Beneath, over the
plain, lay the gathered twilight, through which, in the near distance,
gleamed two or three lights from the chateau. Mrs. Bread rustled slowly
after her guide, and Newman, satisfying himself that one of the fallen
stones was steady, proposed to her to sit upon it. She cautiously
complied, and he placed himself upon another, near her.
CHAPTER XXII
"I am very much obliged to you for coming," Newman said. "I hope it won't
get you into trouble."
"I don't think I shall be missed. My lady, in these days, is not fond of
having me about her." This was said with a certain fluttered eagerness
which increased Newman's sense of having inspired the old woman with
confidence.
"From the first, you know," he answered, "you took an interest in my
prospects. You were on my side. That gratified me, I assure you. And now
that you know what they have done to me, I am sure you are with me all
the more."
"They have not done well--I must say it," said Mrs. Bread. "But you
mustn't blame the poor countess; they pressed her hard."
"I would give a million of dollars to know what they did to her!" cried
Newman.
Mrs. Bread sat with a dull, oblique gaze fixed upon the lights of the
chateau. "They worked on her feelings; they knew that was the way.
She is a delicate creature.
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