When she had calmed herself with this new project, which, the moment it took form in her mind seemed of itself, without reference to the cause, the most delightful project in the world and full of pleasure--Elinor smoothed back her hair, put her garden hat, which had got a little out of order, straight, and took her way again towards the house. Her heart had already escaped from the shock and horror and was beating softly, exhausted yet refreshed, in her bosom. She felt almost like a child who had sobbed all its troubles out, or like a convalescent recovering from a brief but violent illness, and pathetically happy in the cessation of pain. She went along quietly, slowly, by the woodland path among the trees full of the sweetness of the morning which seemed to have come back to her. Should she say anything about it to her mother, or only by degrees announce to her the plan she had begun to form for Pippo's pleasure, the long delightful ramble which would come between his school-time and the university? She had almost decided that she would do this when she went into the house; but she had not been half an hour with her mother when her intention became untenable, for the good reason that she had already told Mrs. Dennistoun of the new incident. They were not in the habit of keeping secrets from each other, and in that case there is nothing in the world so difficult. It requires training to keep one's affairs to one's self in the constant presence of those who are our nearest and dearest. Some people may be capable of this effort of self-control, but Elinor was not. She had showed that alarming paper to her mother with a partial return of her own terror at the sight of it before she knew. And I need not say that for a short time Mrs. Dennistoun was overwhelmed by that natural horror too. "But," she said, "what do you know, what can you tell about this Mr. Brown, Elinor? You never saw him in your life." "I think I know what it means," said Elinor, with a sudden dark glow of colour, which faded instantly, leaving her quite pale. She added hurriedly, "There were some books destroyed. I cannot tell you the rights of the story. It is too dreadful altogether, but--another was exculpated by the date of the day he arrived at Windyhill. This must be the reason I am called." "The date he arrived--before your marriage, Elinor? But then they might call me, and you need not appear." "Not for the world, mother!" cried Elinor. The colour rose again and faded. "Besides, you do not remember." "Oh, I could make it out," said Mrs. Dennistoun. "It was when he came from Scotland, and went off in the evening next day. I don't at this moment remember what the day was, but I could make it out. It was about a fortnight before, it was----" "Do you remember, mother, the little calendar in the hall, and what it marked, and what he said?"