IX.

CHAPTER I.

THE SECRET WHICH GUY DARRELL DID NOT CONFIDE TO ALBAN MORLEY.

It was a serene noonday in that melancholy interlude of the seasons when
autumn has really ceased--winter not yet visibly begun. The same hired
vehicle which had borne Lionel to Fawley more than five years ago,
stopped at the gate of the wild umbrageous grass-land that surrounded
the antique Manor-house. It had been engaged, from the nearest
railway-station on the London road, by a lady, with a female companion
who seemed her servant. The driver dismounted, opened the door of the
vehicle, and the lady bidding him wait there till her return, and saying
a few words to her companion, descended, and, drawing her cloak round
her, walked on alone towards the Manor-house. At first her step was
firm, and her pace quick. She was still under the excitement of the
resolve in which the journey from her home had been suddenly conceived
and promptly accomplished. But as the path wound on through the
stillness of venerable groves, her courage began to fail her. Her feet
loitered, her eyes wandered round vaguely, timidly. The scene was
not new to her. As she gazed, rushingly gathered over her sorrowful
shrinking mind memories of sportive happy summer days, spent in
childhood amidst those turfs and shades-memories, more agitating, of the
last visit (childhood then ripened into blooming youth) to the ancient
dwelling which, yet concealed from view by the swells of the undulating
ground and the yellow boughs of the giant trees, betrayed its site by
the smoke rising thin and dim against the limpid atmosphere. She bent
down her head, closing her eyes as if to shut out less the face of the
landscape than the images that rose ghost-like up to people it, and
sighed heavily, heavily. Now, hard by, roused from its bed amongst the
fern, the doe that Darrell had tained into companionship had watched
with curiosity this strange intruder on its solitary range. But at
the sound of that heavy sigh, the creature, emboldened, left its
halting-place, and stole close to the saddened woman, touching her very
dress. Doubtless, as Darrell's companion in his most musing hours, the
doe was familiarised to the sound of sighs, and associated the sound
with its gentlest notions of humanity.

The lady, starting, raised her drooping lids, and met those soft dark
eyes, dark and soft as her own. Round the animal's neck there was a
simple collar, with a silver plate, fresh and