"Nay, for me there is no time any more,—only a waiting for eternity."
"Think a moment, Elinor! I must call thee so once if nevermore. Wilt thou in good earnest condemn me to despair?"
"I condemn no one. If despair be thy portion, thou must needs drink the cup as I am draining mine. Farewell!"
"Farewell, then, Elinor Calvert! And on thy head be my soul's ruin, and all that may befall me or thee hereafter!"
So absorbed in her own grief was Elinor that her ear scarcely caught his words, nor did her mind take note of his wild look and manner as he flung away into the forest. She quickened her pace and saw with relief the walls of the manor-house rising between the trees. A few more paces and she would reach the house, then if Fate were kind, her room, and then she could at least be alone with her despair; but no, she thought bitterly, even this poor comfort was to be denied her, for, as she drew near the house, she saw Father White standing in the doorway. She would have swerved from the path and sought entrance through the side room, but it was too late; she had been seen. Father White moved toward her like some strong merciful angel, holding healing and benediction in his outstretched hands.
"My daughter, thou art ill."
"Ay, Father, so ill that I must needs with all speed seek rest in my chamber."
"Is it indeed illness, or grief?"
"They are much alike."
"Ay, but they may need differing treatment."