“That is Sarah Sandys’s carriage, my barony for it!” he exclaimed; “and the men are in the Sandys livery. Sarah, then, is in Richmond; and the woman who rides in her carriage is very likely in her house; but who can it be?”
The face haunted him, the voice tormented him like a melody that we continually try to catch. He endeavoured to place both as he rode out to Richmond. More than once the thought of Aspatria came to him, but he could not make any memory of her fit that splendid vision of the woman with uplifted hand and the string of pearls dropping from it. Her exquisite face, between the beauty of their reflection and the flashing of the gems beneath, retained in his memory a kind of glory. “Such loveliness is the proper setting for pearls and diamonds,” he said. “Many a beauty I have seen, but none that can touch the heel of her shoe.”
For he really thought that it was her personal charms which had so moved him. It was the sense of familiarity; it was in a 217 far deeper and dimmer way a presentiment of right, of possession, a feeling of personal touch in the emotion, which perplexed and stimulated him as the mere mystery and beauty of the flesh could never have done.
As soon as he reached the top of Richmond Hill he saw Sarah. She was sauntering along that loveliest of cliffs, with Brune. An orderly was leading Brune’s horse; he himself was in the first ecstasy of Sarah’s acknowledged love. Ulfar went into the Star and Garter Inn and watched Sarah. He had no claim upon her, and yet he felt as if she had been false to him. “And for a mere soldier!” Then he looked critically at the soldier, and said, 218 with some contempt: “I am sorry for him! Sarah Sandys will have her pastime, and then say, ‘Farewell, good sir!’” As for the mere soldier being Brune Anneys, that was a thought out of Ulfar’s horizon.
In a couple of hours he went to Sarah’s. She met him with real delight.
“You are just five years lovelier, Sarah,” he said.
“Admiration from Sir Ulfar Fenwick is admiration indeed!”
“Yes; I say you are beautiful, though I have just seen the most bewitching woman that ever blessed my eyes,—in your carriage too.” And then, swift as light or thought, there flashed across his mind a conviction that the Beauty and Aspatria were identical. It was a momentary intelligence; he grasped it merely as a clew that might lead him somewhere.