Now, while all Anglemere talked of its lord and master, it had no suspicion that he was near at hand.
Two days before Nell and Dick had arrived at the lodge, theSeagullsailed, with all the grace and ease of its namesake, into Southampton water, with my Lord of Angleford on board.
Drake leaned against the rail and looked with grave face and preoccupied air at his native land. Two years had passed since he had last seen it, and they had scored their log upon his face. It was handsome still, but the temples were flecked with gray, and there were certain lines on the forehead and about the mouth which are graven by other hands than Time's.
It was the face of one who lived in the past, and could find no pleasure in the present; and the expression in his eyes was that of the man to whom the gods have given everything but the one thing his heart desired.
As he leaned against the side, with his hands in his pockets, his yacht cap tilted over his eyes, he pondered on the vanity of human wishes.
Here he was, the Earl of Anglemere, owner of an historic title, the master of all the Angleford estates and wealth. Almost every man who heard his name envied him—some doubtless hated him—because of his wealth and rank. And yet he would have given it all if by so doing he could have been the "Drake Vernon" who had been loved by a certain Nell Lorton; and as he looked at the blue water, rippling in the sunlight round the stately yacht, his thoughts went back sadly to theAnnie Laurieand its girl owner, and he sighed heavily.
He had intended to be absent from England for some years—perhaps forever, and even when the cable informing him of his uncle's death and his own succession to the title had reached him, he had clung to his resolution of remaining abroad, for when the news got to him his uncle had been long buried, and there seemed to him no need of his return. It was easier to forget, or to persuade himself that he forgot, Nell, while he was sailing from port to port, or shooting big game in the wild and desolate places of the earth, than it would be in England. If Nell had still been pledged to him, how differently he would have received this gift which the gods had bestowed on him! To have been able to go to her and say: "Nell, you will be the Countess of Angleford; take my hand, and let me show you the inheritance you will share with me!" That would have been a happiness which would have doubled and trebled the value of his title and estates. But now! Nell was no longer his; he had lost her, and, having lost her, all the good things which had fallen to him were of as little value as a Rubens to the blind, or a nocturne of Chopin to the deaf.
When the lawyers worried him he sent curt and evasive replies, telling them in so many words to do the best they could without him, and when Lady Angleford wrote, begging him to return and take up his duties, he answered with condolences on her loss, and vague assurances that he would be back—some time. Then she wrote again; the kind of letter a clever woman can write; the letter which, for all its gentleness, stings and irritates:
"Much as you may dislike it, much as it may interfere with your love of wandering, the fact remains that you are the Earl of Angleford, my dear Drake. And the Earl of Angleford has higher duties than ordinary men. The lawyers want you, the estate want you, the people—do you think they do not want you? And, most of all, I think, I want you. Do you remember our first meeting? It was thought that I had come between you and yours; but the fact that I have not done so, the consolation I find in the thought, ismade of no avail by your absence. You are too good a fellow to inflict pain upon a lonely and sorrow-stricken woman, Drake. Come back and take your place among your peers and your people. Sometimes I think there must be some reason, some mysterious cause, for your prolonged absence, your reluctance to take up the duties and responsibilities of the position which has fallen to you; but if there should be, I beg of you to forget it, to set it aside. You are, you cannot help being, the Earl of Angleford. Come and play your part like a man."
It was the kind of letter which few men, certainly not Drake, could resist. Wondering bitterly whether she guessed at the reason, the cause of his reluctance to return to England, to take up the purple and ermine which had fallen from her husband's shoulders, he wrote a short note saying that he would "come back." In a second letter he asked her to get Angleford ready for him, not dreaming that she would take his request as a carte blanche, and turn the old place inside out and make it fit, as she considered fitness, for its new lord and master.
As theSeagullglided to her moorings, his expression grew harder and sterner. He was a man of the world, and he knew what would be expected of him. An earl, the owner of an historic title and vast estates, has a paramount duty—that of providing an heir to his title and lands.
Now that he had come back, he would be expected, would be hustled and goaded into marrying. Marrying! He swore under his breath, and began to pace up and down restlessly, so that Mr. Murphy, the yacht's master, thinking that his lordship was in a hurry to land, bustled the crew a bit. But when the dingy was lowered and the man-o'-warlike sailors were in their places, their lord and master lingered, for he was loath to leave theSeagull. How many nights had he paced her deck, thinking of Nell, calling up the vision of the clear, oval face, the soft, dark hair, the eyes that had grown violet-hued as they turned lovingly to him. That vision had sailed with him through many a stormy and sunlit sea, and he was loath to part with it. On shore, there he would have to plunge into his "duties," would have to sign leases, and read deeds, and listen to stewards and agents. There would be little time to think, to dream of Nell.
