“’Tis false!” cried Dame Shedlock, with much passion. “But begone! begone! I’ll no more with thee!”
“But one moment!” implored Bernard.
“Hush, for thy life!” said the dame: “some one comes, and the step, methinks, is his.”
“I’ll seek thee again to-morrow, then,” said Bernard, in a low tone.
Thus speaking, he stepped into the lane, closing the door behind him. Almost at the same moment, Shedlock—for the dame was right in her conjecture—made his appearance in the walk, within a few paces of where they had been conversing.
This was a dilemma of which the dame had had no expectation. Already disturbed by her conversation with Bernard, the sudden approach of her husband, who looked on Bernard as an enemy, took her perfectly aback, and her generally-serene face presented the most lively traces of embarrassment and confusion.
Shedlock observed her discomposure instantly, and its inconsistency with her usual demeanour, which was so uniformly placid, invoked in his mind the most singular suspicions.
“Who hath been here?” he demanded, on coming up with her.
Before the dame could reply, he turned to the contiguous gate, and, drawing it open, looked out on the lane. There was no one there, and, stepping back, he pushed the gate close again, and turned to the dame once more.
The latter person had by this time recovered herself; but her present composure, though almost perfect, and quite relieved of every trace of confusion, did not lead him to forget her previous bearing. Indeed, it rather served, from the breadth and prominence of the contrast, to attach to his suspicions some shade of confirmation.