They left the room together, but parted in the hall. Mrs. de Vaux stayed to speak to the housekeeper for a moment, and Paul ascended the broad staircase alone. On the first corridor he paused, standing before the deep-cushioned sill of a high-arched window, and gazing at the ruined portion of the abbey. The air outside was frosty and clear, and though the moon as yet was only faintly yellow, every arch and cloister was clearly visible. Paul gazed down at them, as he had done all his life, with reverent eyes. There was something almost awesome in the graceful yet bold outline, and in the great age of those rugged, moss-grown pillars and arches, so ecclesiastical in their shape and suggestiveness,—as indeed they might well be, for they were practically the ruins of the old monastery chapel. But, as he looked, the expression in his eyes suddenly changed. A dark figure had passed slowly out from the shadow of the arches, and stood looking up towards the house, rigid, solemn, and motionless. Paul covered his face with his hands, and sank down upon the cushioned window-sill.
CHAPTER VI
"AN ASHEN GREY DELIGHT"
"Mr. de Vaux!"
Paul turned quickly around in his saddle towards the young lady who had addressed him. He looked into a fair, thoughtful face, whose general amiability was discounted, just then, by a decided frown.
"I beg your pardon, Lady May! Didn't you say something just now?"
"Didn't I say something just now!" she repeated, with fine scorn. "Upon my word, Mr. de Vaux, I think that you must have left your wits in London! What is the matter with you?"
"The matter! Why, nothing! I'm sorry——"
"Oh! pray don't apologise!" she interrupted hastily. "I think I'll ride on and catch papa up."