“I wonder why,” thought Ella. “Perhaps if I had been a stranger everything would have been different. There would have been no Madelene to interfere and stop it all. And I was so sure Ermine did not care for him—I wonder how it has all come about.”
But she felt as if she dared not let her thoughts dwell on it. She hurried on, safely posted her letter, and turned to go home again without misadventure. It was not till she was within the lodge gates, walking more slowly now that she had accomplished her purpose, that it suddenly struck her what a risk she had run of meeting Sir Philip, and she started as she realised this, and for half a moment stood still to reflect if she could not reach the house by some other way. But no—there was no choice of road till much nearer home—and then, as if evoked by her fears, the sound of a horse approaching at a steady trot broke on her ears. It was some way off, even a slight noise travelled far in the clear frosty air, but Ella had a long way to walk still before she could reach the concealment of the shrubberies, and where she was now standing her figure stood out clear and distinct against the sky.
“If it is he, he has seen me already,” she thought with a sort of shiver, and she started off almost at a run, from time to time stopping for a moment both to take breath and to listen if the horse and his rider were indeed coming her way. Yes—she heard them stopping at the lodge gate—then on again, faster, a good deal faster, surely!
“He has recognised me,” thought Ella, running now at full speed, till her heart beat almost to suffocation and her breath came in panting sobs. She was near the shrubbery now—and once there she could easily elude him—another effort, though she was all but breathless now, and—no, it was too late!
“Ella!” cried the voice she knew so well, “what in the world is the matter? What are, you running away in that mad fashion for?”
She had to stop—it was almost a relief to her that she was physically incapable of speaking—her face was scarlet, she panted so that Sir Philip was really startled. She tried to laugh, but the convulsive effort quite as nearly resembled a sob.
“Ella,” Philip repeated, “can’t you tell me—can’t, you speak?”
“It—it is nothing,” she replied at last. “I have only been running.”
“But why were you running so? It is wrong, it may really hurt you. You will probably catch cold if you overheat yourself so,” he went on seeming vexed and uneasy. “We might have walked up together comfortably from the lodge, as we did the day I brought you back your shoe. Do you remember?” Did she remember? Ella gave an instant’s glance at him, but without speaking.
“Is anything the matter?” Philip went on.