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This small excrescence, chapel it can scarcely be called, probably did not rise very high, as room had to be left above it for the east window, which, with the clerestory, was needed to light the presbytery. The latter, like the choir of the present cathedral and like that of St. Alban's, had its aisles divided from it by solid walls.
The first quarter of the route to St. Alban's is a series of country-houses, gentlemen's seats, half-pay officers' farms, prettily fenced, and pleasant to the sight: the next third embraces Thornhill, a nice village in a hollow; Richmond Hill, with a beautiful prospect and detached settlements: the ultimate third is a rich, undulating country, inhabited by well-to-do Quakers, with Newmarket on their right, and looking for all the world very like "dear home," with orchards, and as rich corn-fields and pastures as may be seen any where, backed, however, by the eternal forest.
The three vessels had been sweeping swiftly westwards, the cog still well to the front, although the galleys were slowly drawing in upon either quarter. To the left was a hard skyline unbroken by a sail. The island already lay like a cloud behind them, while right in front was St. Alban's Head, with Portland looming mistily in the farthest distance.
A sharp exclamation brought the Count to Alban's side. "Lois is down there," Alban said, "I am sure of it she waved to me just now. She was walking with a man in a dark blue blouse. I could not have been mistaken." He was quite excited that he should have discovered her thus, and Sergius Zamoyski did not lag behind him in interest. "Do you still see her?" he asked "is she there now?"
You're born above us and we never shall forget it, not none of us as I'm alive to-night." She turned away her head to hide the tears gathering in her black eyes, while Alban's only answer to her was a firm pressure upon the little white hand he held in his own and a quicker step upon the crowded pavement.
A certain grace of girlhood attended this apparition; the dress was rich and costly and exquisitely made; but that which held Alban's closer attention was the fact that the wearer of it unquestionably was a Pole, and not unlike little Lois Boriskoff herself. He would not say, indeed, that the resemblance was striking it might have been merely that of nationality.
"I tell you, sir, Miss Emily must never know it to her dying day!" The first suspicion of the truth crossed Alban's mind. "I understand you at last," he said. "What Miss Emily must never know is what Miss de Sor wanted you to tell her. Oh, it's useless to contradict me! Her motive in trying to frighten you is as plain to me now as if she had confessed it.
That is to say, it secured him an opportunity for observation of what was going on at the other side of the table. Alban's instincts as a gentleman had led him to control his irritation and to regret that he had suffered it to appear. Anxious to please, he presented himself at his best. Gentle Cecilia forgave and forgot the angry look which had startled her. Mr.
The duke of Devonshire was dignified with the place of president; and the duke of St. Alban's was appointed master of the horse.
Alban's astonishment, when he heard this, forced its way to expression in words. "What can you possibly mean?" he asked. The tea was brought in before Emily could reply. She filled the cups, and sighed as she looked at the cake. "If Cecilia was here, how she would enjoy it!" With that complimentary tribute to her friend, she handed a slice to Alban. He never even noticed it.
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