Night had come on as Richard entered the old elm-shaded, grass-bordered lane leading down from Raynham to Belthorpe.

The pale eye of twilight was shut.

The wind had tossed up the bank of Western cloud, which was now flying broad and unlighted across the sky, broad and balmy--the charioted South-west at full charge behind his panting coursers.

As he neared the farm his heart fluttered and leapt up.

He was sure she must be there.