The way to the family seat of the Lanwins twisted inland and uphill through deep lanes and umbrageous woods. On emerging high up from the belt of trees Prelice found himself on a wide, unshaded road, snaking over bare Downs. For some distance he toiled upward; then the road mounted a rise to slip down into a cup-shaped hollow brimmed with cultivated woods. In the midst of these he saw an old grey house, seemingly prevented from falling to pieces by the ivy which covered its mouldering walls. From the lips of the hollow stretched the rolling grassy Downs, dotted with nibbling sheep, grey in the shadows of the coming night. But it was not yet night, for the sky was filled with a luminous light, all-pervading, yet emanating from no certain point. A breathless peace brooded over the vast, treeless uplands, and an even deeper peace seemed to enwrap the ancient mansion. It appeared to be the veritable palace of the Sleeping Beauty, set amidst enchanted woods. And Prelice thrilled with the idea that Beauty herself, awake and unkissed, awaited some prince in the seclusion of her faery castle.
Following the road, which here grew somewhat narrower, Lord Prelice descended into the hollow, passed under the shade of overhanging trees, and came out into a kind of artificial glade, smooth with carefully tended lawns and brilliant with flowers. The Grange itself was somewhat sunken in the ground, entirely level with the lawns, and looked like part of the woods themselves, so clothed was it with darkly green ivy. There appeared a weather-worn escutcheon over the great doorway, and lights gleamed from oriel windows in the east wing. But to the left Prelice saw the three tall French windows opening on to a wide terrace which had been referred to at the trial. These windows appeared quite out of keeping with the Tudor architecture of the mansion, but the visitor eyed them with great interest. It was through one of those windows that Agstone and Jadby had looked, to see the tragedy of Sir Oliver's death. And had that not taken place Prelice might never have been brought into contact with the most charming girl in the world. His heart beat loudly as he rang the bell.
Afterwards Lord Prelice never could explain clearly how he had first come into the presence of his goddess. In a bewildered manner he waited in the antique hall, after delivering his card to a pompous footman, and in a bewildered manner was led into a long, low, wide drawing-room with oriels at the farther end, brilliant with family crests in stained glass. So far as he could recollect, he did not look at the cumbersome Georgian furniture, or at the aggressively modern grand piano, which seemed to be out of place, or at the portraits of cavaliers and their ladies decking the mellow-hued walls, or even at the painted ceiling, or the carpet tinted with rainbow colours, subdued by time to grateful sobriety: he had no eyes save for a tall slim girl arrayed in a white dress, with a somewhat pale, worn face, who welcomed him in the sweetest of voices and with the most grateful of smiles. "I am glad to see Ned's best friend," she said, and her voice sounded like faery music in the new-comer's ravished ears, "and to thank him."
"To thank me!" muttered Prelice, staring at the lovely face in the mellow lamplight.
"I saw you in that terrible Court," she said swiftly, "and the way in which you looked at me gave me comfort. Other people—my friends, they call themselves—stared as though I were a wild animal, but you, Lord Prelice——" She threw out her hands with an eloquent gesture full of grace. "Ned wrote and told me that you were his friend."
"I am here to be yours also," stuttered Prelice, suppressing a wild desire to kneel and worship.
"We are friends already. It does not need words to confirm a friendship offered and accepted mutely and with gratitude."
Prelice felt more bewildered than ever. Here was a girl so entirely unconventional that she defied the usages of Society, which prescribed the etiquette for a primary meeting between bachelor and maid. It was marvellously sweet to be thus greeted; but Prelice must have revealed his delighted surprise too clearly, for Miss Chent laughed. "I am afraid that my proffer of unasked-for friendship surprises you," she said, smilingly; "but, you see, my poor uncle instructed me somewhat in psychology, and I look at the inner, rather than the outer."
"You said yourself, Miss Chent, that the friendship was asked for in Court," said Prelice earnestly; "and it was. As Ned's best friend, I claim to be yours also. I bring a message from Ned."
"You shall deliver it presently," said Mona, turning to a stout, white-haired gentleman with a genial face who was standing near the window silently. "Just now you must allow me to introduce Mr. Martaban, another loyal friend. Also," she waved her hand towards a spindle-legged Versailles table as the two men shook hands, "you must have some coffee."