The Project Gutenberg Etext of Lord Ormont and his Aminta, v4
by George Meredith
#86 in our series by George Meredith

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Title: Lord Ormont and his Aminta, v4

Author: George Meredith

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

Release Date: September, 2003 [Etext #4480]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on February 25, 2002]


The Project Gutenberg Etext Lord Ormont and his Aminta, v4, by Meredith
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BOOK 4.

XVII.     LADY CHARLOTTE'S TRIUMPH
XVIII.    A SCENE ON THE ROAD BACK
XIX.      THE PURSUERS
XX.       AT THE SIGN OF THE JOLLY CRICKETERS
XXI.      UNDER-CURRENTS IN THE MINDS OF LADY CHARLOTTE AND LORD ORMONT
XXII.     TREATS OF THE FIRST DAY OF THE CONTENTION OF BROTHER AND SISTER
XXIII.    THE ORMONT JEWELS



CHAPTER XVII

LADY CHARLOTTE'S TRIUMPH

One of the days of sovereign splendour in England was riding down the
heavens, and drawing the royal mantle of the gold-fringed shadows over
plain and wavy turf, blue water and woods of the country round Steignton.
A white mansion shone to a length of oblong lake that held the sun-ball
suffused in mild yellow.

'There's the place,' Lady Charlotte said to Weyburn, as they had view of
it at a turn of the park.  She said to herself--where I was born and
bred!  and her sight gloated momentarily on the house and side avenues,
a great plane standing to the right of the house, the sparkle of a little
river running near; all the scenes she knew, all young and lively.  She
sprang on her seat for a horse beneath her, and said, 'But this is
healthy excitement,' as in reply to her London physician's remonstrances.
'And there's my brother Rowsley, talking to one of the keepers,' she
cried.  'You see Lord Ormont?  I can see a mile.  Sight doesn't fail with
me.  He's insisting.  'Ware poachers when Rowsley's on his ground!  You
smell the air here?  Nobody dies round about Steignton.  Their legs wear
out and they lie down to rest them.  It's the finest air in the world.
Now look, the third window left of the porch, first floor.  That was my
room before I married.  Strangers have been here and called the place
home.  It can never be home to any but me and Rowsley.  He sees the
carriage.  He little thinks!  He's dressed in his white corduroy and
knee-breeches.  Age! he won't know age till he's ninety.  Here he comes
marching.  He can't bear surprises.  I'll wave my hand and call.'

She called his name.

In