On this morning the girl put on her hat, with a light mantle over her shoulders, thinking to take a walk in her garden before breakfast. The air was fresh and pure after the storm and not at all chilly, and the autumnal flowers were in full bloom. She had reached the place--an inclosure within the outer walls of the castle--and was slowly and thoughtfully walking in one of the graveled paths, when she was startled by the sound of a quick, heavy footfall behind her, and on turning she found herself face to face with Matthew Brandon--by courtesy Lord Oakleigh. He was not a pleasant man to look at, and yet many might have called him good looking--perhaps handsome. If he had any beauty it was of the Mephistophelean order. He was tall and strong, and dressed in a costly garb of embroidered velvet and satin. He wore a large diamond in his shirt-front, he had fine rings on two or three fingers, and his gold watch-chain was conspicuous. His complexion was dark, even to swarthiness; his hair black and quite short, with a pair of eyes now, as in his boyhood, set very near together and deeply sunken in their sockets. He had a good nose but his lips were heavy and sensual, his mouth large, and his lower jaw broad and strong. He wore no beard, but his cheeks and his chin and his upper lip, where the razor did its work, betrayed the possibility of a beard, black and luxuriant, had he been willing to let it grow. A friend had once asked him how it was that, with such a chance for a beard, he could be content to sacrifice it. “Oh!” he had answered with a laugh, “I am black enough as it is; should I add a coal-black beard, I should be blackness incarnate.” “Cordelia,” he said, when the usual salutations of the morning had been exchanged, “I have a few words to say to you; and I have come out here this morning to say them. I might not have time after breakfast, as I must return to Oxford to-day.” The girl had stopped in her walk and stood facing him. A tremor, which she could not repress, shook her frame; for she knew very well, or she believed she knew, what he wished to speak about. “I am listening, Lord Oakleigh.” “Bah! Why do you eternally ‘lord’ me? I don’t like it, at least from your lips.” “My lord, I give you the title respectfully, because it is yours. I can call you by your Christian name, if you wish it.” “I do wish it: and I wish you to remember it. It will do very well for the servants to dub me ‘lord’ and for my grandfather when he is in the mood; but I don’t want it from you.” He paused and looked around. “Haven’t you a seat anywhere about here?” “If you are weary, you will find a very comfortable seat in yonder grape-arbor.” “I’m not weary, my dear lady; but it is sometimes weary work to converse on one’s feet. Come with me to the arbor. I won’t keep you long. Bless me! I hope you’re not afraid of me.”