At length, however, she certainly did hear him.  There was the quick rattle of the chaise over the gravel, becoming quicker and quicker, till the vehicle stopped with that kind of plunge which is made by no other animal than a post-horse, and by him only at his arrival at the end of a stage.  Then the steps were let down with a crash—­she would not go to the window, or she might have seen him; she longed to do so, but it appeared so undignified.  She sat quite still in her chair; but she heard his quick step at the hail door; she was sure—­she could have sworn to his step—­and then she heard the untying of cords, and pulling down of luggage.  Lord Ballindine was again in the house, and the dearest wish of her heart was accomplished.

She felt that she was trembling.  She had not yet made up her mind how she would receive him—­what she would first say to him—­and certainly she had no time to do so now.  She got up, and looked in her aunt’s pier-glass.  It was more a movement of instinct than one of premeditation; but she thought she had never seen herself look so wretchedly.  She had, however, but little time, either for regret or improvement on that score, for there were footsteps in the corridor.  He couldn’t have stayed a moment to speak to anyone downstairs—­however, there he certainly was; she heard Griffiths’ voice in the passage, “This way, my lord—­in my lady’s boudoir;” and then the door opened, and in a moment she was in her lover’s arms.

“My own Fanny!—­once more my own!”

“Oh, Frank! dear Frank!”

Lord Ballindine was only ten minutes late in coming down to dinner, and Miss Wyndham not about half an hour, which should be considered as showing great moderation on her part.  For, of course, Frank kept her talking a great deal longer than he should have done; and then she not only had to dress, but to go through many processes with her eyes, to obliterate the trace of tears.  She was, however, successful, for she looked very beautiful when she came down, and so dignified, so composed, so quiet in her happiness, and yet so very happy in her quietness.  Fanny was anything but a hypocrite; she had hardly a taint of hypocrisy in her composition, but her looks seldom betrayed her feelings.  There was a majesty of beauty about her, a look of serenity in her demeanour, which in public made her appear superior to all emotion.

Frank seemed to be much less at his ease.  He attempted to chat easily with the countess, and to listen pleasantly to the would-be witticisms of the earl; but he was not comfortable, he did not amalgamate well with the family; had there been a larger party, he could have talked all dinner-time to his love; but, as it was, he hardly spoke a word to her during the ceremony, and indeed, but few during the evening.  He did sit next to her on the sofa, to be sure, and watched the lace she was working; but he could not talk unreservedly to her, when old Lady Cashel was sitting close to him on the other side, and Lady Selina