CHAPTER XXII

A LONG LEAVE-TAKING The way lay over grassy ridges of hill and then at intervals among the bracken and gnarled boles of a great wood. The mist of the morning lay in all the far distances, and one might guess that behind the veil lay a wild and tangled land, that the slope did not stop a little beyond the edge of the haze but rose sheer into precipitous crags. It might have been Scotland, and as the coach rumbled down the highway Margaret when she looked to right and left saw a glimpse of a landscape now for ever lo…