Age is essential to the picturesque effect of decay: a modern ruin is an unnatural and depressing object--and here the horrid thing was.
As she turned to retrace her steps to the road, a man walked out of the inner space enclosed by all that was left of the dismantled house.

A cry of alarm escaped her.

Was she the victim of destiny, or the sport of chance?
There was the wild lord whom she had vowed never to see again: the master of her heart--perhaps the master of her fate! Any other man would have been amazed to see her, and would have asked how it had happened that the English lady presented herself to him in an Irish wood.

This man enjoyed the delight of seeing her, and accepted it as a blessing that was not to be questioned.

"My angel has dropped from Heaven," he said.