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Control herself as she would, she could not quite hide her feverish interest. "Do you come from West Lynne?" "Yes. Horrid place. Mrs. Latimer took a house there soon after I went to live with her. I'd rather she'd taken it at Botany Bay." "Why do you not like it?" "Because I don't," was Afy's satisfactory answer.
And I should be glad if you could allow the customary notice to be dispensed with, so that I may be at liberty to depart within a few days." "Look here, then," said Barbara, after a pause of consideration, "you remain at East Lynne until my return, which will be in a fortnight. Mr. Carlyle cannot stay with me, so I know I shall be tired in less time than that.
All ready, she sat down and waited the signal of departure; but that was not to be yet. It was finally arranged that she should travel to England and to West Lynne with Mrs. Latimer, and that lady would not return until October. Lady Isabel could only fold her hands and strive for patience. But the day did come it actually did; and Mrs. Latimer, Lady Isabel, and Afy quitted Stalkenberg. Mrs.
Well, Afy had retreated to the witness-room again, after giving evidence, and there she remained to the close, agreeably occupied in a mental debate. What would they make out from her admission regarding her sojourn in London and the morning calls? How would that precious West Lynne construe it?
West Lynne was a town of some importance, particularly in its own eyes, though being neither a manufacturing one nor a cathedral one, nor even the chief town of the county, it was somewhat primitive in its manners and customs. Passing out at the town, toward the east, you came upon several detached gentleman's houses, in the vicinity of which stood the church of St.
Howard is so kind to me, that I cannot suffer her friends to be neglected. Nay, Edward, you may look as you please, but I certainly shall go." Edward Lynne remonstrated, implored, and, finally, flew into a passion.
If ever retribution came home to woman, it came home in that hour to Lady Isabel. A sighing morning wind swept round the domains of East Lynne, bending the tall poplar trees in the distance, swaying the oak and elms nearer, rustling the fine old chestnuts in the park, a melancholy, sweeping, fitful wind.
"One day, when Sir Peter was round at the stables, gentlemen, he was urging his nephew to prolong his visit, and asked what sudden freak was taking him off. Mr. Levison replied that unexpected business called him to London. While they were talking, the coachman came up, all in a heat, telling that Hallijohn, of West Lynne, had been murdered by young Mr. Hare.
"You know it would be simply stunning practice, playing the stranger in my uncle's house something like the real wife in 'East Lynne, you know." "I never saw 'East Lynne." "Dear me, I cried quarts and bucketsful over it. It's the most tragic play! If I had time I could show you how it goes. I always act things out over and over after I've seen them, making up words where I don't remember them.
Bearing steadily on, he struck into Bean lane, a by-way already mentioned in this history, and from thence, passing through a small, unfrequented gate, he found himself in the grounds of East Lynne. "Let me see," mused he as he closed the gate behind him, and slipped the bolt. "The covered walk? That must be near the acacia trees. Then I must wind round to the right.