A young man had just crossed the tiny rustic bridge which spanned the
ha-ha dividing the flower-garden from the uncultivated park. He walked
rapidly through the trees, towards the skittle alley, and as he came
nearer, the merry lightheartedness seemed suddenly to vanish from Lady
Sue's manner: the ridiculousness of the two young men at her feet,
glaring furiously at one another whilst fighting for her handkerchief,
seemed now to irritate her; she snatched the bit of delicate linen from
their hands, and turned somewhat petulantly away.

"Shall we continue the game?" she said curtly.

The young man, all the while that he approached, had not taken his eyes
off Lady Sue. Twice he had stumbled against rough bits of root or branch
which he had not perceived in the grass through which he walked. He had
seen her laughing gaily, whilst Squire Boatfield used profane language,
and smile with contemptuous merriment at the two young men at her feet;
he had also seen the change in her manner, the sudden wistful look, the
quick sigh, the irritability and the petulance.

But his own grave face expressed neither disapproval at the one mood nor
astonishment at the other. He walked somewhat like a somnambulist, with
eyes fixed--almost expressionless in the intensity of their gaze.

He was very plainly, even poorly clad, and looked a dark figure even
amongst these soberly appareled gentry. The grass beneath his feet had
deadened the sound of his footsteps but Sir Marmaduke had apparently
perceived him, for he beckoned to him to approach.

"What is it, Lambert?" he asked kindly.