[CHAPTER XXVI.]
He came on quickly toward the figure sitting among the graves, with the small head poised defiantly, although Leonora was thinking to herself:
"He is coming to scold me, perhaps, for trespassing on his property."
He came up to her and stood bareheaded before her with the sunlight falling on his fair head—tall, stalwart, handsome—a living Lancaster among those dead and gone ones; one who did no discredit to the name.
"I beg your pardon for interrupting you," he said; "but—you are sketching the ruins?"
"Yes."
"Will you let me see your work?"
She held it out to him in silence.