woman he loved; but even as he brooded on the dreamlike strangeness of
it, his mind was doing its practical work. If Winifred and Mrs. Martha
were in the vehicle he had seen, what time they would gain while driving
on the road they would be apt to lose by their feebleness on the
mountain path, which he and Sophia could ascend so much more lightly.
Wherever their goal, and whatever their purpose, he was sanguine that he
would find and stop them before they joined the main party. He
communicated the grounds of this hope to his companion. His heart was
sore for his lady's tears. He had never before seen her weep. They had
passed the cemetery, and went forward now into the lonelier part of the
road. Then Trenholme thought of the warning Harkness had given him about
the drunkard's violence. The recollection made him hasten on, forgetting
that his speed was almost too great for a woman.

In the stir of events we seldom realise to the full the facts with which
we are dealing, certainly never perceive at first their full import.
Trenholme, however, after some minutes of tramping and thinking, felt
that he had reason for righteous indignation, and became wroth. He gave
vent to strictures upon superficiality of character, modern love of
excitement, and that silly egotism that, causing people to throw off
rightful authority, leaves them an easy prey to false teachers. He was
not angry with Winifred--he excepted her; but against those who were
leading her astray his words were harsh, and they would have flowed more
freely had he not found language inadequate to express his growing
perception of their folly.

When he had talked thus for some time Sophia answered, and he knew
instantly, from the tone of her voice, that her tears had dried
themselves.