"Yes, it is true," she slowly said. "I have had those strange dreams for
some weeks now; I have them still."
"That William Brook is lost?"
"That he is lost, and that we are persistently searching for him.
Sometimes we are seeking for him in Timberdale, sometimes at
Worcester--in America, in France, in places that I have no knowledge
of. There always seems to be a sadness connected with it--a sort of
latent conviction that he will never be found."
"The dreams beget the dreams," said Tod, "and I should have thought you
had better sense. They will soon vanish, once Sweet William makes his
appearance: and mind, Miss Ellin, that you invite me to the wedding."
Ellin sighed--and smiled. And just then Aunt Hester appeared attired in
her crimson silk shawl with the fancy border, and the primrose feather
in her Leghorn bonnet.
A day or two went on, bringing no news of the traveller. On the
nineteenth of October--I shall never forget the date--Mr. and Mrs.
Todhetley and ourselves set off in the large open phaeton for a place
called Pigeon Green, to spend the day with some friends living there.
On this same morning, as it chanced, a very wintry one, Mr. St. George
started for Worcester in his gig, accompanied by Ellin Delorane. But
of this we knew nothing. He had business in the town; she was going to
spend a few days with Mary West, formerly Mary Coney.
Ellin was well wrapped up, and Mr. St. George, ever solicitous for her
comfort, kept the warm fur rug well about her during the journey: the
skies looked grey and threatening, the wind was high and bitterly cold.
Worcester reached, he drove straight through the town, left Ellin at
Mrs. West's door, in the Foregate Street, and then drove back to the
Hare and Hounds Inn to put up his horse and gig.