They entered the grounds of the house by the side wicket,whence the path,now wide and well trimmed,wound fantastically through the shrubbery to an octagonal pavilion called the Belvedere,by reason of the comprehensive view over the adjacent district that its green seats afforded.The path passed this erection and went on to the house as well as to the gardeners cottage on the other side,straggling thence to East Endelstow;so that Stephen felt no hesitation in entering a promenade which could scarcely be called private.
He fancied that he heard the gate open and swing together again behind him.Turning,he saw nobody.
The people of the boat came to the summer-house.One of them spoke.
I am afraid we shall get a scolding for being so late.
Stephen instantly recognised the familiar voice,richer and fuller now than it used to be.Elfride!he whispered to himself,and held fast by a sapling,to steady himself under the agitation her presence caused him.His heart swerved from its beat;he shunned receiving the meaning he sought.
A breeze is rising again;how the ash tree rustles!said Elfride.Dont you hear it?I wonder what the time is.
Stephen relinquished the sapling.
I will get a light and tell you.Step into the summer-house;the air is quiet there.
The cadence of that voice--its peculiarity seemed to come home to him like that of some notes of the northern birds on his return to his native clime,as an old natural thing renewed,yet not particularly noticed as natural before that renewal.
They entered the Belvedere.In the lower part it was formed of close wood-work nailed crosswise,and had openings in the upper by way of windows.