"Then wherever can he be going to? And he had not had tea yet, poor fellow!"
Miss Santley stepped a few paces back into the churchyard, and stood on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of him over the hedge; but the vicar had already passed out of sight.
"Never mind, dear," she said to Edith. "Shall we go in and have a little chat by ourselves? He may have some sick call or other, and he is sure to be back soon, or he would have told me where he was going. Come, you needn't look so sad," Miss Santley continued, as she observed the expression of her companion's face.
"I didn't think I was looking sad," replied Edith, blushing.
"Oh yes, you were; dreadfully," said Miss Santley, laughing in a bantering manner.
"You don't think Mr. Santley is--is not quite well?" asked Edith, timidly.
"Oh no; Charles is quite well, I am sure."
"Perhaps he is displeased with something," said Edith, as if speaking to herself rather than to Miss Santley.
"What a little fidget you are!" said her companion, taking the girl's arm. "I know what you are thinking of. I am sure he has no cause to be displeased with _you_, at any rate."
"I hope not," replied Miss Dove, brightening a little. "Only I felt a misgiving. You do feel misgivings about all sorts of things, don't you, Mary, without knowing why--a sort of presentiment and an uneasy feeling that something is going to happen?"
"Young people in love, I believe, experience feelings of that kind," said Miss Santley, with mock gravity, "Come in, you dear little goose, and don't vex your poor wee heart like that. He will be back before we have got half our talk over."
The vicar strode rapidly along the road until he reached the summit of a rising ground, from which he could see two counties spread out before him in fruitful undulations of field and meadow and woodland. The sunset was burning down in front of him. Far away in the distant landscape were soft mists of blue smoke rising from half-hidden villages, and here and there flashed points of brightness where the sun struck on the windows of a farmstead. On either hand were great expanses of yellowing corn swaying in the cool breeze and reddening in the low crimson light. He left the road, and passed through a gate into one of the fields. Following a footpath, he went along the hedge till he reached a stile. Here he was alone and concealed in a vast sea of rustling corn. He sat down on the top of the stile, and resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, gazed abstractedly into the glowing west.