This was the place where I had seen Guilfoyle's roan mare, an evening or so past.
We had now reached the end of the narrow and secluded lane, a famous one in that locality as the trysting-place of lovers, and were standing irresolutely near the main road that leads to Whitchurch and Winchester, when a large and handsome carriage, drawn by a pair of spanking dark gray horses, approached us rapidly.
Throwing my nag's bridle over my left arm, I was in the act of offering my right hand to this mysterious lady in farewell, when her eyes caught sight of the carriage; a half-stifled sob escaped her; she reeled again, and would have fallen, had I not thrown my arm round her, and by its firm support upheld her. At that moment the carriage bowled past. The face of a lady was at the open window, looking out upon us with wonder and interest, as she saw a lady and gentleman to all appearance embracing, or at least on very good terms with each other, at the corner of a shady lane, a little way off the Queen's highway; and something like an exclamation of dismay escaped me on recognising the colourless haughty face, the dark eyes, the black hair, and bonnet of that orange tint so becoming to one of her complexion--she of whom my whole soul was full, Lady Estelle Cressingham!
[CHAPTER XXI .-GEORGETTE FRANKLIN.]
Had Estelle recognised me? If so, what might she--nay, what must she--think, and how misconstrue the whole situation? Should I ride after the carriage, or write at all risks, and explain the matter, or commit the event to fate? That might be perilous. She may not have recognised me, I thought: the twilight, the shade, the place might have concealed my identity; but if not, they were all the more against me. I was now in greater and more horrible perplexity than ever, and I wished the unhappy little woman, the cause of all, in a very warm climate indeed.
Thus, while longing with all the energies of my life to see Estelle, to be seen by her there, at a time so liable to misconception if left unexplained, might be death to my dearest hopes, and destruction to the success I had achieved.
"Why were you so agitated by the sight of Lady Naseby's carriage?" I asked, with an annoyance of tone that I cared not to conceal.
"Giddiness, perhaps; but was I agitated?"
"Of course you were--nearly fell; would have fallen flat, indeed, but for me."
"I thank you, sir," was the gentle reply; for my asperity of manner was either unnoticed or unheeded by her; "but you seemed scarcely less so."