Perish, last of Folly’s ways!
All that pride of eye hath sought,
All that rebel flesh hath wrought,
Utterly reduced to naught,
How can ye outlive these days?
X.
That was how his mother found him when she came in search of him. The lunch-gong had brought no Mark; and no one had seen him, except Maurice, who, from his window, had caught sight of the lovers entering the wood. All the morning she had been secretly anxious. Now she felt certain something was wrong, and telling the others not to wait, she fled out to his favourite haunt, hardly knowing what she expected to find.
He did not hear her till she set foot in the summer-house; and the wild idea smote him—Could it be Bel?
With a start he looked up; and at sight of his face Lady Forsyth’s heart stood still.
‘My darling Boy, what has happened?’