The dinghy took him ashore, and he put up at the large and crowded hotel, and spent the evening wishing that he was on theSeagull. The next day it occurred to him that he was within a ride of Anglemere, and he procured a horse and rode out to it. He had very little desire to see the chief of his "places," and when he had ridden up to the terracehe turned his horse down a side road and regained his hotel, little thinking that he had passed the window of Nell's room, that her eyes had rested upon him.
The sight of the old place had awakened memories which saddened him. He had played on that terrace, on the lawn beneath, when a boy. Even as a boy he had learned to regard Anglemere as his future home; and he had been, in a childish way, proud of the fact. It was his now—and what little pride and pleasure could be found in its possession! If Nell——With something like an oath he dragged himself up the grandiose stairs of the hotel, and went to bed.
In the morning the mate of the yacht brought him a letter from Lady Angleford. It said that she had heard that he had arrived at Southampton, and that she hoped he would go on to Anglemere and see and approve of the alterations and improvements she was attempting, and that he would "go into residence" in three weeks' time, as she had asked a housewarming party to welcome him.
Drake stared at the letter moodily, and wished himself among the big game in Africa, or salmon fishing in Norway; but he felt that Lady Angleford was trying to do her duty by him, and knew that he ought to follow suit.
He gravitated between the hotel and his yacht for a few days, his face growing sterner and more moody each day, then he rode out to Anglemere again.
It was a lovely afternoon, and, if he had not been haunted by the vision of Nell, Drake would have reveled in the blue sky, the soft breeze, the singing of the birds, and the scent of the flowers; but all these recalled Nell and Shorne Mills, and only made the aching of his heart more acute.
He wondered, as he rode along the well-kept roads, whether she was still at Shorne Mills; whether she had forgotten him, whether she was married. At the last thought, the blood rushed to his head, and he jerked the reins so that the good horse broke into a gallop which carried Drake to the southern lodge, where—if he could but have known it!—dwelt Nell herself!
The gates were open, and he rode through; but as he passed the lodge, the sound of a violin played by a master hand smote upon his ear. He pulled the horse into a walk, and approached the house in a dream.
Workmen were all over the place, and he stared about him like a stranger; and they eyed him with half-indifferent, half-curious scrutiny. He got off his horse and walked up the stone steps of the terrace into the hall. Here the foreman of the firm of decorators approached him.
"Do you want to see any one, sir?" he asked.
"No," said Drake diplomatically. He was reluctant toannounce himself. "You are making some alterations?" he said.
"Rather, sir," assented the foreman, with a self-satisfied smile. "We're just turning the old place inside out. For the new lord, you know."
"I see," said Drake.
He knew that he ought to have said: "I am the new lord—I am Lord Angleford." But he shrank from it. The whole thing, the transformation of the old place, though he knew it was necessary, was distasteful to him.
"What is that?" and he nodded toward a cluster of small globes in the center of the hall.
"Oh, that! That's the electric light," said the man. "There's going to be electric lights all over the house. Wait a minute, and I'll turn some of it on; though perhaps I'd better not, for the gentleman who manages it is away to-day. He's gone to Southampton to see after some things which ought to have come this morning."
"Don't trouble," said Drake absently.
"Well, perhaps I'd better not," said the man. "He mightn't like it. He's the gent that lives in the lodge."
"In the lodge!" said Drake. "The south lodge?"
The man nodded.
"He plays the violin?" said Drake.
The man grinned.
"No, no! That's his friend. He's a musician—the gentleman his sister is engaged to."
Drake got on his horse and rode away, leaving the park by the east lodge.
The three weeks slipped away, and the day for the great gathering at Anglemere was near at hand. By dint of working day and night, the contractors had succeeded in getting the house finished in time; and Lady Angleford, who had come down, with an army of servants, at the week's end, expressed her approval and her astonishment that so much should have been effected in so short a time.
The lord and master was not to arrive until the evening of the twenty-first, the date of the ball, and most of the house party had reached Anglemere before him. He had pleaded urgent business as an excuse for not putting in an appearance earlier; but, beyond seeing his lawyers and listening to their complaints at his absence, he had done very little business, and had been cruising in the Solent to while away the interval.
