It was observed with what recklessness the American rode.
"He'll break his neck if he isn't careful," said a rosy faced old "hunting parson," as Trent set his horse at a great granite barrier.
He was not to know that Anthony Trent would have welcomed just such an end.
[Chapter Seven]
THE SENTENCE OF BANISHMENT
Lord Rosecarrel who was out with the hounds that day was riding ahead of his daughter when she and her escort joined the field. He was a finely built man and looked exceedingly well in hunting costume. He wore a closely trimmed beard, now almost white, and seemed, so Trent thought, more than his sixty-five years. It was a fine, sensitive face, and the earl had all his days until this strange retirement mixed with the great of the earth and taken part in the councils of nations. This mystery connected with his withdrawal from public affairs intrigued the American. He believed Daphne knew. He was wondering what it was when the earl reined in his horse.
"I am told you leave no later than tomorrow, Mr. Trent, I hope you will dine with us tonight."
Anthony Trent hesitated a moment before answering.