Mrs. Wedge departed in displeasure, and tried again to see the muffled stranger. But he was looking out into the darkness, and the good landlady was completely baffled.
She saw her lodger join him; she saw the hero of the cloak take his arm, and both walk briskly away.
"By George! this is a disguise!" exclaimed Mr. Parmalee. "I wouldn't recognize you at noonday in this trim. Do you know who I took you for until you spoke?"
"Whom?"
"Sir Everard himself. You're as like him as two peas in that rig, only not so tall."
"The cloak and cap are his," Miss Silver answered, "which perhaps accounts—"
"No," he said, "there's more than that. I might put on that cap and cloak, but I wouldn't look like the baronet. Your voices sound alike, and there's a general air—I can't describe it, but you know what I mean. You're no relation of his, are you, Sybilla?"
"A relation of the Prince of Kingsland—poor little Sybilla Silver! My good Mr. Parmalee, what an absurd idea! You do me proud even to hint that, the blue blood of all the Kingslands could by any chance flow in these plebeian veins! Oh, no, indeed! I am only an upper servant in that great house, and would lose my place within the hour if its lordly master dreamed I was here talking to the man he hates."
"And my lady, any news from her?"
"Not a word. She came down to dinner beautifully dressed, but white as the snow lying yonder. She and Sir Everard dined tête-à-tête. I take my meals with the housekeeper, now," smiling bitterly. "My Lady Harriet doesn't like me. The butler told me they did not speak six words during the whole time of dinner."