"Does Godfrey know his way to Brent?" asked Mr. Fowler of Elsa.
"Oh, yes—he often goes there—to the 'Welcome Traveller,'" she answered.
"I think he is most probably there now," said he, turning to Miss Charlotte, "and, if so, you may be easy, they will not send him home in this tempest."
"But he is very wilful, he may insist on trying to come home, and, if so, he will be lost, he could never stand against the wind across the top of Hooken," said Miss Charlotte, full of apprehension.
Her attachment to Godfrey was a forcible illustration of the capriciousness of love. There had been every reason why she should dislike him, she had been fully prepared to do so. She had never seen one single trait in him to induce her to alter this preconceived opinion; he had openly derided her and set her authority at naught ever since their first meeting, yet she was fond of him.
Her looks testified the deepest concern. As the scream of the storm-wind dashed against the window of the warm, comfortable room, she shivered.
"Elsa," she cried, "how dared you leave that child out by himself? You are not to be trusted in the least! Where did you leave him—answer me—was it on the cliffs?"
"No!" cried Elsa, sharply, "it was not. He would not be likely to go by the cliffs, it is twice as long, you know it is. He went along the Quarry Road, I tell you. He is gone to Brent."
"Make yourself easy, Miss Charlotte," said Mr. Fowler, "he is not likely to try the cliff road home in weather like this. He will come by the quarries, if they let him come at all. How long had you parted from him when we met you, Elsa?"
"Oh, more than an hour, I should think."