“No, zur—George Netherclift.”
“Well, Master George Netherclift, if ever you made haste in your life, do so now.”
The boy—a great lumping lad of fourteen or fifteen, with a stolid, good-humored, red-yellow face, and a thick-set figure, clad in a smock frock and a pair of tough corduroy trousers—started on with more nimbleness than any one would have given him credit for. In the silence, his clattering, hob-nailed boots raised countless echoes in the rude, vaulted passages as he trotted along.
An uncomfortable embarrassment succeeded his departure. Lois felt ashamed of her weakness, and abashed in the presence of the tall, handsome captain, unable to forget the secret link that in a measure bound their lives together. Paul Desfrayne almost cursed the destiny that had thus dragged him within those dangerous precincts he would fain shun. Blanche Dormer caught the infection from these two, who were acquainted with each other, yet seemed to make some mystery of the matter, and so she remained silent.
Lois dared not lift her eyes from the ground. Paul Desfrayne stood at some distance, viewing the rain as it plashed down, and regarding the now more rarely recurring flashes of lightning with an absent air, as if his real thoughts were far away.
On setting out for his ride, he had permitted his horse to take any road that presented itself, seeing that the way led far from the neighborhood of Flore Hall. After a while he had almost dropped the reins on the animal’s neck, and allowed his mind to revert to the painful subject of his most unhappy position—a subject but seldom out of his memory. He had ridden slowly for a long distance from the barracks when the first pattering drops of rain came splashing down. Seeing that the sky was overcast by dense black clouds, and hearing the distant rumbling of the thunder, he had looked about for some convenient shelter, and then, to his great surprise, found himself close by the ruined abbey he so well remembered.
Dismounting, he had secured his horse in an old ruined stable, and then entered the familiar place, his feelings not all pain, yet not all pleasure. That any one should have ventured to the summer pavilion he did not for a moment imagine. Wishing to see as much of the spot as possible while he could do so in safety, he had rapidly traversed the dim corridors, and, opening the door in the paneling of the wall, had come upon the two young girls.
For the first time now he recollected that he had left his faithful Greyburn alone for some time, and feared that perhaps the poor animal might have been frightened by the fury of the tempest.
“I trust you will not be alarmed if I leave you for a few moments to look after my horse. I left him, as I think I told you, in a ruined stable close at hand; but I should be glad to know how he fares,” said Captain Desfrayne, as the echoes of George Netherclift’s heavy steps died away.
“Oh! pray see him,” cried both girls.