He galloped away along the smooth carriage–drive. At the lodge he stopped to inquire if any one had been through that way. No, the woman said; she had opened the gates for no one. Paul had expected no other answer. There was a footpath that led to a little wicket–gate opening on the high–road; and of course Olivia had chosen that way, which was a good deal shorter than the carriage–drive.
[CHAPTER X.
THE TURNING OF THE TIDE.]
It was past two o'clock in the morning of the day which had been appointed for Edward Arundel's wedding, when Paul Marchmont drew rein before the white gate that divided Major Lawford's garden from the high–road. There was no lodge, no pretence of grandeur here. An old–fashioned garden surrounded an old–fashioned red–brick house. There was an apple–orchard upon one side of the low white gate, and a flower–garden, with a lawn and fish–pond, upon the other. The carriage–drive wound sharply round to a shallow flight of steps, and a broad door with a narrow window upon each side of it.
Paul got off his horse at the gate, and went in, leading the animal by the bridle. He was a Cockney, heart and soul, and had no sense of any enjoyments that were not of a Cockney nature. So the horse he had selected for himself was anything but a fiery creature. He liked plenty of bone and very little blood in the steed he rode, and was contented to go at a comfortable, jog–trot, seven–miles–an–hour pace, along the wretched country roads.
There was a row of old–fashioned wooden posts, with iron chains swinging between them, upon both sides of the doorway. Paul fastened the horse's bridle to one of these, and went up the steps. He rang a bell that went clanging and jangling through the house in the stillness of the summer night. All the way along the road he had looked right and left, expecting to pass Olivia; but he had seen no sign of her. This was nothing, however; for there were byways by which she might come from Marchmont Towers to Lawford Grange.
"I must be before her, at any rate," Paul thought to himself, as he waited patiently for an answer to his summons.
The time seemed very long to him, of course; but at last he saw a light glimmering through the mansion windows, and heard a shuffling foot in the hall. Then the door was opened very cautiously, and a woman's scared face peered out at Mr. Marchmont through the opening.
"What is it?" the woman asked, in a frightened voice.
"It is I, Mr. Marchmont, of Marchmont Towers. Your master knows me. Mr. Arundel is here, is he not?"
"Yes, and Mrs. Arundel too; but they're all abed."