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Updated: June 6, 2025
Evil influences and dangers were on all sides of her the worst possible outcome being that, loving one man, she should marry another, and him such a man as Liftore. Whatever he heard in the servants' hall, both tone and substance, only confirmed the unfavourable impression he had had from the first of the bold faced countess.
Every now and then he leaned forward between his aunt and Florimel, and spoke to the latter. To Malcolm's eyes she seemed to listen with some haughtiness. Now and then she cast him an indifferent glance. Malcolm was pleased: Lord Liftore was anything but the Ferdinand to whom he could consent to yield his Miranda.
"Let me see you when you get home. I should like to know you are safe." "Thank you, my lady; there's little fear of that," said Malcolm. Florimel returned to the gentlemen, and they rode homewards. On the way she said suddenly to the earl, "Can you tell me, Liftore, who Epictetus was?" "I'm sure I don't know," answered his lordship. "One of the old fellows." She turned to Lenorme.
There's my mistress, the Marchioness of Lossie." The man saw an ugly look in Kelpie's eye, withdrew his hand, and turned to Florimel. "My groom is not to blame," said she. "Lord Liftore struck his mare, and she became ungovernable." The man gave a look at Liftore, seemed to take his likeness, touched his hat, and withdrew. "You'd better ride the jade home," said Liftore.
But then he saw that, if she were not with Florimel, his sister would be riding everywhere alone with Liftore. Therefore he stopped short. "And you feel forsaken deserted?" returned Clementina, sadly still. "Rather, my lady." They had reached the tunnel. It looked very black when he opened the door, but there was just a glimmer through the trees at the other end.
Perhaps now, far from both Caley and Liftore, he might say something to open her eyes; yet how should he avoid the appearance of a tale bearer? It was a sweet fresh morning, late in the spring those loveliest of hours that unite the seasons, like the shimmering question of green or blue in the feathers of a peacock.
The chief cause of Malcolm's anxiety had been, and perhaps still was, Lord Liftore. In his ignorance of Mr Lenorme there might lie equal cause with him, but he knew such evil of the other that his whole nature revolted against the thought of his marrying his sister.
Lizzy made a rush forward, but the terror that the father would strike the child he had disowned seized her, and she stood trembling. Already, however, Clementina and Rose had darted between, and, full of rage as he was, Liftore was compelled to restrain himself. "Oh!" he said, "if ladies want a share in the row, I must yield my place," and drew back.
But even the poorest dreaming has its influences, and the result of hers was that the attentions of Liftore became again distasteful to her.
As she spoke she looked him hard in the face with her father in her eyes. Liftore could not return the look with equal steadiness. It seemed for the moment to be inquiring too curiously. "I know what you mean," he said. "You don't believe my professions." As he spoke he edged his horse close up to hers.
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