"Hush! is this not she coming down the path?"
"Ay, go you round through the underbrush and leave me to tell her."
So advised, Ingle took a short cut through the woods, and Brent, walking on alone, met Elinor face to face.
"Good morrow, Cousin!"
"Would it were a good morrow, Giles! But that can scarce be till we are good ourselves and credulous of good in others."
"I have no time to play with words. I am come from stern scenes that wring men's souls."
Elinor turned pale.
"Hast thou seen him?"
"By him signifying Christopher Neville, I doubt not. Now I might put thee off by saying I have not seen him, as in a sense I have not; yet I have been near him and in a way to know his fate, which, not to delay ill news in the telling, is death by drowning."
Elinor answered not a word. She grew deadly white, bowed her head, and turning about began to walk toward the house.