'The carriage is waiting for us at the top of the hill; we must get in;' and Elfride flitted to the front.

'Papa, here is your Elfride!' she exclaimed to the dusky figure of the old gentleman, as she sprang up and sank by his side without deigning to accept aid from Stephen.
'Ah, yes!' uttered the vicar in artificially alert tones, awaking from a most profound sleep, and suddenly preparing to alight.
'Why, what are you doing, papa?
We are not home yet.' 'Oh no, no; of course not; we are not at home yet,' Mr.Swancourt said very hastily, endeavouring to dodge back to his original position with the air of a man who had not moved at all.

'The fact is I was so lost in deep meditation that I forgot whereabouts we were.' And in a minute the vicar was snoring again.
That evening, being the last, seemed to throw an exceptional shade of sadness over Stephen Smith, and the repeated injunctions of the vicar, that he was to come and revisit them in the summer, apparently tended less to raise his spirits than to unearth some misgiving.
He left them in the gray light of dawn, whilst the colours of earth were sombre, and the sun was yet hidden in the east.

Elfride had fidgeted all night in her little bed lest none of the household should be awake soon enough to start him, and also lest she might miss seeing again the bright eyes and curly hair, to which their owner's possession of a hidden mystery added a deeper tinge of romance.

To some extent--so soon does womanly interest take a solicitous turn--she felt herself responsible for his safe conduct.