Torrents of falling rain obscured the valley of the Youle.

The grey clouds floated below the ridges of the hills, and wreathed the tree-tops.

Against the dim purple of the distance, the October roses held up melancholy, rain-washed heads; and sudden gusts of wind sent little armies of dead, brown leaves racing over the stone pavement of the terrace.
Lady Mary leant her forehead against the window, and gazed out upon the autumn landscape; and John Crewys watched her with feelings not altogether devoid of self-reproach.
Perhaps he had carried his prudent consideration too far.
His reverence for his beautiful lady--who reigned in John's inmost thoughts as both saint and queen--had caused him to determine that she must come to him, when she did come, without a shadow of self-reproach to sully the joy of her surrender, the fulness, of her bliss, in the perfect sympathy and devotion which awaited her.
But John Crewys--though passionately desiring her companionship, and impatient of all barriers, real or imaginary, which divided her from him--yet lived a life very full of work and interest and pleasure on his own account.

He was only conscious of his loneliness at times; and when he was as busy as he had been during the early half of this summer, he was hardly conscious of it at all.
He had not fully realized the effect that this time of waiting and uncertainty might have upon her, in the solitude to which he had left her, and which he had at first supposed would be altogether occupied by Peter.

Her letters--infrequent as he, in his self-denial, had suggested--were characterized by a delicate reserve and a tacit refusal to take anything for granted in their relations to each other, which half charmed and half tantalized John; but scarcely enlightened him regarding the suspense and sadness which at this time she was called upon to bear.
When he came to Barracombe, he knew that she had suffered greatly during these months of his absence, and reproached himself angrily for blindness and selfishness.
He had spent the first weeks of his long vacation in Switzerland, in order to bring the date of his visit to the Youle Valley as near as possible to the date of Peter's coming of age; but, also, he had been very much overworked, and felt an absolute want of rest and change before entering upon the struggle which he supposed might await him, and for which he would probably need all the good humour and good sense he possessed.