"I have brought you no money," she said, abruptly, looking in his face with sudden defiance.
His brows contracted in an ugly frown, though his lips still retained its smile—he looked dangerous.
"That is bad, very," he said; "I wonder you should have come all the way here to bring these unpleasant tidings!"
Elizabeth did not answer; she had drawn towards the hearth and was pushing the ashes back with the point of her shoe, gazing drearily into the dying embers.
"You received my letter?" he asked.
"Yes—don't send in that way again, or let yourself be seen. You frightened me so that I fell from my horse."
"How sad! I should never have forgiven myself had any harm resulted from it," he said, so gravely, that one could not tell whether he was in earnest or mocking her. "You were not hurt—nothing unpleasant occurred! I despaired of seeing you in the grounds after that, and so went away."
She started up in sudden passion, goaded by his attempt at sympathy beyond the power of prudence or self-control.
"I wish I had been hurt," she exclaimed. "I could have borne being maimed for life had I seen the brute's hoofs trampling you down as I fell."
He seated himself opposite her and looked earnestly in her face. These bitter words did not seem to excite his anger—he was smiling still, and his face wore a look of admiration which appeared to excite her still more desperately.