In the west there was a
great suffusion of cold, red light, which made the sides of the
little valley look only the more rugged and dusky. During one of
their pauses, her father left her and wandered away to some high
place, at a distance, to get a view. He was out of sight; she sat
there alone, in the stillness, which was just touched by the vague
murmur, somewhere, of a mountain brook. She thought of Morris
Townsend, and the place was so desolate and lonely that he seemed
very far away. Her father remained absent a long time; she began to
wonder what had become of him. But at last he reappeared, coming
towards her in the clear twilight, and she got up, to go on. He made
no motion to proceed, however, but came close to her, as if he had
something to say. He stopped in front of her and stood looking at
her, with eyes that had kept the light of the flushing snow-summits
on which they had just been fixed. Then, abruptly, in a low tone, he
asked her an unexpected question:
"Have you given him up?"
The question was unexpected, but Catherine was only superficially
unprepared.
"No, father!" she answered.
He looked at her again for some moments, without speaking.
"Does he write to you?" he asked.
"Yes--about twice a month."
The Doctor looked up and down the valley, swinging his stick; then he
said to her, in the same low tone:
"I am very angry."
She wondered what he meant--whether he wished to frighten her.
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