“She lives in the wing into which you are never to go,” continued Rowton. “She takes exercise in the Queen Anne garden. You need not be afraid of her, but you are never to see her.”
“Why, why?”
“Because she is mad.”
CHAPTER XII.
SILVER.
These words had scarcely passed Rowton’s lips before he abruptly turned and saw a little man crossing the lawn to meet him.
“Scrivener! by all that is unpleasant,” he muttered under his breath. He turned to Nancy who, very white and frightened, stood by his side.
“Go into the house now,” he said; “go up to your room and unpack your things, or sit by the fire in the library and enjoy a right good read of one of the many novels which are scattered about. I want to speak to that man who is coming across the lawn.”
“Who is he, Adrian?”
“A devil,” said Adrian. “Go away; he is not to see you.”