“You have a way,” cried the husband, “of talking, talking, that a person would fly to the uttermost parts of the airth to get free oreplace with’ ye. Let me go! Effie’s young and silly. She may run we know not where, or she may catch a cold to kill her, which is the least of it. Let me go.” “Sit down in your own chair by your own fireside, and listen to me,” said the wife. “Why should you go on a fool’s errand? one’s enough for that. Did Effie ever give you any real vexation all her life? No, truly, and why should she begin now? She will be taking a walk, or she will be complaining of me to the Miss Dempsters, or something of that innocent kind. Just you let her be. What did she ever do to give you a bad opinion of her? No, no, she’s come out of a good stock, and she’ll come to no harm.” “There is something in that,” Mr. Ogilvie said. He was not ill disposed to sit down in his own chair by his own fireside and take his ease, and accept the assurance that Effie would come to no harm. But when she had thus quieted her husband and disposed of him, Mrs. Ogilvie herself stole out in the dark, first to the house door, then through the ghostly shrubberies to the gate, to see if there was any trace visible of the fugitive. She was not so tranquil as she pretended to be. Effie’s look of consternation and horror was still in her eyes, and she had a sense of guilt which she could not shake off. But yet there were so many good reasons for doing what she had done, so many excuses, nay, laudable motives, things that called for immediate action. “To marry a man you don’t care about, when there is no advantage in it, what a dreadful thing to do. How could I look on and let that little thing make such a sacrifice? and when any person with the least perception could see her heart was not in it. And Ronald, him that she just had a natural bias to, that was just the most suitable match, not a great _parti_ like what we all thought young Dirom, but well enough, and her own kind of person!” It was thus she justified herself, and from her own point of view the justification was complete. But yet she was not a happy woman as she stood within the shadow of the big laurels, and looked out upon the road, hoping every moment to see a slight shadow flit across the road, and Effie steal in at the open gate. What could the little thing do? As for running away, that was out of the question; and she was so young, knowing nothing. What could she do? It was not possible she should come to any harm. Mr. Moubray was more anxious still, for it seemed to him that he knew very well what she would do. He walked about all the neighbouring roads, and peeped into the cottages, and frightened the Miss Dempsters by going up to their door, with heavy feet crushing the gravel at that unaccustomed hour, for no reason but just to ask how the old lady was!