"I hear the Villa is to be occupied at Christmas," he said. "Mr.
Falconer and his daughter are coming down to-day."
"Is there to be a house-party?" said Lady Bannerdale. "But I suppose
not. No, there could not be, under the circumstances. Poor girl! Sir
Stephen's death--I never can remember that he was Lord Highcliffe!
--must have been a great grief and shock to her. She and her
father will naturally wish to be quiet; but I suppose we ought to call.
You have never seen her, I think, Ida?"
"No," said Ida, in the impassive, reticent way in which she always
spoke and looked when on guard.
"An extremely beautiful woman," said Lady Bannerdale; "but she always
struck me as being a remarkably cold one; though, of course, it may
have only been manner. The present Lord Highcliffe, Sir Stephen's son,
has been away some time now. I suppose he will come back soon, and they
will be married. They will make a very handsome couple. You would like
him, Edwin. I took a great fancy to him on the few occasions I met him;
and I felt deeply sorry for his misfortunes. But there will be no lack
of money when he and Miss Falconer are married, for her father is
immensely rich, I believe. It would be very nice for all of us if Lord
Highcliffe settled at the Villa; and I have an idea that Mr. Falconer
has bought it for them."
Ida's heart sank, and she seized the first opportunity of getting to
her own room. What hope of forgetfulness could there be for her, what
chance of happiness if Stafford came back to the Villa to live, if she
should be in hourly dread of meeting him? The thought haunted her
though all the quiet Christmas festivities at the Grange; and she was
glad to get back to the Hall, and away from the eyes which watched her,
though they watched her with a friendly and affectionate regard.
In her daily rides she avoided the opening on the lake side from which
the Villa was visible; and she would sometimes make a long _detour_
rather than go near the spot. On one occasion, when returning from
Bryndermere, instead of crossing by the ferry she rode round by the
other side of the lake, keeping well away from the Villa, lest she
should meet anyone belonging to it. She had reached the top of the hill
below which wound the road leading to the Hall, and after pausing to
look at the magnificent view, was riding across a field, one of the
outlying fields of her estate, when she saw a lady riding through a
gate at the lower end. The blood rushed to her face and her heart
seemed to stand still for a moment, for she saw that it was Maude
Falconer; then her face grew pale and a wave of bitterness, grew over
her, for she recognised the horse on which Maude was riding: it was
Stafford's Adonis. Her first impulse was to turn aside and leave the
field; but her pride revolted, and she kept her course, looking
straight before her and trying not to see the graceful figure below
her.