man who did not wish to be found, the impossibility, as it seemed to him, of letting her go further alone, the boorishness of calling after her—­all this constrained him to follow.  He ran to make his communication gently, and, as he ran, courage to make it failed him.  He thought of her as delicately accustomed to incessant protection.  At the thought of letting her know that she was telling her thoughts to a stranger, that she was alone at such hour and place with him, his throat swelled.  He hated to speak words that would be so hateful to her; and when he came by her side breathless, and she spoke to him again, he walked on, waiting till she should stop, trying to formulate what he had to say, listening and watching intently for some sign of the recreant.  Again speaking as though she must unburden her mind, she turned into the lane.  Over its fences he peered down the dark main road, but neither in flash nor interval could the other man be seen.  He had not the slightest notion what the lady was saying now; lofty philosophy or practical sarcasm it might be, it was all lost in his exaggerated idea of what her fear and dismay would be when he spoke.

Before he had a chance to speak, however, he saw, in dark outline, the building of the farm to which he supposed her to be going.  It would be a thousand times better to conduct her in silence to the door, which was now so near.  To tell her before could serve no end, for even if she should wish to return to seek her late companion she could there obtain an escort.  So, with feeling of guiltiness in the part he was acting, and in the surly silence he assumed, Alec let her lead up the lane she must know better than he.  Her previous speeches, which he had followed so closely, were only remembered now to give food for conjecture as to who she might be and what relation she held to her late companion.  The interest in his own journey and its extraordinary object were lost for the time in the excitement of his knight-errantry.

He was astonished to see that the house, as they neared it, showed no sign of life and light.  The lady, whether inmate or guest, must surely be expected; but the very roofs of the house and huge barns seemed to droop in slumber, so black was the whole place and closely shut.  Alec was looking out for the house gate in order to step forward and open it, when, to his utter surprise, he saw that the lady with haste passed it, and went on toward the hill.