"Yes, I refer to her, the
lady you saved from the river. You brought her there?"
"I brought her there," replied Ormiston.
"She is there still?"
"I presume so. I have heard nothing to the contrary."
"And alone?"
"She may be, now. Sir Norman Kingsley was with her when I left
her," said Ormiston, administering the fact with infinite relish.
There was a moment's silence. Ormiston could not see the count's
face; but, judging from his own feelings, he fancied its
expression must be sweet. The wild rush of the storm alone broke
the silence, until the spirit again moved the count to speak.
"By what right does Sir Norman Kingsley visit her?" he inquired,
in a voice betokening not the least particle of emotion.
"By the best of rights - that of her preserver, hoping soon to be
her lover."
There was an other brief silence, broken again by the count, in
the same composed tone:
"Since the lady holds her levee so late, I, too, must have a word
with her, when this deluge permits one to go abroad without
danger of drowning."
"It shown symptoms of clearing off, already," said Ormiston, who,
in his secret heart, thought it would be an excellent joke to
bring the rivals face to face in the lady's presence; "so you
will not have long to wait.
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