“Wolf! Wolf!”
Wolfenden, to whom sleep before the early morning hours was a thing absolutely impossible, was lounging in his easy chair meditating on the events of the day over a final cigarette. He had come to his room at midnight in rather a dejected frame of mind; the day’s happenings had scarcely gone in his favour. Helène had looked upon him coldly—almost with suspicion. In the morning he would be able to explain everything, but in the meantime Blanche was upon the spot, and he had an uneasy feeling that the girl was his enemy. He had begun to doubt whether that drive, so natural a thing, as it really happened, was not carefully planned on her part, with a full knowledge of the fact that they would meet Mr. Sabin and his niece. It was all the more irritating because during the last few days he had been gradually growing into the belief that so far as his suit with Helène was concerned, the girl herself was not altogether indifferent to him. She had refused him definitely enough, so far as mere words went, but there were lights in her soft, dark eyes, and something indefinable, but apparent in her manner, which had forbidden him to abandon all hope. Yet it was hard to believe that she was in any way subject to the will of her guardian, Mr. Sabin. In small things she took no pains to study him; she was evidently not in the least under his dominion. On the contrary,there was in his manner towards her a certain deference, as though it were she whose will was the ruling one between them. As a matter of fact, her appearance and whole bearing seemed to indicate one accustomed to command. Her family or connections she had never spoken of to him, yet he had not the slightest doubt but that she was of gentle birth. Even if it should turn out that this was not the case, Wolfenden was democratic enough to think that it made no difference. She was good enough to be his wife. Her appearance and manners were almost typically aristocratic—whatever there might be in her present surroundings or in her past which savoured of mystery, he would at least have staked his soul upon her honesty. He realised very fully, as he sat there smoking in the early hours of the morning, that this was no passing fancy of his; she was his first love—for good or for evil she would be his last. Failure, he said to himself, was a word which he would not admit in his vocabulary. She was moving towards him already, some day she should be his! Through the mists of blue tobacco smoke which hovered around him he seemed, with a very slight and very pleasant effort of his imagination, to see some faint visions of her in that more softening mood, the vaguest recollection of which set his heart beating fast and sent the blood moving through his veins to music. How delicately handsome she was, how exquisite the lines of her girlish, yet graceful and queenly figure. With her clear, creamy skin, soft as alabaster below the red gold of her hair, the somewhat haughty poise of her small, shapely head, she brought him vivid recollections of that old aristocracy of France, as one reads of them now only in the pages of romance or history. She had the grand air—even the great Queen could not have walked to the scaffold with a more magnificent contempt of the rabble, whose victim she was. Some more personal thought came to him;he half closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair steeped in pleasant thoughts; and then it all came to a swift, abrupt end, these reveries and pleasant castle-building. He was back in the present, suddenly recalled in a most extraordinary manner, to realisation of the hour and place. Surely he could not have been mistaken! That was a low knocking at his locked door outside; there was no doubt about it. There it was again! He heard his own name, softly but unmistakably spoken in a trembling voice. He glanced at his watch, it was between two and three o’clock; then he walked quickly to the door and opened it without hesitation. It was his father who stood there fully dressed, with pale face and angrily burning eyes. In his hand he carried a revolver. Wolfenden noticed that the fingers which clasped it were shaking, as though with cold.
“Father,” Wolfenden exclaimed, “what on earth is the matter?”
He dropped his voice in obedience to that sudden gesture for silence. The Admiral answered him in a hoarse whisper.
“A great deal is the matter! I am being deceived and betrayed in my own house! Listen!”
They stood together on the dimly lit landing; holding his breath and listening intently, Wolfenden was at once aware of faint, distant sounds. They came from the ground floor almost immediately below them. His father laid his hand heavily upon Wolfenden’s shoulder.
“Some one is in the library,” he said. “I heard the door open distinctly. When I tried to get out I found that the door of my room was locked; there is treachery here!”
“How did you get out?” Wolfenden asked.
“Through the bath-room and down the back stairs; that door was locked too, but I found a key that fitted it. Come with me. Be careful! Make no noise!”
They were on their way downstairs now. As they turned the angle of the broad oak stairway, Wolfenden caught a glimpse of his father’s face, and shuddered; it was very white, and his eyes were bloodshot and wild, his forefinger was already upon the trigger of his revolver.
“Let me have that,” Wolfenden whispered, touching it; “my hand is steadier than yours.”
But the Admiral shook his head; he made no answer in words, but the butt end of the revolver became almost welded into the palm of his hand. Wolfenden began to feel that they were on the threshold of a tragedy. They had reached the ground floor now; straight in front of them was the library door. The sound of muffled movements within the room was distinctly audible. The Admiral’s breath came fast.
“Tread lightly, Wolf,” he muttered. “Don’t let them hear us! Let us catch them red-handed!”
But the last dozen yards of the way was over white flags tesselated, and polished like marble. Wolfenden’s shoes creaked; the Admiral’s tip-toe walk was no light one. There was a sudden cessation of all sounds; they had been heard! The Admiral, with a low cry of rage, leaped forwards. Wolfenden followed close behind.
Even as they crossed the threshold the room was plunged into sudden darkness; they had but a momentary and partial glimpse of the interior. Wolfenden saw a dark, slim figure bending forward with his finger still pressed to the ball of the lamp. The table was strewn with papers, something—somebody—was fluttering behind the screen yonder. There was barely a second of light; then with a sharp click the lamp went out, and the figure of the man was lost in obscurity. Almost simultaneously there came a flash of level fire and the loud report of the Admiral’s revolver. There was no groan, so Wolfenden concluded that the man, whoever he might be, had not been hit.The sound of the report was followed by a few seconds’ breathless silence. There was no movement of any sort in the room; only a faint breeze stealing in through the wide-open windows caused a gentle rustling of the papers with which the table was strewn, and the curtains swayed gently backwards and forwards. The Admiral, with his senses all on the alert, stood motionless, the revolver tense in his hand, his fiercely eager eyes straining to pierce the darkness. By his side, Wolfenden, equally agitated now, though from a different reason, stood holding his breath, his head thrust forward, his eyes striving to penetrate the veil of gloom which lay like a thick barrier between him and the screen. His fear had suddenly taken to itself a very real and terrible form. There had been a moment, before the extinction of the lamp had plunged the room into darkness, when he had seen, or fancied that he had seen, a woman’s skirts fluttering there. Up to the present his father’s attention had been wholly riveted upon the other end of the room; yet he was filled with a nervous dread lest at any moment that revolver might change its direction. His ears were strained to the uttermost to catch the slightest sign of any movement.
