"We must go," said Lady Marney, with a sort of sigh, and
shaking her head.

"Let me speak to Marney."

"Oh! no. We must go. I am annoyed about this dear little
Poinsett: she has been to stay with me so very often, and she
has only been here three days. When she comes in again, I
wish you would ask her to sing, Charles."

Soon the dear little Poinsett was singing, much gratified by
being invited to the instrument by Mr Egremont, who for a few
minutes hung over her, and then evidently under the influence
of her tones, walked up and down the room, and only speaking
to beg that she would continue her charming performances.
Lady Marney was engrossed with her embroidery; her lord and
the captain with their game.

And what was Egremont thinking of? Of Mowbray be you sure.
And of Lady Joan or Lady Maud? Not exactly. Mowbray was the
name of the town to which the strangers he had met with in the
Abbey were bound. It was the only piece of information that
he had been able to obtain of them; and that casually.

When the fair vision of the starlit arch, about to descend to
her two companions, perceived that they were in conversation
with a stranger, she hesitated, and in a moment withdrew.
Then the elder of the travellers, exchanging a glance with his
friend, bid good even to Egremont.