rbearing
to allude to anything which could restore recollection of the (to him)
disagreeable mistake with regard to poor Stephen's lineage and position.
Elfride had of course perceived the same thing, which added to the
complication of relationship a mesh that her stepmother knew nothing of.

The identification scarcely heightened Knight's attractions now, though
a twelvemonth ago she would only have cared to see him for the interest
he possessed as Stephen's friend. Fortunately for Knight's advent, such
a reason for welcome had only begun to be awkward to her at a time
when the interest he had acquired on his own account made it no longer
necessary.

These coincidences, in common with all relating to him, tended to keep
Elfride's mind upon the stretch concerning Knight. As was her custom
when upon the horns of a dilemma, she walked off by herself among the
laurel bushes, and there, standing still and splitting up a leaf without
removing it from its stalk, fetched back recollections of Stephen's
frequent words in praise of his friend, and wished she had listened
more attentively. Then, still pulling the leaf, she would blush at some
fancied mortification that would accrue to her from his words when they
met, in consequence of her intrusiveness, as she now considered it, in
writing to him.

The next development of her meditations was the subject of what this
man's personal appearance might be--was he tall or short, dark or fair,
gay or grim? She would have asked Mrs. Swancourt but for the risk she
might thereby incur of some teasing remark being returned. Ultimately
Elfride would say, 'Oh, what a plague that reviewer is to me!' and turn
her face to where she imagined India lay, and murmur to herself, 'Ah,
my little husband, what are you doing now? Let me see, where are
you--south, east, where? Behind that hill, ever so far behind!'

Chapter XVII

'Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase.'

'There is Henry Knight, I declare!' said Mrs. Swancourt one day.

They were gazing from the jutting angle of a wild enclosure not far from
The Crags, which almost overhung the valley already described as leading
up from the sea and little port of Castle Boterel. The stony escarpment
upon which they stood had the contour of a man's face, and it was
covered with furze as with a beard. People in the field above were
preserved from an accidental roll down these prominences and hollows
by a hedge on the very crest, whi