Then the man whipped up his horses and drove off, leaving Elsie standing by the roadside in a sad state of bewilderment. Could she have heard aright? Before three minutes had passed she began to think she had been mistaken, but that could not be, for Duncan presently said to her—
"She won't ever come back, Elsie, will she? But she was a bonnie lady, wasn't she?"
"She was bonnie, and real kind," Elsie said. "I wonder whether she will come back after all."
"She might have put us inside the carriage if she'd liked," Duncan said, doubtfully.
"Perhaps the gentleman wouldn't have let her," Elsie replied. "I think she meant she would come alone."
"Will she be very long?" Duncan said, pitifully; "and will she take us to London, to him—our father, Elsie?—or will you ask her to take us back to Dunster?"
"We must wait till she comes," Elsie said, evasively. In her heart of hearts she would not have been sorry to find herself back in Mrs. MacDougall's cottage, but the humiliation of returning and acknowledging why she had run away, and how she had failed, was too much for her proud, stubborn will.
"Do you like running away?" Duncan asked, looking up anxiously in her face.
"I don't mind it," Elsie answered. She was getting into a contrary mood, partly because Duncan's remarks touched her so keenly, partly out of anger and impatience at the misfortunes that had befallen them.
They had been walking along slowly in the direction the carriage had taken. Duncan did not seem inclined to go faster. Presently he stopped, and stood watching a number of black-faced Highland sheep scampering down the side of a hill. There were sounds of barking, and at last there appeared a shepherd and collie.