still walked amid the ruins, examining more leisurely some points which
the stress of keeping herself companionable would not allow her to attend
to while the assemblage was present. At the end of the survey, being
somewhat weary with her clambering, she sat down on the slope commanding
the gorge where the trees grew, to make a pencil sketch of the landscape
as it was revealed between the ragged walls. Thus engaged she weighed
the circumstances of Lord Mountclere's invitation, and could not be
certain if it were prudishness or simple propriety in herself which had
instigated her to refuse. She would have liked the visit for many
reasons, and if Lord Mountclere had been anybody but a remarkably
attentive old widower, she would have gone. As it was, it had occurred
to her that there was something in his tone which should lead her to
hesitate. Were any among the elderly or married ladies who had appeared
upon the ground in a detached form as she had done--and many had appeared
thus--invited to Enckworth; and if not, why were they not? That Lord
Mountclere admired her there was no doubt, and for this reason it behoved
her to be careful. His disappointment at parting from her was, in one
aspect, simply laughable, from its odd resemblance to the unfeigned
sorrow of a boy of fifteen at a first parting from his first love; in
another aspect it caused reflection; and she thought again of his
curiosity about her doings for the remainder of the summer.

* * * * *

While she sketched and thought thus, the shadows grew longer, and the sun
low. And then she perceived a movement in the gorge. One of the trees
forming the curtain across it began to wave strangely: it went further to
one side, and fell. Where the tree had stood was now a rent in the
foliage, and through the narrow rent could be seen the distant sea.