He dreamed dreams around her, but was afraid to encounter her again.
This strange mad love burned in his blood, until at times he was almost
sick with desire and love. Every moor-bird called her name; every flower
held the shyness of her face; the clouds of peaceful sunsets showed the
glory of her hair, and the quiet, steadfast stars possessed the wonder
of her eyes. The madness of the passionate moment of possession on the
moor was at once his most treasured memory and his intensest shame.
As for Mysie, since she had not heard any more from Robert nor even seen
him for almost a year, she felt quite flattered by the attentions of
Peter Rundell. It was not that she was in love with either of the young
men. Her nature was of the kind that is in love with love itself, and
was not perhaps capable of a great love, such as had frightened her,
when Robert, taken off his guard, had let her glimpse a strong,
overmastering passion and a soul capable of great things. Already she
dreamed of a grand house of which she would be mistress as Peter's wife,
as she stood in the silence of her own room, pirouetting and smirking,
and drawing pictures of herself in fine garments and stately carriage,
playing the Lady Bountiful of the district.
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