As she turned to retrace her steps to the road, a man walked out of the
inner space enclosed by all that was left of the dismantled house. A
cry of alarm escaped her. Was she the victim of destiny, or the sport
of chance? There was the wild lord whom she had vowed never to see
again: the master of her heart--perhaps the master of her fate!
Any other man would have been amazed to see her, and would have asked
how it had happened that the English lady presented herself to him in
an Irish wood. This man enjoyed the delight of seeing her, and accepted
it as a blessing that was not to be questioned. "My angel has dropped
from Heaven," he said. "May Heaven be praised!"
He approached her; his arms closed round her. She struggled to free
herself from his embrace. At that moment they both heard the crackle of
breaking uuderwood among the trees behind them. Lord Harry looked
round. "This is a dangerous place," he whispered; "I'm waiting to see
Arthur pass safely. Submit to be kissed, or I am a dead man." His eyes
told her that he was truly and fearfully in earnest. Her head sank on
his bosom. As he bent down and kissed her, three men approached from
their hiding-place among the trees.
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