“Why, the young lady of the Castle. They call her so in our village, when she comes to see the boy.”
Cutting short the conversation, I ordered him to find his way to the Castle as soon as possible. A few minutes later, however, he had got his carriage on such marshy ground that he was obliged to request me to walk until he could lead his horse on to a firmer place.
Chapter X.
Once on my legs I took a view of the surrounding country. We were on the outskirts of the wood, and separated from the ploughed cornfields by a half-dry ditch, luxuriantly overgrown with all kinds of marsh plants. On our right was a heath; on the left potato fields. There was not a soul to be seen, and on consulting my watch I found it was just twelve o’clock. Consequently all the farm labourers had gone home to their midday meal.
Suddenly we heard a peal of resounding laughter quite close at hand, only the sound seemed to come somewhat from above us. I looked up in the direction of the undulating heath; and on the top of a sand-hill, overgrown with grass, stood the person who was enjoying our perplexity.
“Major Frank!” exclaimed the driver in his shrill tone of voice, his astonishment and annoyance causing him to show little respect.
It was indeed Francis Mordaunt herself who was mocking us. Really, I could never have anticipated such a reception.
As she stood there, some feet above me but still pretty near, I had a good view of her; and I cannot say that this first sight reconciled me to the person who had already caused me so many disagreeable emotions. Perhaps it was not her fault; but she was dressed in such a strange manner that at first sight I was doubtful whether a man or a woman stood before me. She had gathered up her riding-habit in a way that reminded me of Zouave trousers, and she had, besides, put on a wide cloak made of some long-haired material—which was doubtless very useful this sharp, cold spring day, but which, buttoned up to her throat, was not adapted to show off the beauty of her form if she was really well-shaped. Her head-gear consisted of a gray billy-cock hat with a soft, downward-bent brim, ornamented with a bunch of cock’s feathers negligently fastened with a green ribbon—just as if she really wished to imitate the wild huntsman of the fairy tale. And then, because it was rather windy, she had tied a red silk handkerchief over her hat and fastened it under her chin. She wore no veil. As far as I could judge of her appearance, she seemed to be rather delicately built and slim, with a fine Roman nose. Still, I was not in the humour to be agreeably impressed by a face convulsed with laughter, and bandaged up as if she had the toothache. Her laugh sounded to my ears like a provocation, and rendered me little inclined to be courteous to a woman who had so evidently forgotten all feminine self-respect.
“Listen,” I cried—“listen for a moment, you who are rejoicing so much at your neighbour’s distress. You would do better to direct us on our way.”