While Malcolm gazed moodily upon the scene, his attention was attracted by a female form, clothed in black and gliding like a spirit among the trees, that bordered the still lake. He could not at first see her face, but the ineffable grace of her movements fascinated his eyes to follow her every motion. At length she turned, and he caught an instant’s glimpse of a dark face, which, even in that uncertain light, he fancied to be as beautiful as that of the fable houri. The beauty disappeared in the thicker foliage of the evergreens, and Malcolm Montrose turned to greet his aunt, who now entered.
Lady Leaton was a woman of commonplace, agreeable personality, middle-aged, large, fat and fair in body, conscientious, discreet, and affectionate in mind. She entered the room now, with her portly form dressed in widow’s weeds, and her fair, round face encircled by a widow’s cap. Her eyes were suffused with tears, and her voice was broken with grief, as she advanced, held out her hand, and welcomed Malcolm Montrose to Allworth Abbey.
A short and agitated conversation sufficed to put Malcolm in possession of the facts with which the reader is already acquainted; and of the result of this interview it is only necessary to say that Malcolm Montrose entirely coincided in opinion with Lady Leaton and with the verdict of the coroner’s jury, in supposing that the late Lord Leaton had died of some obscure disease, and not, as the doctor had believed, of poison. It was a great relief to Lady Leaton to find that one so clear-headed and true-hearted as Malcolm Montrose took the same views of the case with herself.
At the close of the interview she rang for a servant to show him to his room, where he might change his dress for dinner.
The chamber to which he was shown was situated immediately over the library, and its front bay window overlooked the same scene. Involuntarily Malcolm sauntered to the window and looked forth upon the night. The moon was now so high in the heavens that its face was reflected even in the shrouded mirror of the dark lake. As he looked forth he saw the same beautiful female figure emerge from the thicket and disappear in the direction of the house. She had evidently entered the building.
Malcolm turned away as though there was no longer any attraction in the moonlight on the shrouded lake, and turned to give his attention to old John, the valet of the late Lord Leaton, who stood ready to assist the young man in making his toilet.
When Malcolm Montrose had refreshed himself with a wash and a change of dress, and stood ready to descend to the drawing-room, he presented in himself one of the noblest specimens of manly beauty.
He was at this time about twenty-five years of age, tall and finely proportioned, broad-shouldered, deep-chested and strong-limbed. His head was stately, well poised, and covered with rich, dark, auburn hair that waved around a high, broad, white, forehead. His features were of the noblest Roman cast; his complexion was fair and ruddy, and his eyes of a clear, deep blue. His presence was imposing as that of one born to command; his manners were at once gracious and dignified, and his conversational powers brilliant and profound. He was one of those masterpieces of creation, one of those magnetic men who attract and control without any effort.
When Malcolm Montrose entered the crimson drawing-room he found it already brilliantly lighted up for the evening, and amid its glitter of light and glow of color three fair women were revealed. The first, who was his aunt, Lady Leaton, arose and led him up to the other two, who immediately riveted his attention.
Reclining languidly in an easy-chair sat a fair girl, with a delicate complexion, dark-grey eyes, and light brown hair confined in a net of black silk.