Nevertheless, he felt less confident now. That rupture of relations had become a grievous obstacle. Nor was he on the way to Hollymead with any hope of being able to bind up the broken threads; instead, his errand thither had for object that which was sure further to sever them. It was not of his own seeking, and he had entered upon it with reluctance.
Dark and gloomy was the shadow on his face as he rode under that of the trees. At intervals it became a scowl, with resentment blazing up in his eyes, as he thought of that dismissal, so wounding to his self-esteem, so insulting. But he was armed with that which would give him a revanche; make the master of Hollymead humble if not hospitable—a document such as has humbled the master of many another house, angering them at the same time. For it was a letter of request for a loan, signed and stamped with the King’s seal.
Chapter Seven.
A Young Lady not in Love.
“I do believe it’s Reginald Trevor.”
Sabrina said this in rejoinder, now certain it was not the man she had climbed that hill in hopes of meeting.
“I’m sure of it,” affirmed Vaga, in confident tone as before. “If I couldn’t tell him, I can the horse—the light grey he always rides. And that’s his dress—the colour at least. I don’t think he has many changes, exquisite as he is, or we’d have seen some of them at Hollymead.”
She made this remark with a smile of peculiar significance.