Up to the horse-block in the stable-yard she rode, for her fall had made her stiff, and, though she usually objected to dismounting upon it, she was glad of its help this evening. The groom who came out exclaimed as he saw her plight, but she cut him short, merely sending him for a lantern, by the light of which they examined the mare together in the growing dusk; she then gathered up her skirt and went into the house by the back entrance. Her gloves were coated with mud, and she peeled them off and threw them on a table in the hall before going into the long, low room in which she generally sat. The lights had not been brought and it was very dark as she opened the door; the two windows at the end facing her were mere gray patches of twilight through which the dim white shapes of a few sheep were visible; for, at Morphie, the grass grew up to the walls at the sides of the house. A figure was sitting by the hearth between the windows and a very tall man rose from his chair as she entered. Lady Eliza started. ‘Fullarton!’ she exclaimed. ‘It is I. I have been waiting here expecting you might return earlier. You are out late to-night.’ ‘The mare put her foot in a hole, stupid brute! A fine roll she gave me, too.’ He made an exclamation, and, catching sight of some mud on her sleeve, led her to the light. She went quietly and stood while he looked at her. ‘Gad, my lady! you have been down indeed! You are none the worse, I trust?’ ‘No, no; but I will send for a dish of tea, and drink it by the fire. It is cold outside.’ ‘But you are wet, my dear lady.’ ‘What does that matter? I shall take no harm. Ring the bell, Fullarton--the rope is at your hand.’ Robert Fullarton did as he was desired, and stood looking at the ragged grass and the boles of the trees. His figure and the rather blunt outline of his features showed dark against the pane. At sixty he was as upright as when he and Lady Eliza had been young together, and he the first of the county gentlemen in polite pursuits. At a time when it was hardly possible to be anything else, he had never been provincial, for though he was, before anything, a sportsman, he had been one of the very few of his day capable of combining sport with wider interests.