"I was there, Lady Linleigh, and I am terribly distressed over the accident, but Lady Studleigh was too quick for me, before I could assure her that there was nothing the matter, she had flung her hand so violently that I thought she had broken it. There was no snake."
"There could not be," said the countess. "I have never heard of any snakes at Linleigh. Give me your hand, child. What a terrible bruise!"
The countess took her injured hand and gently bound it, little dreaming how it had been hurt.
After that Lord Vivianne had been very much subdued. Such an excess of hatred startled him; he could not realize it, he was half alarmed at the violence of the passion he had evoked; still no idea of yielding came to him. As he watched her, day after day, her beauty, her grace, grew more and more enchanting to him. It was not so much love as madness that possessed him; lie would not have relinquished his hold or have given her up to have saved his life.
During the remainder of his stay the countess kept keen, unwavering watch over him, but he had learned his lesson after what he had seen. How little she recked of physical pain, how careless she was of herself. He dared not venture to tease her; he felt that she was quite capable of committing murder if he drove her too far; he contented himself by saying to her when he was going:
"It is understood between us, then, Lady Studleigh, that I return on the twentieth of August for your decision."
"It is quite understood," she replied, with calm dignity.
"I hope it will be a favorable one to me, and I hope my reception will be kinder next time than it has been this."
"You will always be welcomed according to your deserts," she replied.
"I hope, above all, the poor, bruised hand will be better when I come again," he said, with a meaning smile, "and that you will not find any more snakes in those beautiful moon-lit grounds."