"
She had sprang forward as he spoke, and now threw out her arms to draw
him back. He eluded her clasp, and dropped to the ground on his feet,
but fell backward, and did not at once rise again. She shrieked, and
then called out in a piteous tone: "Speak to me, Colonel L'Isle. For
Heaven's sake, speak. Say you are not injured--not hurt."
"Console yourself, Lady Mabel," said he, rising slowly. "I have not
broken my neck, and shall not break my appointment. And, now, I must
bid you good-night; or shall I say good-morning?"
As L'Isle turned, he spied old Moodie standing in the open gateway of
the court, with a light in his hand, and knitting his shaggy brows. He
looked neither very drunk, nor much afraid of robbers, but trembled
with rage on seeing L'Isle's mode of breaking out of the mansion. With
a strong effort of self-control, L'Isle walked off without limping,
and was soon lost in the gloomy shades of the olive and the orange
grove.
Lady Mabel had played out the comedy, and now came--reflection. What
had she done? How would it tell? Above all, what would L'Isle think of
her? What were his feelings now? And what would they be when the exact
truth-the whole plot--was known to him? Every faculty hitherto
engrossed in the part she was playing, until this moment she had never
looked on this side of the picture? Now, bitter self-reproach, womanly
shame, and tears--vain, useless tears--filled up the remaining hours
of the night.
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