I recollected that the town of Castle-Douglas was near the castle of Threave.
She gave her well-formed shoulders a shrug, and her countenance was overspread by a blank look of ignorance which I was compelled to admit was feigned.
Mystery crowded on mystery. I could make nothing out of it all. Put yourself for a moment in my place, and ask yourself whether you could solve the extraordinary problem surrounding this popular peer and his daughter who, while appearing frequently at the most exclusive functions in London, were sometimes living in absolute secrecy in their own house, or wandering over the face of the world without apparent motive, yet evidently with some fixed but secret object.
The more I reflected, the more utterly mystified I became.
“It is impossible—quite impossible?” she said when, at the Park Lane corner of Grosvenor Street I halted to take leave of her. “We must not meet again. I hope, Mr Kennedy, you will think no more of me,” she added; “because it pains me quite as much as it does you. As I have already told you, I would explain the truth if I were allowed—but I cannot.”
I saw that her eyelids trembled slightly, and I, folding her hand in farewell, pressed it with a deep meaning which she understood, and to which she responded.
“But we are friends, Lady Judith; we are friends, are we not?”
In response she drew a long sigh, and shook her head, saying, “Mr Kennedy, I know you are my friend, and one day, perhaps, I shall require to put your friendship to the test. Until then, let us remain apart, because it will be best so. You know the fears I have—the fear that evil may befall you.”
“I am ready to serve you at any moment,” I answered.
She withdrew her hand, sighing again, and, filled with emotion by my final declaration, hurried away through the hot, oppressive night.