Elsmere looked down on his companion with an indescribable exultation, a passionate sense of possession which could hardly restrain itself. He had come back that morning with a mind clearly made up. Catherine had been blind indeed when she supposed that any plan of his or hers would have been allowed to stand in the way of that last wrestle with her, of which he had planned all the methods, rehearsed all the arguments. But when he reached the Vicarage he was greeted with the news of her absence. She was inaccessible it appeared for the day. No matter! The vicar and he settled in the fewest possible words that he should stay till Monday, Mrs. Thornburgh meanwhile looking on, saying what civility demanded, and surprisingly little else. Then in the evening Mrs. Thornburgh had asked of him, with a manner of admirable indifference, whether he felt inclined for an evening walk to High Ghyll to inquire after Mary Backhouse. The request fell in excellently with a lover’s restlessness, and Robert assented at once. The vicar saw him go with puzzled brows and a quick look at his wife, whose head was bent close over her worsted work. It never occurred to Elsmere--or if it did occur, he pooh-poohed the notion--that he should find Catherine still at her post far from home on this dark stormy evening. But in the glow of joy which her presence had brought him he was still capable of all sorts of delicate perceptions and reasonings. His quick imagination carried him through the scene from which she had just momentarily escaped. He had understood the exaltation of her look and tone. If love spoke at all, ringed with such surroundings, it must be with its most inward and spiritual voice, as those speak who feel ‘the Eternities’ about them. But the darkness hid her from him so well that he had to feel out the situation for himself. He could not trace it in her face. ‘We must go right up to the top of the pass,’ she said to him as he held a gate open for her which led them into a piece of larch plantation on the mountain-side. ‘The ghost is supposed to walk along this bit of road above the houses, till it reaches the heath on the top, and then it turns toward Bleacliff Tarn, which lies higher up to the right, under High Fell.’ ‘Do you imagine your report will have any effect?’ ‘At any rate,’ she said, sighing, ‘it seemed to me that it might divert her thoughts a little from the actual horror of her own summons. Anything is better than the torture of that one fixed idea as she lies there.’ ‘What is that?’ said Robert, startled a little by some ghostly sounds in front of them. The little wood was almost dark, and he could see nothing. ‘Only a horse trotting on in front of us,’ said Catherine; ‘our voices frightened him, I suppose. We shall be out on the fell again directly.’ And as they quitted the trees, a dark bulky form to the left suddenly lifted a shadowy head from the grass, and clattered down the slope.