The strong arms enfolded her lovingly, the tawny mustache swept her cheek. For one brief moment she yielded to his caress, her lips thrilling under his, then she wrenched herself away from him, and fled.
CHAPTER X.
A FACE AT THE WINDOW.
Colonel Dacre waited for half an hour, hoping Lady Gwendolyn would return; but when the time passed, and there was still no sign of her, he concluded that she did not want to see him again that morning, and went back to his hotel. All day long he expected that she would send him a little note, telling him when he might call again; but his patience was not rewarded. The hours dragged wearily, but they passed, bringing the cool, sweet eventide, when the tired flowers went to sleep under their sheltering leaves, and even the busy bees were abed.
“She will send or come now,” he said to himself, believing that the lady of his love had too much independence of spirit to regard conventionalities; he sat at the open window, waiting still, and still in vain.
When the clock struck eight he decided that she intended him to seek her, and went over to the Grange. Old Hannah answered his impatient knock, and, in reply to his question, said, quietly, that Lady Gwendolyn was gone.
“Gone!” echoed Colonel Dacre. “I am sure she could not have left without my seeing her.”
“I don’t know whether you saw her or not, sir,” continued the woman, with perfect civility. “But she really is gone.”
“She did not leave any letter for me, then?”
“Not as I know, sir; but perhaps you would like to step into the drawing-room and see?”