She went to bed early, but she could not sleep. The words that Brian had said to her, the answers that she had made to him, were rehearsed one after the other, turned over in her mind, commented on, and repeated again and again all through the night. She hardly knew the meaning of her own excitement of feeling, nor of the intense desire that possessed her to see him again and listen once more to his voice. She only knew that her brain was in a turmoil and that her heart seemed to be on fire. Sleep! She could not think of sleep. His face was before her, his voice was sounding in her ears, until the cock crew and the morning sunlight flooded all the room. And then for a little while, indeed, she slept, and dreamt of him. She awoke late and unrefreshed. She dressed leisurely, wondering somewhat at the vehemence of last night's emotion, but not mistress enough of herself to understand its danger. In that last moment of her interview with Brian she had given way far more than he knew. If he had understood and taken advantage of that moment of weakness, she would not have been able to refuse him anything. At a word she would have given up all for him--friends, home, riches, even her promise to Percival--and gone forth into the world with the man she loved, happier in her poverty than she had ever been in wealth. "Ask me no more, for at a touch I yield," was the silent cry of her inmost soul. But Brian had not understood. He did not dream that with Elizabeth, as with most women, the very weakest time is that which immediately follows the moment of greatest apparent strength. She had refused to listen to him at all--and after that refusal she was not strong, but weak in heart and will as a wearied child. Realising this, Elizabeth felt a sensation of relief and safety. She had escaped a great gulf--and yet--and yet--she had not reached that point of reasonableness and moderation at which she could be exactly glad that she had escaped. She made her way downstairs, and reached the dining-room to find that everyone but herself had breakfasted and gone out. She was too feverish to do more than swallow a cup of coffee and a little toast, and she had scarcely concluded her scanty meal before Mr. Heron entered the room with a disconcerted expression upon his face. "Do you know the reason of this freak of Stretton's, Elizabeth?" he asked almost immediately. "What do you mean, Uncle Alfred?" "I mean--has he taken a dislike to Strathleckie, or has anybody offended him? I can't understand it. Just when we were settling down so nicely, and found him such an excellent tutor for the boys! To run away after this fashion! It is too bad!" "Does Mr. Stretton think of leaving Strathleckie?" said Elizabeth, with her eyes bent steadfastly upon the table-cloth. "Think of leaving! My dear Lizzie, he has left! Gone: went this morning before any of us were down. Spoke to me last night about it; I tried to dissuade him, but his mind was quite made up."