... Immediately upon his
leaving Black Hill she had broken with Glenfernie. She was clear of
him--the laird could reproach her with nothing!
What had happened? He had told her how, at need, a letter might be
sent. But one had never come. He himself had never written. Writing
was set in a prickly ring of difficulties and dangers. What had
happened? Strong, secret inclination toward finding least painful
things for himself brought his conclusion. Sitting there in the
sunshine, his will deceiving him, he determined that it was simply
that Elspeth had at last told Glenfernie that she could not love him
because she loved another. Probably--persistence being markedly a
trait of Old Steadfast's--he had been after her once and again, and
she had turned upon him and said much more than in prudence she should
have said! So Alexander would have made his discovery and might, if he
pleased, image other trysts than his own in the glen! Certainly he had
done this, and then sat down and penned his challenge!
Elspeth! He was unshakably conscious that Glenfernie would tell none
what Elspeth might have been provoked into giving away. Old Steadfast,
there was no denying, had that knightliness. Three now knew--no more
than three. If, through some mischance, there had been wider
discovery, she would have written! The Black Hill letter, too, would
have had somewhat there to say.
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