evening sky.

Constance rode in a passion of thought. "On the other side of that
moor--five miles away--there he is! What is he doing now--at this
moment? What is he thinking of?"

Presently the road bent upward, and she followed it, soothed by the
quiet movement of her horse and by the evening air. She climbed and
climbed, till the upland farms fell behind, and the road came out upon
the open moor. The distance beyond began to show--purple woods in the
evening shadow, dim valleys among them, and wide grassy stretches. A
little more, and she was on the crest. The road ran before
her--westward--a broad bare whiteness through the sun-steeped heather.
And, to the north, a wide valley, where wood and farm and pasture had
been all fashioned by the labour of generations into one proud setting
for the building in its midst. Flood Castle rose on the green bottom of
the valley, a mass of mellowed wall and roof and tower, surrounded by
its stately lawns and terraces, and girdled by its wide "chase," of
alternating wood and glade--as though wrought into the landscape by the
care of generations, and breathing history. A stream, fired with the
sunset, ran in loops and windings through the park, and all around the
hills rose and fell, clothed with dark hanging woods.

[Illustration: _Lady Connie held in her horse, feeding her eyes upon
Flood Castle and its woods_]

Constance held in her horse, feeding her eyes upon the castle and its
woods. Her mind, as she looked, was one riot of excuse for Douglas
Falloden. She knew very well--her own father had been an instance of
it--that a man can be rich and well-born, and still remain modest and
kind. But--but--"How hardly shall they that have riches--!"

She moved slowly on, thinking and gazing, till she had gone much further
than she intended, and the light had begun to fail. She would certainly
be late for dinner. Looking round her for her bearings, she saw on the
Scarfedale side of the hill, about three miles away, what she took to be
her aunts' house. Surely there must be a short cut to it. Yes! there was
a narrow road to be seen, winding down the hill, and across the valley,
which must certainly shorten the distance. And almost immediately she
found herself at the entrance to it, where it abutted on the moor; and a
signpost showed the name of Hilkley, her aunts' village. She took the
road at once, and trotted briskly along, as the twilight deepened.

A gate ahead! Well, never mind