"Blair Leyton?" said the count. "Blair Leyton?" and at every repetition of the name a tremulous quiver passed rapidly over Margaret's white face.
"Yes, Viscount Leyton, the Earl of Ferrers' nephew. Surely you remember him, general?"
"Oh, yes," said the count. "I had forgotten for the moment. Yes, yes! He was a good shot. One in a thousand. I was with him in the Black Forest—and in England, too. A wonderful shot! A wonderful young man, too," he added; then, as some reminiscence occurred to him, he warmed into enthusiasm. "A fine specimen of an English sportsman. I do not think I ever saw a young man ride as he rode. It was in one of the English hunting counties; and he was riding a perfect demon of a horse. There was no other man on the field who would have got into the saddle, and yet this young lord rode him as if he were a lady's palfrey. I saw him jump——" He stopped and smiled. "I am afraid, my dear signora, you would not believe me if I were to tell you. It was a tremendous jump, and to miss it meant a broken limb—or a broken neck."
He paused, and Margaret, who had been fighting against the terrible effect the mere mention of Blair's name had worked upon her, recovered, and with a sigh, withdrew her eyes from the speaker, and looked up at the prince.
"Are you better?" he murmured, still screening her from the rest, and affecting to examine the costly fan he held.
"I—I am quite well," she said, looking down. "It must have been the heat."
"Doubtless," he said. "I will see the dining-room is cooler."
The gong sounded at the moment, and he had to leave her and give his arm to the countess, but Margaret heard him give directions to the servants respecting the dining-room windows.
The dinner proceeded. Her chair was placed within about six of his at the bottom of the table, and sometimes he would lean forward and say a few words; but to-night, although he watched her with that tender scrutiny of which Love teaches us the secret, he said nothing. And she sat silent, not listening to the talk around her, but thinking of that past which Blair's name had recalled all too vividly. The splendid room, the brilliant company, faded from her sight, and in their place rose the inclosed garden at the Court, and in the moon rays stood close by her side the man who even then, as she thought, was plotting her ruin!
Suddenly she heard his name again. It was the old general, who, apparently, could not forget the young Englishman who had taken the big jump.