she saw his spurs glisten, saw the foam fly from the bits of his horse’s bridle.  He rode there in the storm, heedless of all but her safety and comfort, he that had wounds on his body that spake of great deeds of nobleness and valour!  Why should he care for her so?  Like a flood he swept into her heart, and she accepted his presence with gladness—­shutting out Cedric as well as she was able.  She inclined her head toward the window and watched the handsome figure of Sir Julian with a new interest.  His form, so like that of Cedric, she began to compare with ancient warriors she had read about and seen pictures of,—­then his tender and meaning hand pressure recurred to her, and she flushed mightily.  After awhile she fell to thinking of the Duke of Monmouth, the tender thoughts of whom she had not yet resigned,—­such were the vacillations of the mind of strong, warm, youthful Mistress Penwick.

The storm grew furious, and the wind blew such a gale it appeared at times as if the trees swept the earth.  They bended and swung rudely, brushing hard against the windows.  In the midst of its severity the coach came to a stand-still and Lord Cedric threw open the door.  Janet leant quickly toward him,—­

“I pray thee not to go forth in the storm, my lord; ’tis enough to give thee thy death.”

“Nay, nay, Janet, ’twill not be summer rain that will kill me, but cold looks and threatening mien.”  And he stepped out into the night.

“What, Lambkin, if Lord Cedric should catch cold and die?  ’Twould kill thee, too; for remorse would give thee no rest.”

“I never so disliked him as I do now.  I never want to see him again.  How shall I look him in the face after confessing such things?  I shall die of shame.  That is all he wanted to hear me say, and—­he heard it—­and that is all the benefit he will get.”  Again she fell to weeping, finding she could wring no sympathy from Janet, who sat coldly listening to her nursling’s plaints.

They reached Crandlemar late the second evening, tired and weary.  The Duchess of Ellswold greeted them with a happy countenance, so pleased that she could make known to them that her lord was better and the physicians had given permission to remove him to his own county seat.  Her greeting to Katherine in particular was evidently a forced one; she feeling sorely distressed at her capricious nature.

Never did the great old seat look so beautiful as it did in its midsummer glory.  Mistress Penwick had arisen early and walked out upon the rich greensward.  She wandered from place to place, enjoying the gorgeous fullness of leaf and bloom.  She felt a strange disquiet, a longing for love and knowing not the meaning of her unrest vainly tried to find comfort in the beauty of the outer world, that only inclined her heart the more to its desire.  She passed from flower to flower, endeavouring to ’suage the uprisings of Cupid.  Suddenly she heard the organ peal forth, and straightway she entered the library