The villagers wanted to "receive" him at the station, and talked of a "welcome" arch; but no one could find out at what hour to expect him; and Lady Angleford, who, withnative quickness, had learned a great deal of his character in her short acquaintance with him, and was quite aware that he disliked fuss of any kind, had discouraged the idea.
The dogcart was sent to the station to meet the six-o'clock train, on chance, and he arrived by it, and was driven home, cheered by a few groups of the villagers who had hung about in the hope of seeing him.
Lady Angleford met him in the hall, and they went at once to the library.
"I can't tell you how glad I am that you have come, Drake—I suppose I may call you Drake?" she said, holding out her hand again to him.
"You shall call me by any name that pleases you," he said, smiling at her, and speaking very gently, for she was still in mourning, and looked very fragile and petite.
"Thanks. And yet I am not a little nervous. I don't know how you'll quite take the alterations I have made, whether you will think I have been too presumptuous. I shall watch your face with an anxious eye when I take you over the place presently."
"My only feeling is one of intense gratitude," he said; "and I can't express my thanks and surprise that you should have taken so much trouble. I had an idea that the place was all right, that what was good enough for my uncle——"
She winced slightly, but smiled bravely.
"No, Drake; he was an old man, and came here but seldom; you are young, and, I hope, will spend a great deal of time here. After all, it is your real English home."
He nodded, but not very assentingly.
"I don't know," he said, rather moodily. "I am rather a restless mortal, and find it difficult to settle in any one place."
"Have you been well?" she asked, as she saw his face plainly, for he had turned to the window.
"Oh, yes; quite," he replied.
She looked at him rather doubtfully.
"You are thinner, and——"
"Older," he said, with a smile.
"I was not going to say that; but I was going to say that you looked as if you had not been sparing yourself lately."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"I had rather a rough time of it in Africa—and a touch of fever. It always leaves its mark, you know."
She nodded as if she accepted the explanation; but she was not satisfied. A touch of fever does not leave behind the expression of weariness which brooded in his eyes.
"If you are not too tired, will you come round with me?" she said. "There's an opportunity now, for all the people areout riding or driving, and we shall be more free than we shall be when they come bustling in."
"Certainly," he said, opening the door for her. "I suppose you have filled the house? Is it a large party?"
"I am afraid it is," she said, apologetically; "but the house is not quite full, for some of the people who are coming to the dance to-morrow will have to stay the night. By the way, I asked you if there was any one to whom you would like me to send a card, but you did not reply."
"Didn't I? I humbly beg your pardon, countess! No, there was no one."
He looked round the hall admiringly.
"You have done wonders!" he said; "and in such a short time! I rode over here from the hotel the other day, and imagined they would take at least a month to finish. And is that the old drawing-room? Can it be possible! It is charming! Ah, you have left the dining room untouched—that's right."
Lady Angleford laughed.
"There is not an inch of it that has not been touched; but with reverent hands, I hope. It is upstairs that we have done most. The bedrooms, you will admit, wanted thorough renovating."
"Yes, yes," he said, as he walked beside her. "It's all perfect. It must have cost a great deal of money."
She nodded.
"Oh, yes; but it does not matter, you know."
He glanced at her questioningly.
"It really does not," she said. "Have you any idea how rich you are, Drake?"
He shook his head.
"I'm ashamed to say that I don't quite know how I stand. The lawyers jawed about it the other day, and I did fully manage to understand that my uncle had left me everything. Was that fair, countess?" he added gravely.
"Yes," she replied simply. "He wanted to leave me all he could; but I would not let him. You know that I have enough, and much more than enough, of my own. So why should he leave me any more?"
Drake took her hand, and kissed it gratefully.
"You have been very good to me," he said, in a low voice. "Better than I have any right to expect, or deserve."
"No," she said. "And there is no need of gratitude. I wanted to atone——No, that's not the right word. I wanted to make up to you for the trouble I had, all unconsciously, caused between you and him. And—there was another reason, Drake. Don't get conceited; but I took a fancy to my nephew the first time I saw him." She laughed softly."And just at present I have no other object in life than the attempt to make him happy."
Drake suppressed a sigh.
Happy? Oh, Nell, Nell! How vain and foolish all this splendor, now he had lost her!