At last the silence was broken; there was a faint movement near the window, and then again, without a second’s hesitation, there was that level line of fire and loud report from the Admiral’s revolver. There was no groan, no sign of any one having been hit. The Admiral began to move slowly in the direction of the window; Wolfenden remained where he was, listening intently. He was right, there was a smothered movement from behind the screen. Some one was moving from there towards the door, some one with light footsteps and a trailing skirt. He drew back into the doorway; he meant to let her pass whoever it might be, but he meant to know who it was. He could hear her hurried breathing; a faint, familiar perfume, shaken out by themovement of her skirts, puzzled him; it’s very familiarity bewildered him. She knew that he was there; she must know it, for she had paused. The position was terribly critical. A few yards away the Admiral was groping about, revolver in hand, mumbling to himself a string of terrible threats. The casting of a shadow would call forth that death-dealing fire. Wolfenden thrust out his hand cautiously; it fell upon a woman’s arm. She did not cry out, although her rapid breathing sank almost to a moan. For a moment he was staggered—the room seemed to be going round with him; he had to bite his lips to stifle the exclamation which very nearly escaped him. Then he stood away from the door with a little shudder, and guided her through it. He heard her footsteps die away along the corridor with a peculiar sense of relief. Then he thrust his hand into the pocket of his dinner coat and drew out a box of matches.
“I am going to strike a light,” he whispered in his father’s ear.
“Quick, then,” was the reply, “I don’t think the fellow has got away yet; he must be hiding behind some of the furniture.”
There was the scratching of a match upon a silver box, a feeble flame gradually developing into a sure illumination. Wolfenden carefully lit the lamp and raised it high over his head. The room was empty! There was no doubt about it! They two were alone. But the window was wide open and a chair in front of it had been thrown over. The Admiral strode to the casement and called out angrily—
“Heggs! are you there? Is no one on duty?”
There was no answer; the tall sentry-box was empty.
Wolfenden came over to his father’s side and brought the lamp with him, and together they leaned out. At first they could see nothing; then Wolfenden threw off the shade from the lamp and the light fell in a broad track upona dark, motionless figure stretched out upon the turf. Wolfenden stooped down hastily.
“My God!” he exclaimed, “it is Heggs! Father, won’t you sound the gong? We shall have to arouse the house.”
There was no need. Already the library was half full of hastily dressed servants, awakened by the sound of the Admiral’s revolver. Pale and terrified, but never more self-composed, Lady Deringham stepped out to them in a long, white dressing-gown.
“What has happened?” she cried. “Who is it, Wolfenden—has your father shot any one?”
But Wolfenden shook his head, as he stood for a moment upright, and looked into his mother’s face.
“There is a man hurt,” he said; “it is Heggs, I think, but he is not shot. The evil is not of our doing!”
It was still an hour or two before dawn. No trace whatever of the marauders had been discovered either outside the house or within. With difficulty the Earl had been persuaded to relinquish his smoking revolver, and had retired to his room. The doors had all been locked, and two of the most trustworthy servants left in charge of the library. Wolfenden had himself accompanied his father upstairs and after a few words with him had returned to his own apartment. With his mother he had scarcely exchanged a single sentence. Once their eyes had met and he had immediately looked away. Nevertheless he was not altogether unprepared for that gentle knocking at his door which came about half an hour after the house was once more silent.
He rose at once from his chair—it seemed scarcely a night for sleep—and opened it cautiously. It was Lady Deringham who stood there, white and trembling. He held out his hand and she leaned heavily on it during her passage into the room.
He wheeled his own easy chair before the fire and helped her into it. She seemed altogether incapable of speech. She was trembling violently, and her face was perfectlybloodless. Wolfenden dropped on his knees by her side and began chafing her hands. The touch of his fingers seemed to revive her. She was not already judged then. She lifted her eyes and looked at him sorrowfully.
“What do you think of me, Wolfenden?” she asked.
“I have not thought about it at all,” he answered. “I am only wondering. You have come to explain everything?”
She shuddered. Explain everything! That was a task indeed. When the heart is young and life is a full and generous thing; in the days of romance, when adventures and love-making come as a natural heritage and form part of the order of things, then the words which the woman had to say would have come lightly enough from her lips, less perhaps as a confession than as a half apologetic narration. But in the days when youth lies far behind, when its glamour has faded away and nothing but the bare incidents remain, unbeautified by the full colouring and exuberance of the springtime of life, the most trifling indiscretions then stand out like idiotic crimes. Lady Deringham had been a proud woman—a proud woman all her life. She had borne in society the reputation of an almost ultra-exclusiveness; in her home life she had been something of an autocrat. Perhaps this was the most miserable moment of her life. Her son was looking at her with cold, inquiring eyes. She was on her defence before him. She bowed her head and spoke:
“Tell me what you thought, Wolfenden.”
“Forgive me,” he said, “I could only think that there was robbery, and that you, for some sufficient reason, I am sure, were aiding. I could not think anything else, could I?”
“You thought what was true, Wolfenden,” she whispered. “I was helping another man to rob your father! It was only a very trifling theft—a handful of notes from hiswork for a magazine article. But it was theft, and I was an accomplice!”
There was a short silence. Her eyes, seeking steadfastly to read his face, could make nothing of it.
“I will not ask you why,” he said slowly. “You must have had very good reasons. But I want to tell you one thing. I am beginning to have grave doubts as to whether my father’s state is really so bad as Dr. Whitlett thinks—whether, in short, his work is not after all really of some considerable value. There are several considerations which incline me to take this view.”
The suggestion visibly disturbed Lady Deringham. She moved in her chair uneasily.
“You have heard what Mr. Blatherwick says,” she objected. “I am sure that he is absolutely trustworthy.”
“There is no doubt about Blatherwick’s honesty,” he admitted, “but the Admiral himself says that he dare trust no one, and that for weeks he has given him no paper of importance to work upon simply for that reason. It has been growing upon me that we may have been mistaken all along, that very likely Miss Merton was paid to steal his work, and that it may possess for certain people, and for certain purposes, a real technical importance. How else can we account for the deliberate efforts which have been made to obtain possession of it?”
“You have spent some time examining it yourself,” she said in a low tone; “what was your own opinion?”
