The locked door in no way shook his determination to place Selina's flowers where he had meant they should lie, and to-night—it must be to-night. To-morrow there were other things to do. Well he knew himself fickle, and that he could not foretell his own next mood; but now, this moment, he must enter the empty church and lay the dead white roses in the niche that held my lady's urn.
He caught the mantle over his flashing dress and crossed the churchyard. He thought he remembered where the sacristan lived; he thought the man, knowing him, would give him the key or open the church, and he put his hand into his pocket to find his purse.
As he did so the sound of voices made him pause. Sounds of laughter, loud talking, the rattle of sword-hilts on the cobbles came up the narrow street.
The Earl frowned, hesitated, opened the churchyard gate and looked out. By the moonlight and the glimmer of the swinging overhead lamps he could see a party of gentlemen advancing towards him. With an exclamation of annoyance he closed the gate. Not so quietly, however, that they, almost on him now, did not hear it, and stopped instantly arrested.
"Is the churchyard open?" said one, and my lord knew the voice and figure—it was Lord Sandys.
"La! A footpad!" replied another.
But some of them had caught a glimpse of the Earl's white and silver under his cloak.
"By Gad! A gallant, wooing a ghost!"
Rose Lyndwood opened the gate and stepped out into the street. He felt a great and unreasonable anger against these men, all of whom he knew, and some of whom were chosen companions of his.
"Split me, it is Lyndwood!"