The only answer that came to him was the rustling of the sweet western wind in the leaves, and the song of the birds.
The church clock struck eleven as he came in sight of Brackenside. He raised his eager eyes—Heaven help him!—expecting to see Doris in the garden or in the porch; but she was not there.
The sun was slanting over the flowers, the busy murmur of the farm grew louder. Mattie and Mrs. Brace still sat at their work, but of Doris there was no sign.
"My darling!" he said to himself, "where is she?"
"You have not met her, Earle?" said the loud, cheery voice of Mark Brace.
"No, she has not been to Quainton," he replied, "and I do not know where to look for her."
"Do not look anywhere," said Mark; "the longer you look for her the less likely you are to find her. Girls are so uncertain in their ways. Sit down and drink a glass of cider, she will come soon enough then. It seems to me," continued the honest farmer, "that she is having a game of hide-and-seek with you."
Earle thought that very probable. He drank the foaming cider, but he would not sit down.
"I must find her," he said. "If it be her sweet will and pleasure that I should look for her, I will do so."
The farmer laughed, Mrs. Brace felt sorry for him, Mattie was indignant, and Earle went through the pretty garden and all the little nooks she loved best.