182
WYLDER'S HAJVD.
They shook hands again — it was the third time — and
then she walked np the little gravel walk, hardly a dozen
steps, and disappeared within the door of Redman's Farm,
without turning another parting look on Lord Chelford, 1
who remained at the little paling — excepting one, I think
— to lift his hat and say one more parting word.
She turned into the little drawing-room at the left,
and, herself unseen, did take that last look, and saw him
go up the road again towards Brandon.
On the table there lay a letter which Margery had
brought from the post-office. So Rachel lighted her can-
dles and read it with very little interest, for it concerned
a world towards which she had few yearnings. There was
just one sentence which startled her attention: it said,
"We shall soon be at Knowlton— for Christmas, I
suppose. It is growing too wintry for mamma near the sea,
though I like it better in a high wind than in a calm; and
a gale is such fun — such a romp. The Dulhamptons
have arrived: the old Marchioness never appears till three
o'clock, and only out in the carriage twice since they came.
I can't say I very much admire Lady Constance, though she
is to be Chelford's wife. She has fine eyes — and I think
no other good point — much too dark for my taste — but
they say clever;" and not another word was there on this
subject.
Lady Constance! arranged, I suppose, by Lady Chel-
ford — no great dot — and an unamiable family — an
odious family — nothing to recommend her but her
rank."
So ruminated Rachel Lake as she looked out on her
shadowy garden, and tapped a little feverish tattoo with
her finger on the window pane; and she meditated a great
while, trying to bring back distinctly her recollection of
Lady Constance, and also vaguely conjecturing who had
arranged the marriage, and how it had come about.