He entered the carriage first, as if forced in by command. The lady,
resplendent in sable robes--it was winter--placed her foot upon the step
to follow. At that moment the horses, already pawing the gravel with
impatience, made a false start forward. They were suddenly checked by
the coachman; but the lady staggering, would have gone to the ground,
but for my person interposed to prevent her. By a mere mechanical act
of politeness, I had stretched forth my arms, between which sank Mrs
Nigel Harding.
"You of all men!" muttered she, in a tone I could not easily forget, and
which conveyed to my ear less of gratitude than reproach. Then breaking
off, and transferring her spleen to the peccant Jehu, she flounced into
the carriage, and was whirled off out of my sight.
What astonished me still more was the behaviour of her husband. I saw
his face, as the carriage drove off, projected out of its open window.
By the light of the lamp I could perceive that there was a black look
upon it; but, instead of on the coachman, his eyes appeared to be
directed towards myself, as though I had been the cause of the accident!
Certainly he did not seem grateful for my voluntary act of politeness.
It was five years before I saw either again. I had almost, if not
altogether, forgotten them, when a circumstance, occurring many thousand
miles away, returned to my recollection the young squire of Beechwood
Park, and of course along with him his wife.
The circumstance to which I allude was not only strange, but of serious
consequence to several of the characters who have figured in this tale;
among others, to Nigel Harding and his lady. Better for these last if
it had never occurred.