"I go, I go," said Lady Landale with a mocking laugh. "How sweet your violets smell!—There, do not agitate yourself: I'm going to meet your lover, my dear. I vow I am curious to see the famous man, at last."
CHAPTER XXIV
THE NIGHT
So the blood burned within her,
And thus it cried to her:
And there, beside the maize field
The other one was waiting—
He, the mysterious one.
Luteplayer's Song.
The mantle of night had already fallen upon the land when Lady Landale, closely wrapped in her warmest furs, with face well ensconced under her close bonnet, and arms buried to the elbow in her muff, sallied from her room on the announcement that the carriage was waiting. As, with her leisurely daintiness, she tripped it down the stairs, she crossed Mr. Landale, and paused a moment, ready for the skirmish, as she noticed the cynical curiosity with which he examined her.
"Whither, my fair sister," said he, ranging himself with his best courtesy against the bannisters, "so late in the day?"
"To my lord and master's side, of course," said Molly.
"Why—is not Adrian coming back to-night?"