CHAPTER XX
From the gargoyled keep which the cultured enthusiasm of Eleanor and the purse of her father had recently erected at Lincoln Lodge, the brother and sister looked over a bend of the river, half a mile of valley road, a wave of forest country, and the greater billows of the bare hillsides towering beyond. But out of all this prospect it was only upon the stretch of road that their eyes were bent.
“Surely one should see their carriage soon!” exclaimed Eleanor.
“Seems to me,” said her brother, “that you're sitting something like a cat on the pounce for this Tulliwuddle fellow. Why, Eleanor, I never saw you so excited since the first duke came along. I thought that had passed right off.”
“Oh, Ri, I was reading 'Waverley' again last night, and somehow I felt the top of the keep was the only place to watch for a chief!”
“Why, you don't expect him to be different from other people?”
“Ri! I tell you I'll cry if he looks like any one I've ever seen before! Don't you remember the Count said he moved like a pine in his native forests?”
“He won't make much headway like that,” said Ri incisively. “I'd sooner he moved like something more spry than a tree. I guess that Count was talking through his hat.”
But his sister was not to be argued out of her exalted mood by such prosaic reasoning. She exclaimed at his sluggish imagination, reiterated her faith in the insinuating count's assurances, and was only withheld from sending her brother down for a spy-glass by the reflection that she could not remember reading of its employment by any maiden in analogous circumstances.
It was at this auspicious moment, when the heart of the expectant heiress was inflamed with romantic fancies and excited with the suspense of waiting, and before it had time to cool through any undue delay, that a little cloud of dust first caught her straining eyes.