"So you turned my rambling old place into a palace? Well, it was a substantial attempt, and if I am not happy, I shall be the most mulish and ungrateful of men. The place is perfect; it lacks nothing, I should say," he added, as they descended to the hall again.
"Only a mistress," thought Lady Angleford; but she was too wise to say so.
"You haven't told me who is here," he said, as he watched her pour out the tea which had been laid in a windowed recess from which was an exquisite view of the lawns and the park beyond.
"Oh, a host of your friends," she said. "Do you like sugar, Drake? Fancy an aunt having to ask her nephew that! I shall get used to all your fads and fancies presently. There are the Northgates, and the Beeches, and old Lord Balfreed"—she ran through the list, and he listened absently until she came to—"and the Turfleighs."
"The Turfleighs?" he said, with something that was almost a frown; and, seeing it, the countess noticed how stern his face had become.
"Yes. Lady Luce and her father will arrive to-morrow, just in time for the dance. They are staying at a place near here—the Wolfers'. You remember them? They are coming with her, of course."
"Quite a gathering of the clans," he said, as brightly as he could. "It is a long time since Anglemere had such a beau fête. Who is that?" he broke off to inquire. "One of the guests?"
Lady Angleford looked out of the window.
"I am so near-sighted——"
"A tall, thin man, with long hair," he said. "He has just gone round the corner toward the lodge."
"That must be the man who is staying at the south lodge," she said. "His name is Falconer, and he is a musician."
"A musician staying at the south lodge?" said Drake, with surprise. "Ah, yes! I remember hearing the violin, as I passed the other day."
"Yes," said Lady Angleford. "The young fellow the engineers sent down is staying at the lodge with his sister and their friend, this Mr. Falconer. They were to have gone yesterday, when the work was completed; but I thought they had better stay a few days, until after the dance, at any rate, in case anything should go wrong with the electric light. Itis such a nuisance if they happen to pop out all of a sudden; and they generally do when there is something on. You don't mind their being here?"
He smiled.
"Why should I? It was a good idea to keep him. I suppose there is to be a resident engineer?"
"Yes; I suppose so. It would not be a bad idea to keep this young fellow, for I'm told that he has done the work very well. I've not seen him or his sister. I hear that she is an extremely pretty girl, and very ladylike, and I meant calling at the lodge and asking if they were comfortable; but I have been so busy."
"I can quite understand that," he said. "I only hope you will not have tired yourself out for to-morrow night."
She laughed.
"I am not easily tired; and I'm tough, though I'm small," she retorted, with her pretty twang. "By the way, speaking of to-morrow night. I wonder whether this Mr. Falconer would come up and play——"
She hesitated, and looked at him doubtfully.
Drake smiled.
"You think he may be some swell musician?" he said. "Too swell to play for money? It's likely."
"No, it wasn't that; I was thinking that I could scarcely ask him without asking the girl. He's engaged to her, I'm told."
"That's one of those problems which a man is quite unqualified to solve," he said indifferently.
"Well, I'll ask them, and chance it. Oh, here are some of the carriages. Would you like to run away, or will you——"
But he went to the front to meet and greet his guests.
A couple of hours later, while the trio at the lodge were at supper, the servant brought in two notes.
"One for me, and one for you, Mr. Falconer. And from the house! Do you see the coronet on the envelope? I wonder what it is? Perhaps a polite intimation that we are to clear out!" said Nell.
"Or an equally polite request that we will keep off the grass," said Dick. "Do you know how to find out what's in that envelope, Nell?"
"No," she said, holding it up to the light.
"By opening it, my brainless one!"
"Mr. Falconer, you are nearer him than I am; will you oblige me by kicking him? Oh, Dick! It's an invitation to the dance to-morrow—for you and me."
"And for me," said Falconer. "And will I be so very kind as to bring my violin?"
"Very kind of 'em," said Dick. "I should like it verymuch," as he lifted his tankard, "but there won't be any dancing for me to-morrow night, unless I indulge in a hornpipe in the engine room. I'm going to stick there on guard right away from the beginning to the end of the hop. I should never forgive myself if anything went wrong with those blessed lights. But you and Falconer can go and foot it to your heart's content."
"Quite impossible," said Nell emphatically. "I haven't a dress. So that settles me. Besides, Mrs. Hawksley, the housekeeper, has been kind enough to ask me to go into the gallery and look on, and I accepted gratefully."
"Among the servants?" said Dick, rather dubiously.
