The Nest of the Sparrowhawk | Page 6

And while the two young men made a quick and not altogether
successful dive for her ladyship's handkerchief, colliding vigorously
with one another in their endeavor to perform this act of gallantry
single-handed, Lady Sue gazed down on them, with good-humored
contempt, laughter and mischief dancing in her eyes. She knew that she
was good to look at, that she was rich, and that she had the pick of the
county, aye, of the South of England, did she desire to wed. Perhaps
she thought of this, even whilst she laughed at the antics of her bevy of
courtiers, all anxious to win her good graces.
Yet even as she laughed, her face suddenly clouded over, a strange,
wistful look came into her eyes, and her laughter was lost in a quick,
short sigh.
A young man had just crossed the tiny rustic bridge which spanned the
ha-ha dividing the flower-garden from the uncultivated park. He
walked rapidly through the trees, towards the skittle alley, and as he
came nearer, the merry lightheartedness seemed suddenly to vanish
from Lady Sue's manner: the ridiculousness of the two young men at
her feet, glaring furiously at one another whilst fighting for her
handkerchief, seemed now to irritate her; she snatched the bit of
delicate linen from their hands, and turned somewhat petulantly away.
"Shall we continue the game?" she said curtly.
The young man, all the while that he approached, had not taken his
eyes off Lady Sue. Twice he had stumbled against rough bits of root or
branch which he had not perceived in the grass through which he
walked. He had seen her laughing gaily, whilst Squire Boatfield used

profane language, and smile with contemptuous merriment at the two
young men at her feet; he had also seen the change in her manner, the
sudden wistful look, the quick sigh, the irritability and the petulance.
But his own grave face expressed neither disapproval at the one mood
nor astonishment at the other. He walked somewhat like a
somnambulist, with eyes fixed--almost expressionless in the intensity
of their gaze.
He was very plainly, even poorly clad, and looked a dark figure even
amongst these soberly appareled gentry. The grass beneath his feet had
deadened the sound of his footsteps but Sir Marmaduke had apparently
perceived him, for he beckoned to him to approach.
"What is it, Lambert?" he asked kindly.
"Your letter to Master Skyffington, Sir Marmaduke," replied the young
man, "will you be pleased to sign it?"
"Will it not keep?" said Sir Marmaduke.
"Yes, an you wish it, Sir. I fear I have intruded. I did not know you
were busy."
The young man had a harsh voice, and a strange brusqueness of manner
which somehow suggested rebellion against the existing conditions of
life. He no longer looked at Lady Sue now, but straight at Sir
Marmaduke, speaking the brief apology between his teeth, without
opening his mouth, as if the words hurt him when they passed his lips.
"You had best speak to Master Skyffington himself about the business,"
rejoined Sir Marmaduke, not heeding the mumbled apology, "he will be
here anon."
He turned abruptly away, and the young man once more left to himself,
silently and mechanically moved again in the direction of the house.
"You will join us in a bowl of sack-posset, Master Lambert," said

Mistress de Chavasse, striving to be amiable.
"You are very kind," he said none too genially, "in about half-an-hour
if you will allow me. There is another letter yet to write."
No one had taken much notice of him. Even in these days when
kingship and House of Lords were abolished, the sense of social
inequality remained keen. To this coterie of avowed Republicans,
young Richard Lambert--secretary or what-not to Sir Marmaduke, a
paid dependent at any rate--was not worth more than a curt nod of the
head, a condescending acknowledgment of his existence at best.
But Lady Sue had not even bestowed the nod. She had not actually
taken notice of his presence when he came; the wistful look had
vanished as soon as the young man's harsh voice had broken on her ear:
she did not look on him now that he went.
She was busy with her game. Nathless her guardian's secretary was of
no more importance in the rich heiress's sight than that mute row of
nine-pins at the end of the alley, nor was there, mayhap, in her mind
much social distinction between the hollow-eyed lad who set them up
stolidly from time to time, and the silent young student who wrote
those letters which Sir Marmaduke had not known how to spell.
CHAPTER III
THE EXILE
But despite outward indifference, with the brief appearance of the
soberly-garbed young student upon the scene and his abrupt and