"Such a scene to figure in!" said Louisa, with lofty scorn; "but this cottage shall be pulled down—it stands on papa’s land; and the steward should be careful whom he permits as tenants in the vicinity of Chillingham Park." Crushed to the dust by shame, humiliation, and illness, poor Agnes Auriol covered her face with her handkerchief, on which the blood-spots increased with every fresh fit of coughing, and her old nurse, oblivious of us all, spread her fat arms caressingly and protectingly round her; but the hateful Berkeley looked coldly and pitilessly on. "Hear me, Lady Louisa," said I; "and a few words will serve to explain why I am here." "Oh, your purse in that creature’s hand explains all, sir!" she replied, with a cutting smile. "Oh, Newton, Newton!" sobbed Cora; "it seems all too true—why should you give that girl money?" Berkeley was the object on which I should have turned; but Lady Louisa fascinated me, and her presence and Cora’s alone prevented me from knocking him down, or giving him a cut across the face with my riding-whip. Louisa was, indeed, a picture! Drawn up to the fullest extent of her tall figure, she stood with her stately head thrown well back, and her rounded form half turned away, as if in disdain. An ample Indian shawl of alternate black, gold, and scarlet stripes had half fallen from her shoulder; her dress—she had been preparing for dinner when she started on this unlucky and unseemly errand—a bright, maize-coloured silk, with trimmings and flounces of rich black lace, displayed the magnificent development of her bust and lithe waist, and accorded well with her complexion. Her haughty nose, with its slender pink nostrils, seemed to curl with anger, and her forehead appeared lower than usual, so heavily fell the rippling masses of dark hair over her face, which was paler than ever, though the blood did flow furiously under that transparent skin as her anger gathered. Her lips, usually scarlet as the petals of the fuschia, were now colourless; the short upper one was defined and stern; the lower, full and pouting, trembled with the emotion which she strove to repress; and her glorious black eyes had in them a mingled expression of fierce anger, deep reproach, sorrowing love for me, and shame for the whole affair—such an expression as I hoped never to see in them again. When her anger prevailed, it was no summer lightning that flashed from the dark eyes of Louisa—for even her great Saxon ancestor, Lofthus, who held that thanedom in Yorkshire, before England’s conqueror came over at the head of his high-born housebreakers, had not a prouder or more fiery temper. She gave me a deep, earnest, silent, and tearful glance, that said more than a thousand words, and, taking Cora by the hand, turned and retired from the cottage before I could speak—turned with the air of one alike convinced and resolved.