"I—sat down to rest," she faltered, even apologetically. "I walked to Maundell, and it was so hot."
Just at that moment a little breeze sprang up and swept across her cheek. She was so grateful that her smile became less difficult.
"I got what Lady Maria wanted," she added, and the childlike dimple in her cheek endeavoured to defy her eyes.
The Marquis of Walderhurst looked rather odd. Emily had never seen him look like this before. He took a silver flask out of his pocket in a matter-of-fact way, and filled its cup with something.
"That is sherry," he said. "Please drink it. You are absolutely faint."
She held out her hand eagerly. She could not help it.
"Oh, thank you—thank you!" she said. "I am so thirsty!" And she drank it as if it were the nectar of the gods.
"Now, Miss Fox-Seton," he said, "please sit down again. I came here to drive you back to Mallowe, and the cart will not come back for a quarter of an hour."
"You came on purpose!" she exclaimed, feeling, in truth, somewhat awe-struck. "But how kind of you, Lord Walderhurst—how good!"
It was the most unforeseen and amazing experience of her life, and at once she sought for some reason which could connect with his coming some more interesting person than mere Emily Fox-Seton. Oh,—the thought flashed upon her,—he had come for some reason connected with Lady Agatha. He made her sit down on the heather again, and he took a seat beside her. He looked straight into her eyes.