“The letter!” growled Richard in a frenzy, between fear and anger now. “Give it me! Give it me, do you hear?”
“Sh! You'll betray yourself,” she cried. “He is here.”
And at that same moment Mr. Wilding's tall figure, still arrayed in his bridegroom's finery of sky-blue satin, loomed in the doorway. He was serene and calm as ever. Neither the discovery of the plot by the abstraction of the messenger's letter, nor Ruth's strange conduct—of which he had heard from Lord Gervase—had sufficed to ruffle, outwardly at least, the inscrutable serenity of his air and manner. He paused to make his bow, then advanced into the room, with a passing glance at Richard still spurred and booted and all dust-stained.
“You appear to have ridden far, Dick,” said he, smiling, and Richard shivered in spite of himself at the mocking note that seemed to ring faintly at the words. “I saw your friend, Sir Rowland, in the garden,” he added. “I think he waits for you.”
Though Richard could not fail to apprehend the implied dismissal, he was minded at first to disregard it. But Mr. Wilding, turning, held the door, addressing Diana.
“Mistress Horton,” said he, “will you give us leave?”
Diana curtsied and passed out, and Mr. Wilding's eye falling upon the lingering Richard at that moment, Richard thought it best to follow her example. But he went with rage in his heart at being forced to leave that precious document behind him.
As Mr. Wilding, his back to her a moment, closed the door, Ruth slipped the paper hurriedly into the bosom of her low-necked gown. He turned to her, calm but very grave, and his dark eyes seemed to reproach her.
“This is ill done, Ruth,” said he.
“Ill done, or well done,” she answered him, “done it is, and shall so remain.”