" But he could not say it yet, because
he did not know if Elspeth loved him. He was in a condition of hope,
but very humbly so, far from assurance. He never did Elspeth the
indignity of thinking that a lesser thing than love might lead her to
Glenfernie House. If she came she would come because she loved--not
else.
They left the moor, passed through the hollow of the stream and by the
mill, and began to climb the village street. Folk looked out of door
or window upon them; kirk-goers astir, dressed in their best, with
regulated step and mouth and eyes set aright, gave the correct
greeting, neither more nor less. If the afternoon breeze, if a little
runlet of water going down the street, chose to murmur: "The laird is
thick with White Farm! What makes the laird so thick with White Farm?"
that was breeze or runlet's doing.
They passed the bare, gaunt manse and came to the kirkyard with the
dark, low stones over the generations dead. But the grass was vivid,
and the daisies bloomed, and even the yew-trees had some kind of
peacock sheen, while the sky overhead burnt essential sapphire. Even
the white of the lark held a friendly tinge as of rose petals mixed
somehow with it. And the bell that was ending its ringing, if it was
solemn, was also silver-sweet. Glenfernie determined that he would go
to church.
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