“I found some sheets,” he answered, “and I read them very carefully; they were connected with the various landing-places upon the Suffolk coast. An immense amount of detail was very clearly given. The currents, bays, and fortifications were all set out; even the roads and railways into the interior were dealt with. I compared them afterwards with a map of Suffolk. They were, so far as one could judge, correct. Of course this was only a page ortwo at random, but I must say it made an impression upon me.”
There was another silence, this time longer than before. Lady Deringham was thinking. Once more, then, the man had lied to her! He was on some secret business of his own. She shuddered slightly. She had no curiosity as to its nature. Only she remembered what many people had told her, that where he went disaster followed. A piece of coal fell into the grate hissing from the fire. He stooped to pick it up, and catching a glimpse of her face became instantly graver. He remembered that as yet he had heard nothing of what she had come to tell him. Her presence in the library was altogether unexplained.
“You were very good,” she said slowly; “you stayed what might have been a tragedy. You knew that I was there, you helped me to escape; yet you must have known that I was in league with the man who was trying to steal those papers.”
“There was no mistake, then! You were doing that. You!”
“It is true,” she answered. “It was I who let him in, who unlocked your father’s desk. I was his accomplice!”
“Who was the man?”
She did not tell him at once.
“He was once,” she said, “my lover!”
“Before——”
“Before I met your father! We were never really engaged. But he loved me, and I thought I cared for him. I wrote him letters—the foolish letters of an impulsive girl. These he has kept. I treated him badly, I know that! But I too have suffered. It has been the desire of my life to have those letters. Last night he called here. Before my face he burnt all but one! That he kept. The price of his returning it to me was my help—last night.”
“For what purpose?” Wolfenden asked. “What use didhe propose to make of the Admiral’s papers if he succeeded in stealing them?”
She shook her head mournfully.
“I cannot tell. He answered me at first that he simply needed some statistics to complete a magazine article, and that Mr. C. himself had sent him here. If what you tell me of their importance is true, I have no doubt that he lied.”
“Why could he not go to the Admiral himself?”
Lady Deringham’s face was as pale as death, and she spoke with downcast head, her eyes fixed upon her clenched hands.
“At Cairo,” she said, “not long after my marriage, we all met. I was indiscreet, and your father was hot-headed and jealous. They quarrelled and fought, your father wounded him; he fired in the air. You understand now that he could not go direct to the Admiral.”
“I cannot understand,” he admitted, “why you listened to his proposal.”
“Wolfenden, I wanted that letter,” she said, her voice dying away in something like a moan. “It is not that I have anything more than folly to reproach myself with, but it was written—it was the only one—after my marriage. Just at first I was not very happy with your father. We had had a quarrel, I forget what about, and I sat down and wrote words which I have many a time bitterly repented ever having put on paper. I have never forgotten them—I never shall! I have seen them often in my happiest moments, and they have seemed to me to be written with letters of fire.”
“You have it back now? You have destroyed it?”
She shook her head wearily.
“No, I was to have had it when he had succeeded; I had not let him in five minutes when you disturbed us.”
“Tell me the man’s name.”
“Why?”
“I will get you the letter.”
“He would not give it you. You could not make him.”
Wolfenden’s eyes flashed with a sudden fire.
“You are mistaken,” he said. “The man who holds for blackmail over a woman’s head, a letter written twenty years ago, is a scoundrel! I will get that letter from him. Tell me his name!”
Lady Deringham shuddered.
“Wolfenden, it would bring trouble! He is dangerous. Don’t ask me. At least I have kept my word to him. It was not my fault that we were disturbed. He will not molest me now.”
“Mother, I will know his name!”
“I cannot tell it you!”
“Then I will find it out; it will not be difficult. I will put the whole matter in the hands of the police. I shall send to Scotland Yard for a detective. There are marks underneath the window. I picked up a man’s glove upon the library floor. A clever fellow will find enough to work upon. I will find this blackguard for myself, and the law shall deal with him as he deserves.”
“Wolfenden, have mercy! May I not know best? Are my wishes, my prayers, nothing to you?”
“A great deal, mother, yet I consider myself also a judge as to the wisest course to pursue. The plan which I have suggested may clear up many things. It may bring to light the real object of this man. It may solve the mystery of that impostor, Wilmot. I am tired of all this uncertainty. We will have some daylight. I shall telegraph to-morrow morning to Scotland Yard.”
“Wolfenden, I beseech you!”
“So also do I beseech you, mother, to tell me that man’s name. Great heavens!”
Wolfenden sprang suddenly from his chair with startledface. An idea, slow of coming, but absolutely convincing from its first conception, had suddenly flashed home to him. How could he have been so blind? He stood looking at his mother in fixed suspense. The light of his knowledge was in his face, and she saw it. She had been dreading this all the while.
“It was Mr. Sabin!—the man who calls himself Sabin!”
A little moan of despair crept out from her lips. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
Mr. Sabin, entering his breakfast-room as usual at ten o’clock on the following morning, found, besides the usual pile of newspapers and letters, a telegram, which had arrived too late for delivery on the previous evening. He opened it in leisurely fashion whilst he sipped his coffee. It was handed in at the Charing Cross Post Office, and was signed simply “K.”:—
“Just returned. When can you call and conclude arrangements? Am anxious to see you. Read to-night’s paper.—K.”
“Just returned. When can you call and conclude arrangements? Am anxious to see you. Read to-night’s paper.—K.”
The telegram slipped from Mr. Sabin’s fingers. He tore open theSt. James’s Gazette, and a little exclamation escaped from his lips as he saw the thick black type which headed the principal columns:—
Mr. Sabin’s breakfast remained untasted. He read every word in the four columns, and then turned to the other newspapers. They were all ablaze with the news. England’s most renowned ally had turned suddenly against her. Without the slightest warning the fire-brand of war had been kindled, and waved threateningly in our very faces. The occasion was hopelessly insignificant. A handful of English adventurers, engaged in a somewhat rash but plucky expedition in a distant part of the world, had met with a sharp reverse. In itself the affair was nothing; yet it bade fair to become a matter of international history. Ill-advised though they may have been, the Englishmen carried with them a charter granted by the British Government. There was no secret about it—the fact was perfectly understood in every Cabinet of Europe. Yet the German Emperor had himself written a telegram congratulating the State which had repelled the threatened attack. It was scarcely an invasion—it was little more than a demonstration on the part of an ill-treated section of the population! The fact that German interests were in no way concerned—that any outside interference was simply a piece of gratuitous impertinence—only intensified the significance of the incident. A deliberate insult had been offered to England; and the man who sat there with the paper clenched in his hand, whilst his keen eyes devoured the long columns of wonder and indignation, knew that his had been the hand which had hastened the long-pent-up storm. He drew a little breath when he had finished, and turned to his breakfast.
