She was walking near the avenue, but on the grass behind the trees. I caught a glimpse of her gown through the leaves and my quick steps were stayed as though by one of the potent spells that the Vicar loved to read about. For a moment or two I stood there motionless; then I turned and walked slowly towards her. She saw me a few yards off, and it seemed as though she would fly. But in the end she faced me proudly; her eyes were very sad and I thought that she had been weeping; as I approached she thrust something—it looked like a letter—into the bosom of her gown, as if in terror lest I should see it. I made her a low bow.
"I trust, madame," said I, "that my lady mends?"
"I thank you, yes, although slowly."
"And that you have taken no harm from your journey?"
"I thank you, none."
It was strange, but there seemed no other topic in earth or heaven; for I looked first at earth and then at heaven, and in neither place found any.
"I am seeking my Lord Carford," I said at last.
I knew my error as soon as I had spoken. She would bid me seek Carford without delay and protest that the last thing in her mind was to detain me. I cursed myself for an awkward fool. But to my amazement she did nothing of what I looked for, but cried out in great agitation and, as it seemed, fear:
"You mustn't see Lord Carford."