Almost for the first time she asked herself whether she was not doing wrong—whether she had not better stay at home and give up this precious meeting.
But she mentally pictured Lord Leycester's waiting for her—mentally called up the tone of his voice welcoming her, and her conscience was stilled.
"I must go!" she murmured, and as if afraid lest she should change her mind, she put on her hat, and went down the path with a quick step. But she turned back at the gate, and called to Mrs. Penfold.
"I am going for a stroll," she said, with a sudden blush. "If uncle returns while I am away, tell him I shall not be long."
And then she went across the meadows to the river bank.
All was silent save the thrushes in the woods and the nightingale with its long liquid note and short "jug, jug," and she sank down upon the grassy bank and waited.
The clock struck the hour of appointment, and her heart beat fast.
Suppose he did not come! Her cheek paled, and a faint sickening feeling of disappointment crept over her. The minutes passed, hours they seemed, and then with a sudden resolution she rose.
"He will not come," she murmured. "I will go back; it is better so!"
But even as the words left her lips sadly, a light skiff shot from the shadow of the opposite bank and flew across the river.