“You know him, then?”
“I ought to, for I lived at Borton Hall when I was younger.”
“Oh, indeed!” said Lady Gwendolyn, beginning to feel rather uncomfortable. “Then I dare say you know Lord Teignmouth by sight?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t. I never saw any of the family,” was the reply; and Lady Gwendolyn breathed freer.
She was wiser now than she had been, and took care to nurse her strength. Although she hoped and prayed to die, it must not be just yet—until she was quite sure she had nothing to live for. She had come to Borton to learn the truth, and she must be careful that physical weakness did not stand in the way of her enlightenment.
So she ordered a chop, and, what is more, ate it, and then went to bed. The next day she kept very quiet till about four o’clock, when the day was beginning to draw in, and then she had a fly brought, paid her bill, and drove to the entrance of Borton village, where she alighted from the vehicle, and dismissed the driver, telling him the house she was going to was close by, and she should prefer to walk the remaining distance. He suggested she should have a boy to carry her bag; but this she declined, saying it was quite light, and she could manage very well.
It was not quite dark enough for her purpose yet, and so she lingered about the lanes for half an hour; and when the skeleton trees were faint shadows only, and a few lights began to twinkle in the cottage windows, she took her way slowly to Borton Hall.
She glided through the garden, listening to every sound, hiding herself quickly if a bare branch creaked in the wind, or a bird flew across her path. Keeping on the dark side of the house, she came presently to a side door, which she tried softly.
Finding it did not yield, she brought a key out of her pocket, and, inserting it cautiously in the lock, she soon found herself inside the house.
She knew every corner of it by heart, for her husband had always been pleased to answer her questions, only too glad to see that she took so much interest in their home; so she made her way with little difficulty to the north wing, passing the library on her way, and inhaling the fragrance of her husband’s cigar.