At length, when he reached the top of the
ridge, he saw the house of Kirkbyres below him; and, with a small
modern lodge near by, a wooden gate showed the entrance to its
grounds. Between the gate and the house he passed through a young
plantation of larches and other firs for a quarter of a mile, and
so came to an old wall with an iron gate in the middle of it, within
which the old house, a gaunt meagre building--a bare house in
fact, relieved only by four small turrets or bartizans, one at each
corner--lifted its grey walls, pointed gables, and steep roof
high into the pale blue air. He rode round the outer wall, seeking
a back entrance, and arrived at a farm yard, where a boy took
his horse. Finding the kitchen door open, he entered, and having
delivered his letter to a servant girl, sat down to wait the possible
answer.
In a few minutes she returned and requested him to follow her.
This was more than he had calculated upon, but he obeyed at once.
The girl led him along a dark passage, and up a winding stone
stair, much worn, to a room richly furnished, and older fashioned,
he thought, than any room he had yet seen in Lossie House.
On a settee, with her back to a window, sat Mrs Stewart, a lady
tall and slender, with well poised, easy carriage, and a motion
that might have suggested the lithe grace of a leopard. She greeted
him with a bend of the head and a smile, which, even in the twilight
and her own shadow, showed a gleam of ivory, and spoke to him in
a hard sweet voice, wherein an ear more experienced than Malcolm's
might have detected an accustomed intent to please.
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