e azure and emerald of late afternoon drifted into the ensanguined
gold of sunset. The long-tarrying twilight had already settled when a
messenger arrived, bearing a note. It was from her Ladyship, regretting
her absence and saying that she would be happy to receive a visit from
Lord Taborley that evening or at any time that was convenient.

VII

He set out at once. Heretofore, with the exception of Terry, women had
meant little to him. But he was curious to meet this woman--curious and
eager in a strangely boyish fashion. Every one who had mentioned her had
spoken of her with a certain hint of fear, not untinged with adoration.
He hadn't been aware how anxious he had been to meet her until her note
had summoned him. He wondered whether she had any of the endearing
humanity of her sister. He wondered whether what Pollock had said was
true, that she looked much older than her portrait. He didn't want her
to look older----

He came to the bridge across the moat and the gateway which bore the
grooves in which the old portcullis used to slide. He passed through the
gateway, under the tower, into the graveled courtyard of the Castle. On
three sides the courtyard was loop-holed and sullen, but on the fourth
modern windows and a brass-knobbed door had been let into the solid
masonry. Above the door, shining down on the whitened steps, a lamp
burnt in a wrought-iron socket. Several of the windows were also
lighted.

His knock was answered by a gray-haired man, with the gravity of
deportment which is peculiar to lawyers, undertakers and footmen. While
the man went to inform his mistress, Tabs was left to note how the hall
was hung with hunting trophies. Then he heard himself being requested to
follow.

Having climbed a winding stair, he was shown into a room in the turret,
one side of which was filled by a tall leaded window gazing westward.
The landscape which it framed, hung against the darkness like a painted
canvas--a far-reaching expanse of tree-dotted pasture, vague with
islands of mist and rimmed by the last faint sparks of the sunset. The
ceiling was heavily beamed, the furniture Jacobean, the walls paneled
and hung with many generations of family portraits. In a wide hearth a
fire of coals and logs was burning. In the room's center stood a carved
table on which was set a massive silver lamp, casting a solitary
illumination.

"Lord Taborley, my Lady."

As his name was announced, he heard the rustle of her dres