Kate took up Dickens's last number, and was soon wrapt in the perusal of it. Slightly fatigued by exercise, she leaned back in her fauteuil, one hand buried in the rich masses of her hair, on which the light threw a thousand golden gleams—the other holding the book, she read against the arm of the chair, on which her right elbow rested; one fairy foot stretched out upon a tiny ottoman; an air of profound repose, and perfect quiet pervading the slight figure and sweet face, always grave in silence, and now more so than ever; while the soft liquid eyes, with their thoughtful depth of expression, rivetted on the page before them, were brightened by the faint tinge of rose called up by her animating walk.
Lady Desmond might have been gone about half an hour, when a gentleman, mounted on a dark brown horse, of great beauty, rode up to the hall door, and dismounting, wound the reins round some of the spiral ornaments of the old fashioned iron railing.
"Is Lady Desmond at home?"
"Yes, sir." And the stranger followed the servant up the broad stairs. "Who shall I say, sir?"
"Lord Effingham."
But the large, low drawing-room, was unoccupied, and placing a chair, the footman retired to announce the visitor. He stood a moment after he was thus left, then strolled to the window, which looked towards the green; but finding little to interest him in the prospect, after a careless glance at one or two pictures, and some exquisite miniatures, which lay on the tables, he walked through the open door, leading into a smaller room within, which opened on the park; and here he stood, as if rooted to the ground—his every faculty absorbed in the contemplation of the living picture before him—till Kate, with that instinct which whispers to us, when a fellow mortal is near, slowly raised her fringed lids, and looked at him a moment, bewildered; then rising, her natural, well-bred, self-possession, heightened by the calmness and indifference consequent on pre-occupation, and the stillness that follows deep emotion—
"I fear I kept you too long waiting; my cousin, Lady Desmond has unfortunately just left me, to pay a visit at the Palace. I will send for her." And she laid her hand on the bell-pull.
The stranger stood a moment, in silence, an unwonted look of irresolution, on his haughty countenance; then, bowing with profound respect, he begged pardon for his intrusion, in soft and refined tones, which, as also his face, grew strangely familiar to Kate's memory, as she looked and listened.