She had gone
into the house but a moment before, a minute or two behind her
mistress, and he knew with what a cat-like step she went about:
she had surprised them---discovered how matters stood between
her mistress and the painter! He saw everything--almost as it
had taken place. She had seen without being seen, and had retreated
with her prize! Florimel was then in the woman's power: what was
he to do? He must at least let her gather what warning she could
from the tale of what he had seen.
Once arrived at a resolve, Malcolm never lost time. They had turned
but one corner on their way home, when he rode up to her.
"Please, my lady," he began.
But the same instant Florimel was pulling up.
"Malcolm," she said, "I have left my pocket handkerchief. I must
go back for it."
As she spoke, she turned her horse's head. But Malcolm, dreading
lest Caley should yet be lingering, would not allow her to expose
herself to a greater danger than she knew.
"Before you go, my lady, I must tell you something I happened to
see while I waited with the horses," he said.
The earnestness of his tone struck Florimel. She looked at him with
eyes a little wider, and waited to hear.
"I happened to look up at the drawing room windows, my lady,
and Caley came to one of them with such a look on her face!
I can't exactly describe it to you, my lady, but--"
"Why do you tell me?" interrupted his mistress, with absolute
composure, and hard, questioning eyes.
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