Why he followed her so passionately, I do not know. It was play, she was in his own domain which a fence surrounds, and she could not possibly escape him. But he dashed round by the bridge as if all their love was at stake, and pursued her with fierceness up the hill. She ran well, but the end was a foregone conclusion, and we only speculated whether he would catch her outside or inside the copse. He gained on her inch by inch; now they were in the shadow of the trees; he had practically grasped her, he had missed; she had disappeared into the trees themselves, he following. "Harcourt is in high spirits," said Mrs. Osgood, Anna, and Ruth. "Evelyn!" we heard him shouting within. We proceeded up the asphalt path. "Evelyn! Evelyn!" "He's not caught her yet, evidently." "Where are you, Evelyn?" "Miss Beaumont must have hidden herself rather cleverly." "Look here," cried Harcourt, emerging, "have you seen Evelyn?" "Oh, no, she's certainly inside." "So I thought." "Evelyn must be dodging round one of the trunks. You go this way, I that. We'll soon find her." We searched, gaily at first, and always with a feeling that Miss Beaumont was close by, that the delicate limbs were just behind this bole, the hair and the drapery quivering among those leaves. She was beside us, above us; here was her footstep on the purple-brown earth--her bosom, her neck--she was everywhere and nowhere. Gaiety turned to irritation, irritation to anger and fear. Miss Beaumont was apparently lost. "Evelyn! Evelyn!" we continued to cry. "Oh, really, it is beyond a joke." Then the wind arose, the more violent for its lull, and we were driven into the house by a terrific storm. We said, "At all events she will come back now." But she did not come, and the rain hissed and rose up from the dry meadows like incense smoke, and smote the quivering leaves to applause. Then it lightened. Ladies screamed, and we saw Other Kingdom as one who claps the hands, and heard it as one who roars with laughter in the thunder. Not even the Archdeacon can remember such a storm. All Harcourt's seedlings were ruined, and the tiles flew off his gables right and left. He came to me presently with a white, drawn face, saying: "Inskip, can I trust you?" "You can, indeed." "I have long suspected it; she has eloped with Ford." "But how----" I gasped. "The carriage is ready--we'll talk as we drive." Then, against the rain he shouted: "No gate in the fence, I know, but what about a ladder? While I blunder, she's over the fence, and he----" "But you were so close. There was not the time." "There is time for anything," he said venomously, "where a treacherous woman is concerned. I found her no better than a savage, I trained her, I educated her. But I'll break them both. I can do that; I'll break them soul and body." No one can break Ford now. The task is impossible. But I trembled for Miss Beaumont.