Miss Ennis
Corthy--you'll soon see the announcements."
Olga drove away in a troubled dream.
CHAPTER XXXV
"The 13th will suit admirably," wrote Helen Borisoff.
"That morning my guests leave, and we shall be quiet--except for
the popping of guns round about. Which reminds me that my big,
healthy Englishman of a cousin (him you met in town) will be down
here to slaughter little birds in aristocratic company, and may most
likely look in to tell us of his bags. I will meet you at the
station."
So Irene, alone, journeyed from King's Cross into the North Riding.
At evening, the sun golden amid long lazy clouds that had spent
their showers, she saw wide Wensleydale, its closing hills higher to
north and south as the train drew onward, green slopes of meadow and
woodland rising to the beat and the heather. At a village station
appeared the welcoming face of her friend Helen. A countryman with
his homely gig drove them up the hillside, the sweet air singing
about them from moorland heights, the long dale spreading in grander
prospect as they ascended, then hidden as they dropped into a wooded
glen, where the horse splashed through a broad beck and the wheels
jolted over boulders of limestone. Out again into the sunset, and at
a turn of the climbing road stood up before them the grey old
Castle, in its shadow the church and the hamlet, and all around the
glory of rolling hills.
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