CHAPTER XXIV.
HAND TO HAND.
We looked for lady Cairnedge all the next day. John was up by noon, and
ready to receive her in the drawing-room; he would not see her in his
bedroom. But the hours passed, and she did not come.
In the evening, however, when the twilight was thickening, and already
all was dark in the alleys of the garden, her carriage drove quietly
up--with a startling scramble of arrest at the door. The same servants
were outside, and a very handsome dame within. As she descended, I saw
that she was tall, and, if rather stout, not stouter than suited her age
and style. Her face was pale, but she seemed in perfect health. When I
saw her closer, I found her features the most regular I had ever seen.
Had the soul within it filled the mould of that face, it would have been
beautiful. As it was, it was only handsome--to me repulsive. The moment I
saw it, I knew myself in the presence of a masked battery.
My uncle had insisted that she should be received where we usually sat,
and had given Penny orders to show her into the hall-kitchen.
I was alone there, preparing something for John. We were not expecting
her, for it seemed now too late to look for her. My uncle was in the
study, and Martha somewhere about the house. My heart sank as I turned
from the window, and sank yet lower when she appeared in the doorway of
the kitchen.
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