"Why not?" said Nell, stoutly. "I don't in the least mind. I shall enjoy looking down—for the first time in my life—upon Mr. Falconer."
Falconer smiled and shook his head.
"I haven't a dress suit, and I can't dance, Miss Lorton; and if I had and could, I shouldn't go without you. But I'd like to go and play. I owe these people a heavy debt for permitting me, through you, to spend the happiest days of my life—yes, I'll go and play. They won't mind my old velvet jacket, I'm sure."
"Quite the correct thing, my boy," said Dick. "You look no end of a musical swell in it; a Paderewski and Sarasati rolled into one. And to tell you the truth, I'm relieved to think you're disposed of; for I was afraid you'd offer to keep me company in the engine room; and the last time you were there you very nearly got mixed up with the engines and turned into sausage meat."
Nell was looking at her envelope.
"Lady Angleford addresses me as Miss 'Norton,'" she said, with a smile. "I wonder if she would know me if she saw me. Very likely not."
"The right honorable the earl arrived this afternoon, I'm told," said Dick. "'I very nearly missed missing him,' as the Irishman said. He'd gone into the house just before I came out. There's to be a fine kick-up to-morrow night. Not sure that I shan't come up to the gallery for a minute or two, after all; only the conviction that the beastly lights will know that I am gone and all go out, will prevent me."
On the following evening Dick and Falconer went up to the house before Nell, Dick wanting to be present at the lighting up, and Falconer being desirous of ascertaining exactly where he "came in" with his violin; and Nell, having donned her best dress, went round to the housekeeper's room. She had found Mrs. Hawksley "partaking" of a cup of tea, in which Nell was easily induced to join, and Mrs.Hawksley chatted in the stately way which thinly hid a wealth of motherly kindness.
"I am so glad you have come, Miss Lorton; for it will be a grand sight, the like of which you have probably not seen, and may not see again."
And Nell nodded, suppressing a smile as she thought of her short sojourn in the world of fashion.
"Some of the dresses, the maids tell me, are magnificent; and the jewels! But, there; none of them can be finer than the Angleford diamonds. I do hope the countess will wear them, though it's doubtful, seeing that her ladyship's still in mourning. You say you've seen the countess, Miss Lorton? A sweet-looking lady. It's quite touching to see her ladyship and his lordship together, she so young, and his aunt, too! You haven't seen the earl yet, have you?"
"No; tell me what he is like, Mrs. Hawksley," said Nell, knowing how delighted the old lady would be to comply.
"Well, Miss Lorton, though I suppose I shouldn't, seeing he kind of belongs to us, I must say that his lordship will be the handsomest and finest gentleman in the room to-night, let who will be coming. Not but what he's changed. It gave me quite a turn—as the maids say," she picked herself up apologetically—"when he came right into this very room, with his hand stretched out, and his 'Well, Mrs. Hawksley, and how are you, after this long time?'"
"Because he was so friendly?" asked Nell innocently.
The old lady drew herself up.
"No, Miss Lorton. The Anglefords were always friendly to their old servants, because they know that we shouldn't take advantage of it and forget our proper places. No, but because he was so changed. He used to be so bright and—and boyish, as one may say, with all respect; but now he's as grave as grave can be—almost stern-looking, so to speak—and there's gray hairs at his temples, and he's a way of looking beyond you in a sad sort of fashion. His lordship's had some trouble, I know. I said so to his man, but he wouldn't say anything. He hasn't been with the earl for some time, and mightn't know——There's the music; and, hark; I can hear them moving into the ballroom. We'd better be going up to the gallery; and I do hope you will enjoy yourself, Miss Lorton."
Nell followed the old lady into the small gallery, where some chairs had been placed for the servants, behind the musicians. She saw Falconer in front, his whole soul absorbed in his business; but he turned his eyes as she entered, and smiled for a moment.
"Can you see?" asked Mrs. Hawksley. "Go a little nearer to the front. Make room for Miss Lorton, please."
Nell shook her head.
"I can see very well," she said, also in a whisper, for she did not want to be seen.
She craned forward and looked down on the brilliant, glittering crowd. The lights of which Dick was so proud dazzled her for a moment or two; but presently her eyes became accustomed to them, and she recognized Lady Angleford, the Wolfers, and others. Lady Angleford was in black satin and lace, and, at Drake's request, had put on the family diamonds.
"You are right, Mrs. Hawksley," said Nell. "They are magnificent. What a lovely scene!"
