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Days and days passed, and still Malcolm had no word from Lenorme, and was getting hopeless in respect of that quarter of possible aid. But so long as Florimel could content herself with the quiet of Lossie House, there was time to wait, he said to himself. She was not idle, and that was promising. Every day she rode out with Stoat.

Ere it ceased, Malcolm started and sprung to the door. There stood Lenorme! He seized him by the arm, and, without a word of explanation, hurried him to the room where his sister was. He called Clementina, drew her from the room, half pushed Lenorme in, and closed the door. "Will you meet me on the sand hill at sunset, my lady?" he said. She smiled assent.

Mr Lenorme was a beautiful man, and any woman might be proud to be loved by him. She must take her time to it. She might trust her. And so on and on for she was as vulgar minded as the worst of those whom ladies endure about their persons, handling their hair, and having access to more of their lock fast places than they would willingly imagine.

The result was that she began to lift a corner of the veil that hid her trouble; the woman encouraged her, and at length the silly girl threw her arms round the scaly one's neck, much to that person's satisfaction, and told her that she loved Mr Lenorme. She knew of course, she said, that she could not marry him.

"My lord has been always kind to Mr Lenorme, and I suppose he has been in the way of going to see him at work. Who would have thought my lord had been such an early riser! There are not many gentlemen like him nowadays, my lady! Did your ladyship hear the noise in the studio after you left it?" "I heard high words," answered her mistress, " nothing more.

Malcolm remembered that he had heard Lenorme speak of Durham cathedral, and in the hope that he might be spending some time there, begged the housekeeper to allow him to go to the study to write to her master.

Lenorme gave an uneasy glance behind him, saw Malcolm disappear, and answered, "I hope you will never try, my darling." "Oh, but you know this can't last," she returned, with playfully affected authority. "It must come to an end. They will interfere." "Who can? Who will dare?" said the painter with confidence. "People will.

I remember another passage I think says something to the same purpose one in Epictetus himself," continued Malcolm, drawing the little book from his pocket and turning over the leaves, while Lenorme sat waiting, wondering, and careful not to interrupt him. He turned to the forty-second chapter, and began to read from the Greek. "I've forgotten all the Greek I ever had," said Lenorme.

Malcolm went again to the picture. "Hillo!" cried Lenorme, looking up and finding no object in the focus of his eyes. Malcolm returned directly. "There was just one thing I wanted to see," he said, " whether the youth worshipping his goddess, had come into her presence clean." "And what is your impression of him?" half murmured Lenorme, without lifting his head.

The oldest of her servants had, he found; the least respect for their mistress, although all had a certain liking for her, which gave their disrespect the heavier import. He must get Florimel away somehow. While all was right between her and the painter he had been less anxious about her immediate surroundings, trusting that Lenorme would ere long deliver her.