“Is Miss Sabin up yet?” he asked the servant, who waited upon him.
The man was not certain, but withdrew to inquire. He reappeared almost directly. Miss Sabin had been up for more than an hour. She had just returned from a walk, and had ordered breakfast to be served in her room.
“Tell her,” Mr. Sabin directed, “that I should be exceedingly obliged if she would take her coffee with me. I have some interesting news.”
The man was absent for several minutes. Before he returned Helène came in. Mr. Sabin greeted her with his usual courtesy and even more than his usual cordiality.
“You are missing the best part of the morning with your Continental habits,” she exclaimed brightly. “I have been out on the cliffs since half-past eight. The air is delightful.”
She threw off her hat, and going to the sideboard, helped herself to a cup of coffee. There was a becoming flush upon her cheeks—her hair was a little tossed by the wind. Mr. Sabin watched her curiously.
“You have not, I suppose, seen a morning paper—or rather last night’s paper?” he remarked.
She shook her head.
“A newspaper! You know that I never look at an English one,” she answered. “You wanted to see me, Reynolds said. Is there any news?”
“There is great news,” he answered. “There is such news that by sunset to-day war will probably be declared between England and Germany!”
The flush died out of her cheeks. She faced him pallid to the lips.
“It is not possible!” she exclaimed.
“So the whole world would have declared a week ago! As a matter of fact it is not so sudden as we imagine! The storm has been long brewing! It is we who have been blind. A little black spot of irritation has spread and deepened into a war-cloud.”
“This will affect us?” she asked.
“For us,” he answered, “it is a triumph. It is the end of our schemes, the climax of our desires. When Knigenstein came to me I knew that he was in earnest,but I never dreamed that the torch was so nearly kindled. I see now why he was so eager to make terms with me.”
“And you,” she said, “you have their bond?”
For a moment he looked thoughtful.
“Not yet. I have their promise—the promise of the Emperor himself. But as yet my share of the bargain is incomplete. There must be no more delay. It must be finished now—at once. That telegram would never have been sent from Berlin but for their covenant with me. It would have been better, perhaps, had they waited a little time. But one cannot tell! The opportunity was too good to let slip.”
“How long will it be,” she asked, “before your work is complete?”
His face clouded over. In the greater triumph he had almost forgotten the minor difficulties of the present. He was a diplomatist and a schemer of European fame. He had planned great things, and had accomplished them. Success had been on his side so long that he might almost have been excused for declining to reckon failure amongst the possibilities. The difficulty which was before him now was as trifling as the uprooting of a hazel switch after the conquest of a forest of oaks. But none the less for the moment he was perplexed. It was hard, in the face of this need for urgent haste, to decide upon the next step.
“My work,” he said slowly, “must be accomplished at once. There is very little wanted. Yet that little, I must confess, troubles me.”
“You have not succeeded, then, in obtaining what you want from Lord Deringham?”
“No.”
“Will he not help you at all?”
“Never.”
“How, then, do you mean to get at these papers of his?”
“At present,” he replied, “I scarcely know. In an hour or two I may be able to tell you. It is possible that it might take me twenty-four hours; certainly no longer than that.”
She walked to the window, and stood there with her hands clasped behind her back. Mr. Sabin had lit a cigarette and was smoking it thoughtfully.
Presently she spoke to him.
“You will get them,” she said; “yes, I believe that. In the end you will succeed, as you have succeeded in everything.”
There was a lack of enthusiasm in her tone. He looked up quietly, and flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette.
“You are right,” he said. “I shall succeed. My only regret is that I have made a slight miscalculation. It will take longer than I imagined. Knigenstein will be in a fever, and I am afraid that he will worry me. At the same time he is himself to blame. He has been needlessly precipitate.”
She turned away from the window and stood before him. She had a look in her face which he had seen there but once before, and the memory of which had ever since troubled him.
“I want you,” she said, “to understand this. I will not have any direct harm worked upon the Deringhams. If you can get what they have and what is necessary to us by craft—well, very good. If not, it must go! I will not have force used. You should remember that Lord Wolfenden saved your life! I will have nothing to do with any scheme which brings harm upon them!”
He looked at her steadily. A small spot of colour was burning high up on his pallid cheeks. The white, slender fingers, toying carelessly with one of the breakfast appointments, were shaking. He was very near being passionately angry.
“Do you mean,” he said, speaking slowly and enunciating every word with careful distinctness, “do you mean that you would sacrifice or even endanger the greatest cause which has ever been conceived in the heart of the patriot, to the whole skin of a household of English people? I wonder whether you realise the position as it stands at this moment. I am bound in justice to you to believe that you do not. Do you realise that Germany has closed with our offer, and will act at our behest; that only a few trifling sheets of paper stand between us and the fullest, the most glorious success? Is it a time, do you think, for scruples or for maudlin sentiment? If I were to fail in my obligations towards Knigenstein I should not only be dishonoured and disgraced, but our cause would be lost for ever. The work of many years would crumble into ashes. My own life would not be worth an hour’s purchase. Helène, you are mad! You are either mad, or worse!”
She faced him quite unmoved. It was more than ever apparent that she was not amongst those who feared him.
“I am perfectly sane,” she said, “and I am very much in earnest. Ours shall be a strategic victory, or we will not triumph at all. I believe that you are planning some desperate means of securing those papers. I repeat that I will not have it!”
He looked at her with curling lips.
“Perhaps,” he said, “it is I who have gone mad! At least I can scarcely believe that I am not dreaming. Is it really you, Helène of Bourbon, the descendant of kings, a daughter of the rulers of France, who falters and turns pale at the idea of a little blood, shed for her country’s sake? I am very much afraid,” he added with biting sarcasm, “that I have not understood you. You bear the name of a great queen, but you have the heart of a serving-maid! It is Lord Wolfenden for whom you fear!”
She was not less firm, but her composure was affected.The rich colour streamed into her cheeks. She remained silent.
“For a betrothed young lady,” he said slowly, “you will forgive me if I say that your anxiety is scarcely discreet. What you require, I suppose, is a safe conduct for your lover. I wonder how Henriwould——”
She flashed a glance and an interjection upon him which checked the words upon his lips. The gesture was almost a royal one. He was silenced.
