Rising and dressing himself, he sat down and
waited for day.
That night Stephen was restless too. Not because of the
unwontedness of a return to English scenery; not because he was
about to meet his parents, and settle down for awhile to English
cottage life. He was indulging in dreams, and for the nonce the
warehouses of Bombay and the plains and forts of Poonah were but a
shadow's shadow. His dream was based on this one atom of fact:
Elfride and Knight had become separated, and their engagement was
as if it had never been. Their rupture must have occurred soon
after Stephen's discovery of the fact of their union; and, Stephen
went on to think, what so probable as that a return of her errant
affection to himself was the cause?
Stephen's opinions in this matter were those of a lover, and not
the balanced judgment of an unbiassed spectator. His naturally
sanguine spirit built hope upon hope, till scarcely a doubt
remained in his mind that her lingering tenderness for him had in
some way been perceived by Knight, and had provoked their parting.
To go and see Elfride was the suggestion of impulses it was
impossible to withstand. At any rate, to run down from St.
Launce's to Castle Poterel, a distance of less than twenty miles,
and glide like a ghost about their old haunts, making stealthy
inquiries about her, would be a fascinating way of passing the
first spare hours after reaching home on the day after the morrow.
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