"I am glad you are pleased, Miss Lorton," responded the old lady, as if she had got up the whole show for Nell's sole benefit. "I am looking for the earl, to point him out to you; but I don't see him. He must be under the gallery at this moment. Ah! yes; here he comes. Now, quick! lean forward. There! that tall gentleman with the fair lady on his arm. Lean forward a little more, and you will see him quite plainly. The lady's in a kind of pale mauve silk——"
Nell leaned forward with all a girl's eager curiosity; then she uttered a faint cry, and drew back. The couple Mrs. Hawksley had pointed out were Drake and Lady Luce. Drake!
"What is the matter? Did any one squeeze you? Did you see his lordship?" asked Mrs. Hawksley.
"No," said Nell, trying to keep her voice steady. "I—I saw that gentleman with the lady in mauve; but——"
Mrs. Hawksley stared at her.
"Well, that is the earl. That is Lord Angleford with Lady Luce Turfleigh on his arm."
Nell sat still—very, very still. The vast room seemed to rise and sway before her like a ship in a heavy sea; the lights danced in a mad whirl; the music roared a chaos of sound in her ears, and a deathly feeling crept over her.
"I will not faint—I will not faint!" she said to herself, clenching her teeth hard, and gripping her dress with her cold hands. "It is a mistake—a mistake. It is not Drake. I thought I saw him the other night; it is thinking, always thinking of him, that makes me fancy any one like him must be he! Yes; it is a mistake."
She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she openedthem and found that the room had ceased rocking, and the lights were still, she leaned forward, calling all her courage to her aid, and looked again.
A waltz was in progress, and the rich dresses, the flashing jewels whirled like the colored pieces of a kaleidoscope, and for a moment or two she could not distinguish the members of the glittering crowd; but presently she saw the tall figure again. He was dancing with Lady Luce; they came down toward the gallery end of the room, floating with the exquisite grace of a couple whose steps are in perfect harmony, and Nell saw that she had made no mistake—that it was Drake indeed.
She drew a long breath, and sank back; Mrs. Hawksley leaned toward her.
"Do you feel faint, Miss Lorton? It's very hot up here. Would you like to go down——"
"No, no!" said Nell quickly, almost anxiously. She did not want to go. It was agony to see him dancing with this beautiful woman, whose hair shone like gold, whose grace of form and movement were conspicuous even among so many graceful and beautiful women; but a kind of fascination made Nell feel as if she could not go, as if she must drain her cup of misery to the dregs. "No, no; I am not faint—not now. It is hot, but I am—all right."
She gazed with set face and panic-stricken eyes at the couple, as they floated down the room again. It was Drake, but—how changed! He looked many years older—and his face was stern and grave—sterner and graver and sadder even than when she had first seen it that day the horse had flung him at her feet. It had grown brighter and happier while he had stayed at Shorne Mills—it had been transformed, indeed, for the few short weeks he had been her lover; but the look of content, of joy in life which it wore in her remembrance, had gone again. Had he been ill? she wondered. Where had he been; what had he been doing?
But it did not matter, could not matter to her. He was back in England, and dancing with the woman he loved—with the beautiful Lady Luce, whom he had kissed on the terrace.
"And what do you think of his lordship?" Mrs. Hawksley asked, as if the Right Honorable the Earl of Angleford were her special property. "I wasn't far wrong, was I, Miss Lorton, when I said that he would be the finest, handsomest man in the room?"
"No," said Nell, scarcely knowing what she answered. "That is——" She put her hand to her lips. Even now she had not realized that her Drake and the earl were one and the same man. "Oh, yes; he is handsome, and——" shefinished, as the old lady eyed her half indignantly. "But I—I have made a mistake. I mean——What was Lord Angleford called before he succeeded to the title?"
Mrs. Hawksley looked at her rather curiously.
"Why, Lord Selbie, of course," she said. "He ought, being one of the Anglefords, to have been Lord Vernon, Drake Vernon; but his father was a famous statesman, a governor of New South Wales and they made him a viscount. Do you understand?" she asked, proud of her own knowledge of these intricacies of the earl's names and titles.
Poor Nell looked confused. But it did not matter. She had learned enough. Drake Vernon, who had made her love him, and had asked her to be his wife, had been Lord Selbie. Why had he concealed his rank? Why had he deceived her? He had seemed so honest and true, that she would have trusted him with her life as freely as she had given him her love; and all the while——Oh, why had he done it? Was it worth while to masquerade as a mere nobody, to pretend that he was poor? Had he, even from the very first, not intended to marry her? Was he only—amusing himself?
