As for Ellinor, when she found out the next day
that he really was gone--gone without even coming to Ford Bank again to
see if she were not penitent for her angry words--gone without saying or
hearing a word of good-bye--she shut herself up in her room, and cried
more bitterly than ever, because anger against herself was mixed with her
regret for his loss. Luckily, her father was dining out, or he would
have inquired what was the matter with his darling; and she would have
had to try to explain what could not be explained. As it was, she sat
with her back to the light during the schoolroom tea, and afterwards,
when Miss Monro had settled down to her study of the Spanish language,
Ellinor stole out into the garden, meaning to have a fresh cry over her
own naughtiness and Mr. Corbet's departure; but the August evening was
still and calm, and put her passionate grief to shame, hushing her up, as
it were, with the other young creatures, who were being soothed to rest
by the serene time of day, and the subdued light of the twilight sky.
There was a piece of ground surrounding the flower-garden, which was not
shrubbery, nor wood, nor kitchen garden--only a grassy bit, out of which
a group of old forest trees sprang. Their roots were heaved above
ground; their leaves fell in autumn so profusely that the turf was ragged
and bare in spring; but, to make up for this, there never was such a
place for snowdrops.
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