"Because I could have sworn that I passed him on horseback in the dusk."
"Riding in this direction?"
"No, towards Canterbury."
"Ah, towards Chillingham Park, no doubt—there shines his loadstar now!"
"And mine too," thought I, bitterly.
This girl's intelligence, whether false or true, crushed my heart more than I can describe.
Aware, however, of the imperative necessity for retiring, I took up my hat and bade her adieu; but for the purpose of learning more of Berkeley's movements, I promised, when riding that way, to call again, and inquire for her health.
"The locket you have just restored was Mr. Berkeley's gift to me upon a fatal day," said she; "and, believe me, sir, that—that, whatever you may have heard of me, or whatever you may think, I have been 'more sinned against that sinning.'"
In another minute I was in the saddle, and on my way back to Canterbury.
Though she did not know it, nor could she know it, this unfortunate girl had been planting thorns in my breast. I could not believe in the reality of such perfidy on the part of Louisa—of such facility on the part of the haughty Countess, her mother—or of such rapid progress on the part of Berkeley with all his wealth, the hard-won thousands of the late departed brewer.