In the meanwhile Tom Henderson was feeling anything but comfortable. The groom, Jack Reid, had returned and had given Elsie's message to his young master, and added what he called a hint of his own. "She looked mortal bad," he said, significantly. Tom Henderson whistled, but he by no means liked the prospect before him. He drank more wine at dinner than was his wont, and his mother again and again looked at him anxiously. She did not like his restless movements, his somewhat disjointed words. At last he rose and said he would go out for a smoke and a stroll. "Don't be late, my dear," answered his mother. "No," said Tom, and then she watched him walk down the avenue till the red tip of his cigar disappeared in the darkness. He went on slowly enough. He knew he was going to meet an angry, disappointed woman, and he knew he had done Elsie the worst wrong a man can do, yet he never swerved from his purpose. But he wished it was over; he was essentially selfish, and he was thinking of his own feelings of discomfort and not of the poor girl's, as he went on through the gusty night. Presently he came to the ridge of high land above Fern Dene. This is rather a remarkable piece of ground; the dip of the hill from it down to the Dene being exceedingly steep, even precipitous. This descent is thickly studded with trees, brambles, and undergrowth. On the ridge there is a narrow walk, with the fall of the hill on one side and stretching fields on the other. Along this walk Henderson went, still slowly, and as he did so the moon suddenly broke forth from the drifting clouds, and showed him dark and distinct the figure of a woman on the pathway before him. It was Elsie Wray wrapped in a long cloak, and standing on the very verge of the descent below, gazing down into its gloomy depths. Henderson could see her face in the moonlight; could see the sharply cut profile and the black brows, for the hood of her cloak had fallen back, and her head was uncovered. She looked a weird and tragic figure in this lonely spot, and for a moment Henderson hesitated to approach her. Then he pulled himself together. "It must be done," he told his sinking heart, and he therefore began to walk more quickly forward, and at the sound of his footsteps Elsie turned her face away from the ravine and looked around. But she made no forward movement to meet him. She stood there awaiting his approach, silent, motionless, and something in her attitude made Henderson yet more uneasy. At last he neared her. "Well, Elsie," he said, holding out his hand, "I'm afraid you've had a long walk." She did not answer, nor did she attempt to take his proffered hand.