'Yes—no more,' said Ellinor, with decision, yet with a smile nevertheless.
The baron felt that all was over when he saw that smile; indeed, when with Ellinor, he always felt that he was in the presence of some feeling deeper than he could fathom; and, bowing low, he turned sadly away. Then in a few minutes the clatter of his horse's hoofs was heard as he cantered off towards the Millernthor, and so ended another little romance in Ellinor's life—at least, she thought so. And the baron knew that now never again could they enjoy each other's society as they had done so innocently till that afternoon.
Proceeding over the firm dry sand left by the far retreating tide, she selected a point upon a rough pebble-covered knoll, a quarter of a mile from the little wooded creek, set her sketching-block upon her tiny easel, and, seating herself upon a little camp-stool, proceeded, with her back to the setting sun, to outline the creek, with the trees, the garden, and sandy beach in foreground, and the villa in the middle distance.
She was very full of her work, to have it as a souvenir of Altona, but it proceeded very, very slowly; she was too full of the late episode to do much with her pencil—much successfully at least, and paused ever and anon to sink into deep thought over the past, the present, and the future.
When Mary and Mrs. Deroubigne returned home to a late dinner, Ellinor was not to be seen, she was not in the villa, and she was not in the garden, nor in the adjacent shrubberies, so the house-bell was rung for her in vain; and to Mrs. Deroubigne, Ellinor, always dreamy, delicate, and in temperament excitable, had been somewhat of a responsibility, more than her sister Mary.
Dinner was served up, but remained on the table untasted, while search after search was made without avail, and sunset was at hand.
She had last been seen in the garden, with Baron Rolandsburg, with her drawing materials and apparatus, going forth to sketch.
With the baron!
'Could she have eloped with him?' thought Mary, while her heart sank—recalling Ellinor's former folly—the folly she had been on the brink of committing with Sir Redmond Sleath.
Oh, that was very unlikely! Ellinor was a changed girl, and less confiding, and the young baron was too confident in himself, his position, wealth, and resources to love mystery or mischief when neither were needed.