It was evening when she came to herself.  A cool twilight wind, that somehow seemed to come all the way from the stars, was blowing upon her.  The poor woman and Prince, the shepherd and his sheep, were all gone, and she was left alone with the wind upon the heather.

She felt sad, weak, and, perhaps, for the first time in her life, a little ashamed.  The violence of which she had been guilty had vanished from her spirit, and now lay in her memory with the calm morning behind it, while in front the quiet dusky night was now closing in the loud shame betwixt a double peace.  Between the two her passion looked ugly.  It pained her to remember.  She felt it was hateful, and hers.

But, alas, Prince was gone!  That horrid woman had taken him away!  The fury rose again in her heart, and raged—­until it came to her mind how her dear Prince would have flown at her throat if he had seen her in such a passion.  The memory calmed her, and she rose and went home.  There, perhaps, she would find Prince, for surely he could never have been such a silly dog as go away altogether with a strange woman!

She opened the door and went in.  Dogs were asleep all about the cottage, it seemed to her, but nowhere was Prince.  She crept away to her little bed, and cried herself asleep.

In the morning the shepherd and shepherdess were indeed glad to find she had come home, for they thought she had run away.

“Where is Prince?” she cried, the moment she waked.

“His mistress has taken him,” answered the shepherd.

“Was that woman his mistress?”

“I fancy so.  He followed her as if he had known her all his life.  I am very sorry to lose him, though.”

The poor woman had gone close past the rock where the shepherd lay.  He saw her coming, and thought of the strange sheep which had been feeding beside him when he lay down.  “Who can she be?” he said to himself; but when he noted how Prince followed her, without even looking up at him as he passed, he remembered how Prince had come to him.  And this was how:  as he lay in bed one fierce winter morning, just about to rise, he heard the voice of a woman call to him through the storm, “Shepherd, I have brought you a dog.  Be good to him.  I will come again and fetch him away.”  He dressed as quickly as he could, and went to the door.  It was half snowed up, but on the top of the white mound before it stood Prince.  And now he had gone as mysteriously as he had come, and he felt sad.

Rosamond was very sorry too, and hence when she saw the looks of the shepherd and shepherdess, she was able to understand them.  And she tried for a while to behave better to them because of their sorrow.  So the loss of the dog brought them all nearer to each other.

X.

After the thunder-storm, Agnes did not meet with a single obstruction or misadventure.  Everybody was strangely polite, gave her whatever she desired, and answered her questions, but asked none in return, and looked all the time as if her departure would be a relief.  They were afraid, in fact, from her appearance, lest she should tell them that she was lost, when they would be bound, on pain of public execution, to take her to the palace.