“How dare you, sir?” she exclaimed. “You are taking insufferable liberties. I do not permit you to interfere in my private concerns. Understand that even if your words were true, if I choose to have a lover it is my affair, not yours. As for Henri, what has he to complain of? Read the papers and ask yourself that! They chronicle his doings freely enough! He is singularly discreet, is he not?—singularly faithful!”
She threw at him a glance of contempt and turned as though to leave the room. Mr. Sabin, recognising the fact that the situation was becoming dangerous, permitted himself no longer the luxury of displaying his anger. He was quite himself again, calm, judicial, incisive.
“Don’t go away, please,” he said. “I am sorry that you have read those reports—more than sorry that you should have attached any particular credence to them. As you know, the newspapers always exaggerate; in many of the stories which they tell I do not believe that there is a single word of truth. But I will admit that Henri has not been altogether discreet. Yet he is young, and there are many excuses to be made for him. Apart from that, the whole question of his behaviour is beside the question. Your marriage with him was never intended to be one of affection. He is well enough in his way, but there is not the stuff in him to make a man worthy of your love. Your alliance with him is simply a necessary link in the chain of our great undertaking. Between you you will represent the two royalfamilies of France. That is what is necessary. You must marry him, but afterwards—well, you will be a queen!”
Again he had erred. She looked at him with bent brows and kindling eyes.
“Oh! you are hideously cynical!” she exclaimed. “I may be ambitious, but it is for my country’s sake. If I reign, the Court of France shall be of a new type; we will at least show the world that to be a Frenchwoman is not necessarily to abjure morals.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“That,” he said, “will be as you choose. You will make your Court what you please. Personally, I believe that you are right. Such sentiments as you have expressed, properly conveyed to them, would make yours abjectly half the bourgeois of France! Be as ambitious as you please, but at least be sensible. Do not think any more of this young Englishman, not at any rate at present. Nothing but harm can come of it. He is not like the men of our own country, who know how to take a lady’s dismissal gracefully.”
“He is, at least, a man!”
“Helène, why should we discuss him? He shall come to no harm at my hands. Be wise, and forget him. He can be nothing whatever to you. You know that. You are pledged to greater things.”
She moved back to her place by the window. Her eyes were suddenly soft, her face was sorrowful. She did not speak, and he feared her silence more than her indignation. When a knock at the door came he was grateful for the interruption—grateful, that is, until he saw who it was upon the threshold. Then he started to his feet with a little exclamation.
“Lord Wolfenden! You are an early visitor.”
Wolfenden smiled grimly, and advanced into the room.
“I was anxious,” he said, “to run no risk of finding you out. My mission is not altogether a pleasant one!”
A single glance from Mr. Sabin into Wolfenden’s face was sufficient. Under his breath he swore a small, quiet oath. Wolfenden’s appearance was unlooked for, and almost fatal, yet that did not prevent him from greeting his visitor with his usual ineffusive but well bred courtesy.
“I am finishing a late breakfast,” he remarked. “Can I offer you anything—a glass of claret or Benedictine?”
Wolfenden scarcely heard him, and answered altogether at random. He had suddenly become aware that Helène was in the room; she was coming towards him from the window recess, with a brilliant smile upon her lips.
“How very kind of you to look us up so early!” she exclaimed.
Mr. Sabin smiled grimly as he poured himself out a liqueur and lit a cigarette. He was perfectly well aware that Wolfenden’s visit was not one of courtesy; a single glance into his face had told him all that he cared to know. It was fortunate that Helène had been in the room. Every moment’s respite he gained was precious.
“Have you come to ask me to go for a drive in that wonderful vehicle?” she said lightly, pointing out of the window to where his dogcart was waiting. “I should want a step-ladder to mount it!”
Wolfenden answered her gravely.
“I should feel very honoured at being allowed to take you for a drive at any time,” he said, “only I think that I would rather bring a more comfortable carriage.”
She shrugged her shoulders, and looked at him significantly.
“The one you were driving yesterday?”
He bit his lip and frowned with vexation, yet on the whole, perhaps, he did not regret her allusion. It was proof that she had not taken the affair too seriously.
“The one I was driving yesterday would be a great deal more comfortable,” he said; “to-day I only thought of getting here quickly. I have a little business with Mr. Sabin.”
“Is that a hint for me to go?” she asked. “You are not agreeable this morning! What possible business can you have with my uncle which does not include me? I am not inclined to go away; I shall stay and listen.”
Mr. Sabin smiled faintly; the girl was showing her sense now at any rate. Wolfenden was obviously embarrassed. Helène remained blandly unconscious of anything serious.
“I suppose,” she said, “that you want to talk golf again! Golf! Why one hears nothing else but golf down here. Don’t you ever shoot or ride for a change?”
Wolfenden was suddenly assailed by an horrible suspicion. He could scarcely believe that her unconsciousness was altogether natural. At the bare suspicion of her being in league with this man he stiffened. He answered without looking at her, conscious though he was that her dark eyes were seeking his invitingly, and that her lips were curving into a smile.
“I am not thinking of playing golf to-day,” he said. “Unfortunately I have less pleasant things to consider. If you could give me five minutes, Mr. Sabin,” he added, “I should be very glad.”
She rose immediately with all the appearance of beinggenuinely offended; there was a little flush in her cheeks and she walked straight to the door. Wolfenden held it open for her.
“I am exceedingly sorry to have been in the way for a moment,” she said; “pray proceed with your business at once.”
Wolfenden did not answer her. As she passed through the doorway she glanced up at him; he was not even looking at her. His eyes were fixed upon Mr. Sabin. The fingers which rested upon the door knob seemed twitching with impatience to close it. She stood quite still for a moment; the colour left her cheeks, and her eyes grew soft. She was not angry any longer. Instinctively some idea of the truth flashed in upon her; she passed out thoughtfully. Wolfenden closed the door and turned to Mr. Sabin.
“You can easily imagine the nature of my business,” he said coldly. “I have come to have an explanation with you.”
Mr. Sabin lit a fresh cigarette and smiled on Wolfenden thoughtfully.
“Certainly,” he said; “an explanation! Exactly!”
“Well,” said Wolfenden, “suppose you commence, then.”
Mr. Sabin looked puzzled.
“Had you not better be a little more explicit?” he suggested gently.
“I will be,” Wolfenden replied, “as explicit as you choose. My mother has given me her whole confidence. I have come to ask how you dare to enter Deringham Hall as a common burglar attempting to commit a theft; and to demand that you instantly return to me a letter, on which you have attempted to levy blackmail. Is that explicit enough?”
