The calm, truthful, believing, almost for the moment
enthusiastic, expression of the young fisherman's face wrought upon
her with a strangely quieting influence. It was as if one spoke to
her out of a region of existence of which she had never even heard,
but in whose reality she was compelled to believe because of the
sound of the voice that came from it.
Malcolm seldom made the mistake of stamping into the earth any
seeds of truth he might cast on it: he knew when to say no more,
and for a time neither spoke. But now for all the coolness of her
upper crust, Lady Florimel's heart glowed--not indeed with the
power of the shining truth Malcolm had uttered, but with the light
of gladness in the possession of such a strong, devoted, disinterested
squire.
"I wish you to understand," she said at length, "that I am not at
present mistress of this house, although it belongs to me. I am
but the guest of Lady Bellair who has rented it of my guardians.
I cannot therefore arrange for you to be here. But you can find
accommodation in the neighbourhood, and come to me every day for
orders. Let me know when your mare arrives: I shall not want you
till then. You will find room for her in the stables. You had better
consult the butler about your groom's livery."
Malcolm was astonished at the womanly sufficiency with which she
gave her orders.
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