"No, indeed, my lady. I don't even know for sure and certain that the message was from Raynham. I only guess as much."
"Why did not Sir Oswald take you with him?"
"I can't say, my lady. I asked master if I wasn't to go with him, and he said, 'No, he would rather be alone.'" This was all that Honoria could learn from the groom. She walked back towards the marquee, whence the sound of voices and laughter grew louder as the sun sank across the broad expanse of moorland.
The ladies of the party had gathered together on a broad patch of velvet greensward, near the oak thicket where the band was stationed. Here the younger members of the party were waltzing merrily to the accompaniment of one of Strauss's sweetest waltzes; while the elders sat here and there on camp-stools or fallen logs of trees, and looked on, or indulged in a little agreeable gossip.
Honoria Eversleigh made her way unobserved to the marquee, and approached one of the openings less used and less crowded than the others. Here she found a servant, whom she sent into the marquee with a message for Mr. Eversleigh, to inquire if he could explain Sir Oswald's sudden departure.
The man entered the tent, in obedience to his mistress; and Lady Eversleigh seated herself on a camp-stool, at a little distance, awaiting the issue of her message.
She had been waiting only a few moments, when she saw Victor Carrington approaching her hurriedly—not from the marquee, but from the pathway by which she herself had come. There was an unwonted agitation about his manner as he approached her, which, in her present state of nervous apprehension, filled her with alarm.
She went to meet him, pale and trembling.
"I have been looking for you everywhere, Lady Eversleigh," he said, hurriedly.
"You have been looking for me? Something has happened then-Sir Oswald—"