She started up and paced the walk hurriedly, trying to think what she had best do.

Her first impulse was to fly at once to the glen; but that was impossible, as she must not, she felt, leave Dame Hartley.
No one was near: they were quite alone.

Again she said, "I must wait; I _must_ wait till Farmer Hartley comes home." But the waiting was harder now than it had been before.

She could do nothing but pace up and down, up and down, like a caged panther, stopping every few minutes to throw back her head and listen for the longed-for sound,--the sound of approaching wheels.
Softly the shadows fell as the sun went down.

The purple twilight deepened, and the stars lighted their silver lamps, while all the soft night noises began to make themselves heard as the voices of day died away.