While this was enacting below, Olivia, who marked every gesture and every look eagerly, could not hear what passed. She could only see the respectful attention bestowed by Cashel on every wish of his fair guest; how, having seated her, he draped in graceful folds the long velvet habit, in which, and with a white hat and drooping feather, she resembled one of the court of Louis Quinze. At last she turned her horse's head, and rode him slowly along before the house, evidently timid and afraid of the high-mettled animal. Cashel, however, walked at his head, and so they stood, while he arranged the curb-chain, exactly beneath the window where Olivia was standing. She opened the sash noiselessly, and, bending down, listened. “I assure you,” said Lady Kilgoff, “I 'll not continue my ride if you don't come. I have no confidence in these fine gentlemen cavaliers; and as for Miss Meek, she 'd risk her life to see me run away with.” “I pledge myself to follow in ten minutes,--nay, in five, if possible. I told Mr. Kennyfeck I should make my obeisances to the ladies to-day.” “Would to-morrow not serve?” said she, smiling. “I believe it might--but a promise! Besides, I have been sadly deficient in attentions there.” “Sir Harvey and his brother hussar have made the _amende_ for your shortcomings, but go, make haste and overtake us. I see 'my Lord' trying to understand Lady Janet, and I must not delay longer.” “Ride slowly,” cried Roland, “and don't get run away with till I 'm of the party.” She nodded archly in reply to this speech, and joining the group, who were all awaiting her, rode off, while Cashel entered the house, and soon was heard ascending the stairs at a hurried pace. Olivia could only close the window and resume her place, when a tap was given at the door, and the same instant Cashel entered the room. He stopped suddenly, and looked around, for at first he did not perceive Olivia, who, deep in her book, affected not to hear the noise of his approach. The rich coronet of brown hair, on which an evening sun was throwing one brilliant gleam, caught his eye, and he advanced near enough to see and be struck by that graceful attitude of which we gave our reader a glimpse at the opening of this chapter. She was reading some old English ballad; and, as she closed the volume, murmured, half aloud, the lines of the concluding verse:-- “And ye variété, bounde upon a carte, Was draggede to ye gallows high, While ye knighte that stole ye ladye's hearte (And was not his ye gravere parte!) Rode onte to see him die.” “A sad moral indeed,” said Cashel, in a low, soft voice. “Oh, dear! oh, Mr. Cashel!” cried she, starting, and letting fall the book, “how you have terrified me!” “Pray forgive me,” said he, drawing his chair near, “but when I entered the room I saw no one. I had come thus far ere I discovered that I was so fortunate.”