Mr. Sabin’s face did not darken, nor did he seem in any way angry or discomposed. He puffed at his cigarette fora moment or two, and then looked blandly across at his visitor.
“You are talking rubbish,” he said in his usual calm, even tones, “but you are scarcely to blame. It is altogether my own fault. It is quite true that I was in your house last night, but it was at your mother’s invitation, and I should very much have preferred coming openly at the usual time, to sneaking in according to her directions through a window. It was only a very small favour I asked, but Lady Deringham persuaded me that your father’s mental health and antipathy to strangers was such that he would never give me the information I desired, voluntarily, and it was entirely at her suggestion that I adopted the means I did. I am very sorry indeed that I allowed myself to be over-persuaded and placed in an undoubtedly false position. Women are always nervous and imaginative, and I am convinced that if I had gone openly to your father and laid my case before him he would have helped me.”
“He would have done nothing of the sort!” Wolfenden declared. “Nothing would induce him to show even a portion of his work to a stranger.”
Mr. Sabin shrugged his shoulders gently, and continued without heeding the interruption.
“As to my blackmailing Lady Deringham, you have spoken plainly to me, and you must forgive me for answering you in the same fashion. It is a lie! I had letters of hers, which I voluntarily destroyed in her presence; they were only a little foolish, or I should have destroyed them long ago. I had the misfortune to be once a favoured suitor for your mother’s hand; and I think I may venture to say—I am sure she will not contradict me—that I was hardly treated. The only letter I ever had from her likely to do her the least harm I destroyed fifteen years ago, when I first embarked upon what has been to a certainextent a career of adventure. I told her that it was not in the packet which we burnt together yesterday. If she understood from that that it was still in my possession, and that I was retaining it for any purpose whatever, she was grievously mistaken in my words. That is all I have to say.”
He had said it very well indeed. Wolfenden, listening intently to every word, with his eyes rigidly fixed upon the man’s countenance, could not detect a single false note anywhere. He was puzzled. Perhaps his mother had been nervously excited, and had mistaken some sentence of his for a covert threat. Yet he thought of her earnestness, her terrible earnestness, and a sense of positive bewilderment crept over him.
“We will leave my mother out of the question then,” he said. “We will deal with this matter between ourselves. I should like to know exactly what part of my father’s work you are so anxious to avail yourself of, and for what purpose?”
Mr. Sabin drew a letter from his pocket, and handed it over to Wolfenden. It was from the office of one of the first European Reviews, and briefly contained a request that Mr. Sabin would favour them with an article on the comparative naval strengths of European Powers, with particular reference to the armament and coast defences of Great Britain. Wolfenden read it carefully and passed it back. The letter was genuine, there was no doubt about that.
“It seemed to me,” Mr. Sabin continued, “the most natural thing in the world to consult your father upon certain matters concerning which he is, or has been, a celebrated authority. In fact I decided to do so at the instigation of one of the Lords of your Admiralty, to whom he is personally well known. I had no idea of acting except in the most open manner, and I called at Deringham Hall yesterday afternoon, and sent in my card in a perfectly orthodox way, as you may have heard. Your mother tookquite an unexpected view of the whole affair, owing partly to your father’s unfortunate state of health and partly to some extraordinary attempts which, I am given to understand, have been made to rob him of his work. She was very anxious to help me, but insisted that it must be secretly. Last night’s business was, I admit, a ghastly mistake—only it was not my mistake! I yielded to Lady Deringham’s proposals under strong protest. As a man, I think I may say of some intelligence, I am ashamed of the whole affair; at the same time I am guilty only of an indiscretion which was sanctioned and instigated by your mother. I really do not see how I can take any blame to myself in the matter.”
“You could scarcely attribute to Lady Deringham,” Wolfenden remarked, “the injury to the watchman.”
“I can take but little blame to myself,” Mr. Sabin answered promptly. “The man was drunk; he had been, I imagine, made drunk, and I merely pushed him out of the way. He fell heavily, but the fault was not mine. Look at my physique, and remember that I was unarmed, and ask yourself what mischief I could possibly have done to the fellow.”
Wolfenden reflected.
“You appear to be anxious,” he said, “to convince me that your desire to gain access to a portion of my father’s papers is a harmless one. I should like to ask you why you have in your employ a young lady who was dismissed from Deringham Hall under circumstances of strong suspicion?”
Mr. Sabin raised his eyebrows.
“It is the first time I have heard of anything suspicious connected with Miss Merton,” he said. “She came into my service with excellent testimonials, and I engaged her at Willing’s bureau. The fact that she had been employed at Deringham Hall was merely a coincidence.”
“Was it also a coincidence,” Wolfenden continued, “that in reply to a letter attempting to bribe my father’s secretary, Mr. Blatherwick, it was she, Miss Merton, who kept an appointment with him?”
“That,” Mr. Sabin answered, “I know nothing of. If you wish to question Miss Merton you are quite at liberty to do so; I will send for her.”
Wolfenden shook his head.
“Miss Merton was far too clever to commit herself,” he said; “she knew from the first that she was being watched, and behaved accordingly. If she was not there as your agent, her position becomes more extraordinary still.”
“I can assure you,” Mr. Sabin said, with an air of weariness, “that I am not the man of mystery you seem to think me. I should never dream of employing such roundabout means for gaining possession of a few statistics.”
Wolfenden was silent. His case was altogether one of surmises; he could prove nothing.
“Perhaps,” he said, “I have been precipitate. It would appear so. But if I am unduly suspicious, you have yourself only to blame! You admit that your name is an assumed one. You refuse my suit to your niece without any reasonable cause. You are evidently, to be frank, a person of much more importance than you lay claim to be. Now be open with me. If there is any reason, although I cannot conceive an honest one, for concealing your identity, why, I will respect your confidence absolutely. You may rely upon that. Tell me who you are, and who your niece is, and why you are travelling about in this mysterious way.”
Mr. Sabin smiled good-humouredly.
“Well,” he said, “you must forgive me if I plead guilty to the false identity—and preserve it. For certain reasons it would not suit me to take even you into my confidence. Besides which, if you will forgive my saying so, there doesnot seem to be the least necessity for it. We are leaving here during the week, and shall in all probability go abroad almost at once; so we are not likely to meet again. Let us part pleasantly, and abandon a somewhat profitless discussion.”
