"It may end brightly yet; it may indeed. What's that?"
A rustling amidst the dense shrubs on the right caused the question. Possibly with an idea that it might be Edwin Barley, Mr. Chandos quitted me to look. I darted across the road, and plunged amidst the trees, intending to get on by a bye-path, and so escape him. Suddenly I came upon Lizzy Dene, talking to a man. She started back, with a faint cry.
"I am going right for the house, am I not, Lizzy?"
"Quite so, Miss. Take the path on the right when you come to the weeping elm-tree."
I had nearly gained the tree, when Lizzy Dene came up with me. The woman seemed to be in agitation as great as mine.
"Miss," she began, "will you do me a favour, and not mention who you saw me talking to?"
"I should be clever to mention it, Lizzy. I don't know him."
"But, please Miss, not to say you saw me talking to any one. The young man is not a sweetheart, I do assure you; he is a relation; but those servants are dreadful scandalmongers."
"You need not fear; it is no affair of mine. And I am not in the habit of telling tales to servants."
She continued to walk a little behind me. It seemed I was to have nothing but encounters. There, on a garden-chair, as we turned on to the lawn, sat Mrs. Penn.