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And then careless and happy, you are gone. Sunny Spain, with its olives and its vineyards, its pomegranates and its Zenith the Gitana, is left far behind, and you are roaming, happy and free, through La Belle France. And lo! Zenith the forsaken lies prone upon the ground, and goes stark mad for the day-god she has lost. There, Sir Jasper Kingsland! the record is a black one.
And yet! good heavens! how royally beautiful she is!" "Alone, Kingsland?" exclaimed a voice at his elbow; and glancing around he saw Lord Carteret. "What do you think of our pretty Di Vernon? You don't often see a lady ride like that. Why don't you pay your respects? Don't know her, eh? Come alone; I'll present you." Sir Everard's heart gave a sudden plunge, quite unaccountably.
While she stood there, gazing at the gray desolation of the February morning, there was a soft tap at the door. "Come in!" she said, thinking it her maid; and the door opened, and Sybilla Silver entered. Lady Kingsland faced round and looked at her. How handsome she was! That was her first involuntary thought.
The sneering mockery of the last taunt was too much for the fiery young prince of Kingsland. With the yell of an enraged tiger he sprung upon Mr. Parmalee, hurled him to the ground in a twinkling, and twisted his left hand into Mr. Parmalee's blue cotton neckerchief, showering blows with his right fast and furious. The attack was so swift and savage that Mr.
Watched to see the ladies, armed with long reins and a whip, driving their partners cheerfully from point to point, with appropriate gestures and sounds and frolic. The little bells tinkled gleefully, the many-coloured leading-strings mingled in a kaleidoscope pattern. 'Symbolical, Mr. Kingsland remarked, standing near. 'This is the "Bridle" figure, Miss Kennedy.
"Who have we here?" said the baronet to himself; "that face can belong to no one in the house." He walked straight to the window the face never moved. A hand was raised and tapped on the glass. A voice outside spoke: "For Heaven's sake, open and let me in, before I perish in this bitter storm." Sir Jasper Kingsland opened the window and flung it wide. "Enter! whoever you are," he said.
"Most assuredly, Mr. oh, Parmalee. Take the views, of course. I am glad you admire Kingsland. You have been making some sketches already, Miss Silver tells me." Miss Silver herself had ushered the gentleman in, and now stood lingeringly by the door-way. My lady sat watching the ceaseless rain with indolent eyes, holding a novel in her lap, and looking very serene and handsome. "Well, yes," Mr.
So, church done, we to coach and away to Kingsland and Islington, and there eat and drank at the Old House, and so back, it raining a little, which is mighty welcome, it having not rained in many weeks, so that they say it makes the fields just now mighty sweet. So with great pleasure home by night.
"Thunder!" ejaculated Squire Brown. "You didn't know him, did you? Maybe you took his picture when in England? Yes, a baronet, and his name it's Sir Everard Kingsland." With an unearthly groan, Mr. Parmalee tore open the paper. "They haven't hanged him yet, have they?" he gasped. "Oh, good Lord above! what have I done?" Squire Brown stared, a spectacle of dense bewilderment.
One month after and Sir Everard Kingsland, his wife, and sister quitted England for the Continent, not to make the grand tour and return, but to reside for years. England was too full of painful memories; under the sunlit skies of beautiful Italy they were going to forget. Sybilla Silver was dead. All her plans had failed her oath of vengeance was broken. Sir Everard and his bride were triumphant.
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