He sighed.

"I promise."




CHAPTER III

One afternoon towards the end of Mr. Williams's visit, Laura was walking
along a high field-path that overlooked the whole valley of the Flent.
Helbeck had gone to meet the Bishop on some urgent business; but the name
of his Catholic affairs was legion.

The weather, after long days of golden mist, of veiled and stealing
lights on stream and fell, had turned to rain and tumult. This afternoon,
indeed, the rain had made a sullen pause. It had drawn back for an hour
or two from the drenched valleys, even from the high peaks that stood
violet-black against a space of rainy light. Yet still the sky was full
of anger. The clouds, dark and jagged, rushed across the marsh lands
before the northwest wind. And the colour of everything--of the moss, the
peaks, the nearer crags and fields--was superbly rich and violent. The
soaked woods of the park from which she had just emerged were almost
black, and from their heart Laura could hear the river's swollen voice
pursuing her as she walked.

There was something in the afternoon that reminded her of her earliest
impressions of Bannisdale and its fell country--of those rainy March
winds that were blowing about her when she first alighted at the foot of
the old tower.