“Sir Harvey and his brother hussar have made the amende for your shortcomings, but go, make haste and overtake us. I see 'my Lord' trying to understand Lady Janet, and I must not delay longer.”
“Ride slowly,” cried Roland, “and don't get run away with till I 'm of the party.”
She nodded archly in reply to this speech, and joining the group, who were all awaiting her, rode off, while Cashel entered the house, and soon was heard ascending the stairs at a hurried pace.
Olivia could only close the window and resume her place, when a tap was given at the door, and the same instant Cashel entered the room. He stopped suddenly, and looked around, for at first he did not perceive Olivia, who, deep in her book, affected not to hear the noise of his approach.
The rich coronet of brown hair, on which an evening sun was throwing one brilliant gleam, caught his eye, and he advanced near enough to see and be struck by that graceful attitude of which we gave our reader a glimpse at the opening of this chapter.
She was reading some old English ballad; and, as she closed the volume, murmured, half aloud, the lines of the concluding verse:—
“And ye variété, bounde upon a carte, Was draggede to ye gallows high, While ye knighte that stole ye ladye's hearte (And was not his ye gravere parte!) Rode onte to see him die.”
“A sad moral indeed,” said Cashel, in a low, soft voice.
“Oh, dear! oh, Mr. Cashel!” cried she, starting, and letting fall the book, “how you have terrified me!”
“Pray forgive me,” said he, drawing his chair near, “but when I entered the room I saw no one. I had come thus far ere I discovered that I was so fortunate.”