For a moment Wolfenden was staggered. They were leaving England! Going away! That meant that he would see no more of Helène. His indignation against the man, kindled almost into passionate anger by his mother’s story, was forgotten, overshadowed by a keen thrill of personal disappointment. If they were really leaving England, he might bid farewell to any chance of winning her; and there were certain words of hers, certain gestures, which had combined to fan that little flame of hope, which nothing as yet had ever been able to extinguish. He looked into Mr. Sabin’s quiet face, and he was conscious of a sense of helplessness. The man was too strong and too wily for him; it was an unequal contest.
“We will abandon the discussion then, if you will,” Wolfenden said slowly. “I will talk with Lady Deringham again. She is in an extremely nervous state; it is possible of course that she may have misunderstood you.”
Mr. Sabin sighed with an air of gentle relief. Ah! if the men of other countries were only as easy to delude as these Englishmen! What a triumphant career might yet be his!
“I am very glad,” he said, “that you do me the honour to take, what I can assure you, is the correct view of the situation. I hope that you will not hurry away; may I not offer you a cigarette?”
Wolfenden sat down for the first time.
“Are you in earnest,” he asked, “when you speak of leaving England so soon?”
“Assuredly! You will do me the justice to admit that I have never pretended to like your country, have I? I hopeto leave it for several years, if not for ever, within the course of a few weeks.”
“And your niece, Mr. Sabin?”
“She accompanies me, of course; she likes this country even less than I do. Perhaps, under the circumstances, our departure is the best thing that could happen; it is at any rate opportune.”
“I cannot agree with you,” Wolfenden said; “for me it is most inopportune. I need scarcely say that I have not abandoned my desire to make your niece my wife.”
“I should have thought,” Mr. Sabin said, with a fine note of satire in his tone, “that you would have put far away from you all idea of any connection with such suspicious personages.”
“I have never had,” Wolfenden said calmly, “any suspicion at all concerning your niece.”
“She would be, I am sure, much flattered,” Mr. Sabin declared. “At the same time I can scarcely see on what grounds you continue to hope for an impossibility. My niece’s refusal seemed to me explicit enough, especially when coupled with my own positive prohibition.”
“Your niece,” Wolfenden said, “is doubtless of age. I should not trouble about your consent if I could gain hers, and I may as well tell you at once, that I by no means despair of doing so.”
Mr. Sabin bit his lip, and his dark eyes flashed out with a sudden fire.
“I should be glad to know, sir,” he said, “on what grounds you consider my voice in the affair to be ineffective?”
“Partly,” Wolfenden answered, “for the reason which I have already given you—because your niece is of age; and partly also because you persist in giving me no definite reason for your refusal.”
“I have told you distinctly,” Mr. Sabin said, “thatmy niece is betrothed and will be married within six months.”
“To whom? where is he? why is he not here? Your niece wears no engagement ring. I will answer for it, that if she is as you say betrothed, it is not of her own free will.”
“You talk,” Mr. Sabin said with dangerous calm, “like a fool. It is not customary amongst the class to which my niece belongs to wear always an engagement ring. As for her affections, she has had, I am glad to say, a sufficient self-control to keep them to herself. Your presumption is simply the result of your entire ignorance. I appeal to you for the last time, Lord Wolfenden, to behave like a man of common sense, and abandon hopes which can only end in disappointment.”
“I have no intention of doing anything of the sort,” Wolfenden said doggedly; “we Englishmen are a pig-headed race, as you were once polite enough to observe. Your niece is the only woman whom I have wished to marry, and I shall marry her, if I can.”
“I shall make it my especial concern,” Mr. Sabin said firmly, “to see that all intercourse between you ends at once.”
Wolfenden rose to his feet.
“It is obviously useless,” he said, “to continue this conversation. I have told you my intentions. I shall pursue them to the best of my ability. Good-morning.”
Mr. Sabin held out his hand.
“I have just a word more to say to you,” he declared. “It is about your father.”
“I do not desire to discuss my father, or any other matter with you,” Wolfenden said quietly. “As to my father’s work, I am determined to solve the mystery connected with it once and for all. I have wired for Mr. C. to come down, and, if necessary, take possession ofthe papers. You can get what information you require from him yourself.”
Mr. Sabin rose up slowly; his long, white fingers were clasped around the head of that curious stick of his. There was a peculiar glint in his eyes, and his cheeks were pale with passion.
“I am very much obliged to you for telling me that,” he said; “it is valuable information for me. I will certainly apply to Mr. C.”
He had been drawing nearer and nearer to Wolfenden. Suddenly he stopped, and, with a swift movement, raised the stick on which he had been leaning, over his head. It whirled round in a semi-circle. Wolfenden, fascinated by that line of gleaming green light, hesitated for a moment, then he sprang backwards, but he was too late. The head of the stick came down on his head, his upraised arm did little to break the force of the blow. He sank to the ground with a smothered groan.
At the sound of his cry, Helène, who had been crossing the hall, threw open the door just as Mr. Sabin’s fingers were upon the key. Seeing that he was powerless to keep from her the knowledge of what had happened, he did not oppose her entrance. She glided into the centre of the room with a stifled cry of terror. Together, she and Mr. Sabin bent over Wolfenden’s motionless figure. Mr. Sabin unfastened the waistcoat and felt his heart. She did not speak until he had held his hand there for several seconds, then she asked a question.
“Have you killed him?”
Mr. Sabin shook his head and smiled gently.
“Too tough a skull by far,” he said. “Can you get a basin and a towel without any one seeing you?”
She nodded, and fetched them from her own room. The water was fresh and cold, and the towel was of fine linen daintily hemmed, and fragrant with the perfume of violets. Yet neither of these things, nor the soft warmth of her breathing upon his cheek, seemed to revive him in the least. He lay quite still in the same heavy stupor. Mr. Sabin stood upright and looked at him thoughtfully. His face had grown almost haggard.
“We had better send for a doctor,” she whispered fiercely. “I shall fetch one myself if you do not!”
Mr. Sabin gently dissented.
“I know quite as much as any doctor,” he said; “the man is not dead, or dying, or likely to die. I wonder if we could move him on to that sofa!”
Together they managed it somehow. Mr. Sabin, in the course of his movements to and fro about the room, was attracted by the sight of the dogcart still waiting outside. He frowned, and stood for a moment looking thoughtfully at it. Then he went outside.
“Are you waiting for Lord Wolfenden?” he asked the groom.
The man looked up in surprise.
