"Then take your time," he answered drearily, "and I will leave you, I
will go and hide my impatience. You must not be tortured."
"No," returned the girl with a low sigh. At that instant she turned her
face away from him toward the window, a knock at the door being the
ostensible reason. But if anyone had seen the smile with which she
received the assurance that she was not to be tortured, he would have
believed that there was no imminent danger of it. Had it been a question
of torturing,--that was another thing. When she turned a grave face
toward Lord Bulchester again he had risen. "No, No," she cried. "Don't
go, sit down, I would rather have you here, for a time at least. It's
Elizabeth,--Mistress Royal." Her tones threw the listener from
dreariness into despair. A moment since he thought he had her assurance
that his own claims were seriously considered. And, now, what could give
her manner this nervousness, but the fact that her attachment to
Archdale was still in force? For Bulchester had learned from her that
since her arrested wedding Elizabeth had always been associated in her
mind with Stephen. She was so in his own also, for this reason, and
another. The young man sat down again.
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