“It was Lord Savile,” the girl said slowly, “and—and another—a stranger.”
“Our stranger of Althorpe, Alice?” Lady Betty said, a sudden indefinable change in her whole aspect.
Alice nodded sullenly.
Her mistress stood quite still for a moment, pressing her hands together. She had shaken her hair about her face again, so that it was concealed. There was something in her attitude so unusual, in the silence, too, of the room, where only the fire crackled, and in the girl’s own nervousness, that quite overcame Alice. She began to cry.
“They fight to-morrow,” she sobbed, “in the meadow beyond the grove of limes—at sunrise.”
“Who are their seconds?” Lady Betty asked, in a strangely quiet tone.
“Mr. Benham, so I heard them say, and a young fellow with a face like a boy. He was to act for the stranger because he had no friends.”
“Young Mackie!” said Lady Clancarty. “You heard this and did not tell me, Alice? I find it hard to forgive you.”
“But why should I?” cried Alice trembling, “what could your ladyship do?”
Betty gave a strange little laugh. “You shall see what I will do to-morrow,” she said quietly, “for you shall go with me.”