“We shall be waiting for you in the house,” she said, as she turned and left him.
It is hardly necessary to describe the nature of the reflections to which he gave himself up on being left alone.
The natural repugnance he had for the young mountaineer was now greatly intensified.
He hated the very name of the man, and half regretted not having openly insulted him—indeed, had he been acquainted with all the circumstances which had since come to his knowledge, the probability would have been that a violent scene might have taken place.
He was at this time greatly concerned and deeply dejected, and his reflections were by no means agreeable ones.
He was suddenly aroused by feeling a burning hand pressed upon one of his own, while a breathless voice whispered in his ear—
“Leave your door open. I must speak with you to-night.”
The speaker was Agatha, and she had disappeared before the sound of her voice had died in Lord Ethalwood’s ear.
He strove in vain to fathom the intention of the young girl in thus addressing him.
What could she probably have to say of such moment as to impel her to take such a questionable course as that of secretly visiting his room in the dead hour of the night?