And then ten minutes after they had started it had all gone, her depression, blown away by the winds--or charmed away by a happy voice, a manly presence, a keen responsive eye?
Elsmere, indeed, was gayety itself.

He kept up an incessant war with Rose; he had a number of little jokes going at the vicar's expense, which kept that good man in a half-protesting chuckle most of the way; he cleared every gate that presented itself in first-rate Oxford form, and climbed every point of rock with a cat-like agility that set the girls scoffing at the pretence of invalidism under which he had foisted himself on Whindale.
'How fine all this black purple is!' he cried, as they topped the ridge, and the Shanmoor valley lay before them, bounded on the other side by line after line of mountain, Wetherlam and the Pikes and Fairfield in the far distance, piled sombrely under a sombre sky.

'I had grown quite tired of the sun.

He had done his best to make you commonplace.' 'Tired of the sun in Westmoreland ?' said Catherine, with a little mocking wonder.

'How wanton how prodigal!' 'Does it deserve a Nemesis ?' he said laughing.