“Yes, sir. I set him down here nearly an hour ago. I had no orders to go home.”
“Lord Wolfenden has evidently forgotten all about you,” Mr. Sabin said. “He left by the back way for the golf course, and I am going to join him there directly. He is not coming back here at all. You had better go home, I should think.”
The man touched his hat.
“Very good, sir.”
There was a little trampling up of the gravel, and Wolfenden’s dogcart rapidly disappeared in the distance. Mr. Sabin, with set face and a hard glitter in his eyes went back into the morning room. Helène was still on her knees by Wolfenden’s prostrate figure when he entered. She spoke to him without looking up.
“He is a little better, I think; he opened his eyes just now.”
“He is not seriously hurt,” Mr. Sabin said; “there may be some slight concussion, nothing more. The question is, first, what to do with him, and secondly, how to make the best use of the time which must elapse before he will be well enough to go home.”
She looked at him now in horror. He was always likethis, unappalled by anything which might happen, eager only to turn every trick of fortune to his own ends. Surely his nerves were of steel and his heart of iron.
“I think,” she said, “that I should first make sure that he is likely to recover at all.”
Mr. Sabin answered mechanically, his thoughts seemed far away.
“His recovery is a thing already assured,” he said. “His skull was too hard to crack; he will be laid up for an hour or two. What I have to decide is how to use that hour or two to the best possible advantage.”
She looked away from him and shuddered. This passionate absorption of all his energies into one channel had made a fiend of the man. Her slowly growing purpose took to itself root and branch, as she knelt by the side of the young Englishman, who only a few moments ago had seemed the very embodiment of all manly vigour.
Mr. Sabin stood up. He had arrived at a determination.
“Helène,” he said, “I am going away for an hour, perhaps two. Will you take care of him until I return?”
“Yes.”
“You will promise not to leave him, or to send for a doctor?”
“I will promise, unless he seems to grow worse.”
“He will not get worse, he will be conscious in less than an hour. Keep him with you as long as you can, he will be safer here. Remember that!”
“I will remember,” she said.
He left the room, and soon she heard the sound of carriage wheels rolling down the avenue. His departure was an intense relief to her. She watched the carriage, furiously driven, disappear along the road. Then she returned to Wolfenden’s side. For nearly an hour she remained there, bathing his head, forcing now and thena little brandy between his teeth, and watching his breathing become more regular and the ghastly whiteness leaving his face. And all the while she was thoughtful. Once or twice her hands touched his hair tenderly, almost caressingly. There was a certain wistfulness in her regard of him. She bent close over his face; he was still apparently as unconscious as ever. She hesitated for a moment; the red colour burned in one bright spot on her cheeks. She stooped down and kissed him on the forehead, whispering something under her breath. Almost before she could draw back, he opened his eyes. She was overwhelmed with confusion, but seeing that he had no clear knowledge of what had happened, she rapidly recovered herself. He looked around him and then up into her face.
“What has happened?” he asked. “Where am I?”
“You are at the Lodge,” she said quietly. “You called to see Mr. Sabin this morning, you know, and I am afraid you must have quarrelled.”
“Ah! it was that beastly stick,” he said slowly. “He struck at me suddenly. Where is he now?”
She did not answer him at once. It was certainly better not to say that she had seen him driven rapidly away only a short time ago, with his horses’ heads turned to Deringham Hall.
“He will be back soon,” she said. “Do not think about him, please. I cannot tell you how sorry I am.”
He was recovering himself rapidly. Something in her eyes was sending the blood warmly through his veins; he felt better every instant.
“I do not want to think about him,” he murmured, “I do not want to think about any one else but you.”
She looked down at him with a half pathetic, half humorous twitching of her lips.
“You must please not make love to me, or I shall have to leave you,” she said. “The idea of thinking about sucha thing in your condition! You don’t want to send me away, do you?”
“On the contrary,” he answered, “I want to keep you always with me.”
“That,” she said briefly, “is impossible.”
“Nothing,” he declared, “is impossible, if only we make up our minds to it. I have made up mine!”
“You are very masterful! Are all Englishmen as confident as you?”
“I know nothing about other men,” he declared. “But I love you, Helène, and I am not sure that you do not care a little for me.”
She drew her hand away from his tightening clasp.
“I am going,” she said; “it is your own fault—you have driven me away.”
Her draperies rustled as she moved towards the door, but she did not go far.
“I do not feel so well,” he said quietly; “I believe that I am going to faint.”
She was on her knees by his side again in a moment. For a fainting man, the clasp of his fingers around hers was wonderfully strong.
“I feel better now,” he announced calmly. “I shall be all right if you stay quietly here, and don’t move about.”
She looked at him doubtfully.
“I do not believe,” she said, “that you felt ill at all; you are taking advantage of me!”
“I can assure you that I am not,” he answered; “when you are here I feel a different man.”
“I am quite willing to stay if you will behave yourself,” she said.
“Will you please define good behaviour?” he begged.
“In the present instance,” she laughed, “it consists in not saying silly things.”
“A thing which is true cannot be silly,” he protested.“It is true that I am never happy without you. That is why I shall never give you up.”
She looked down at him with bright eyes, and a frown which did not come easily.
“If you persist in making love to me,” she said, “I am going away. It is not permitted, understand that!”
He sighed.
“I am afraid,” he answered softly, “that I shall always be indulging in the luxury of the forbidden. For I love you, and I shall never weary of telling you so.”
“Then I must see,” she declared, making a subtle but unsuccessful attempt to disengage her hand, “that you have fewer opportunities.”
“If you mean that,” he said, “I must certainly make the most of this one. Helène, you could care for me, I know, and I could make you happy. You say ‘No’ to me because there is some vague entanglement—I will not call it an engagement—with some one else. You do not care for him, I am sure. Don’t marry him! It will be for your sorrow. So many women’s lives are spoilt like that. Dearest,” he added, gaining courage from her averted face, “I can make you happy, I am sure of it! I do not know who you are or who your people are, but they shall be my people—nothing matters, except that I love you. I don’t know what to say to you, Helène. There is something shadowy in your mind which seems to you to come between us. I don’t know what it is, or I would dispel it. Tell me, dear, won’t you give me a chance?”
She yielded her other hand to his impatient fingers, and looked down at him wistfully. Yet there was something in her gaze which he could not fathom. Of one thing he was very sure, there was a little tenderness shining out of her dark, brilliant eyes, a little regret, a little indecision. On the whole he was hopeful.