Milly and Yerba had retired to the former's boudoir, but, as they had not yet formally bade him good night, there was a chance of their returning.

He still stayed on in this hope for half an hour, and then, accepting Yerba's continued absence as a tacit refusal of his request, he turned abruptly away.

But as he glanced around the garden before reentering the house, he was struck by a singular circumstance--a white patch, like a forgotten shawl, which he had observed on the distant ceanothus hedge, and which had at first thrilled him with expectation, had certainly CHANGED ITS POSITION.
Before, it seemed to be near the summer-house; now it was, undoubtedly, farther away.

Could they, or SHE alone, have slipped from the house and be awaiting him there?
With a muttered exclamation at his stupidity he stepped hastily from the veranda and walked towards it.
But he had scarcely proceeded a dozen yards before it disappeared.

He reached the summer-house--it was empty; he followed the line of hedge--no one was there.