He drew in the aromatic scent of the
fir-trees as he passed down the curving drive. Before him lay the long
sloping countryside, all dotted over with the farmsteadings and little
red cottages, with the morning sun striking slantwise upon their grey
roofs and glimmering windows. His heart yearned over all these people
with their manifold troubles, their little sordid miseries, their
strivings and hopings and petty soul-killing cares. How could he get at
them? How could he manage to lift the burden from them, and yet not
hinder them in their life aim? For more and more could he see that all
refinement is through sorrow, and that the life which does not refine is
the life without an aim.
Laura was alone in the sitting-room at Elmdene, for Robert had gone out
to make some final arrangements about his father. She sprang up as her
lover entered, and ran forward with a pretty girlish gesture to greet
him.
"Oh, Raffles!" she cried, "I knew that you would come. Is it not
dreadful about papa?"
"You must not fret, dearest," he answered gently. "It may not prove to
be so very grave after all."
"But it all happened before I was stirring. I knew nothing about it
until breakfast-time. They must have gone up to the Hall very early.
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