“I have but a moment to speak to you. It is almost seven o'clock. You were at 'the cottage' to-day?”
“Yes,” said Roland, his cheek growing scarlet as he spoke.
“And, doubtless, your visit had some object of importance. Nay, no confessions. This is not curiosity on my part, but to let you know that you were followed. Scarcely had you left this, when Linton set out also, making a circuit by the wood, but at a speed which must have soon overtaken you. He returned some time before you, at the same speed, and entered by the back gate of the stables. From this window I could see him each time.”
“Indeed,” said Roland, remembering the figure Mary had seen before the window.
“You know my opinion of this man already. He never moves without a plan; and a plan, with him, is ever a treachery.”
“He avoids me strangely; we rarely meet now,—never by any chance alone. And even before others there is a forced gayety in his manner that all his artifice cannot pass off for real.”
“Have you thwarted him in anything?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Have you refused him any favor that he sought for?”
“Never.”