Her face was dyed, with the shame of the thought, for a moment, then the hot flush went and left her pale and wan.
Drake was the Earl of Angleford, and she—she the girl whose heart he had broken, was in his house, looking on at him among his guests! The thought was almost unendurable, and she slowly rose from her chair; then she sat down again, for she was trembling and quite incapable of leaving the gallery.
How long she sat in this state she did not know. The ball went on. She saw Drake—no, the earl—would she never realize it?—dancing frequently. Sometimes he joined the group of dowagers and chaperons on the dais at the other end of the room, or leaned against the wall and talked with the nondancing men; and wherever he went she saw that he was received with that subtle empressement with which the children of Vanity Fair indicate their respect for high rank and wealth.
"You can see how high his lordship stands not only in the county, but everywhere," said Mrs. Hawksley proudly. "They treat him almost as if he were a prince of the blood; and he is the principal gentleman here, though there's some high and mighty ones down there, Miss Lorton, I assure you. That's the Duchess of Cleavemere in that big chair on the dais; and that's her eldest daughter—she'll be as big as the duchess, mark my words—seated beside her; and that's the Marquis of Downfield, that tall gentleman with the white hair. He's a great man, but he can't hold a candle, in appearance,to our earl; and he's a poor man compared with his lordship. And that's Lord Turfleigh, that old gentleman with the very black hair and mustache; dyed, of course, my dear. The 'wicked Lord Turfleigh' they call him—and no wonder. He's the father of Lady Luce. Ah! his lordship's going to dance with her again! Look how pleased her father looks. See, he's nodding and smiling at her; I'll be bound I know what he's thinking of! And I shouldn't be surprised if it came off. Lord Selbie and she used to be engaged, but it was broken off when his lordship's uncle married. The Turfleighs are too poor to risk a marriage without money. But his lordship's the earl now, and, of course——"
Nell understood. It was because the woman he loved had jilted him that Drake had hidden himself from the world at Shorne Mills. That was why he had looked so sad and cast down the day she had first seen him.
"It's a pity your brother doesn't come up," said Mrs. Hawksley, who was standing behind Nell, and could not see the white, strained face. "He'd enjoy the sight, I'm sure. I'm half inclined to send a word to him."
Nell caught her arm. Dick must not come up here and recognize Drake, must not see her white face and trembling lips. If possible, she must leave Anglemere in the morning; must induce Dick to go before he could learn that Drake and Lord Angleford were one and the same.
"My brother would not come," she said. "Please do not send for him. He—the lights——"
Mrs. Hawksley nodded.
"As you think best, my dear," she said. "But it's a pity. Here's the interval now. What is going on in the orchestra?"
Nell looked toward the band, which had ceased playing; but Falconer was softly tuning his violin. About half the dancers had left the room, and those that remained were pacing up and down, talking and laughing, or seated in couples in the alcoves and recesses.
Falconer finished tuning, glanced toward Nell—the gallery was too dimly lit for him to see the pallor of her face—then began to play a solo.
Coming after the dance music, the sonata he had chosen was like a breath of pure, heather-scented air floating in upon the gas-laden atmosphere of the heated room; and at the first strains of the delicious melody the people below stopped talking, and turned their eyes up to the front of the gallery, where the tall, thin form in its worn velvet jacket stood, for that moment, at least, the supreme figure.
Nell, as she listened, felt as if a cool, pitying hand had fallen upon her aching heart; as if a voice of thrilling sweetness were whispering tender consolation. Never loud, butwith an insistent force which held the listeners in thrall, sometimes so low that it was but a murmur, the exquisite music stole over the senses of all, awakening tender memories, reviving scattered hopes, softening, for the short space it held its sway, world-hardened hearts.
The tears gathered in Nell's eyes, bringing her infinite relief; but she could see through her tears that the great hall was filling with the hasty return of those who had been within hearing of the music, and when it ceased there rose a burst of applause, led by the earl himself.
"How very beautiful!" exclaimed the duchess, who was on his arm. "The man must be a genius. Where did you find him, Lord Angleford?"
Drake did not reply for a moment, as if he had not heard her. The music had moved him more deeply, perhaps, than it had moved any other. His face was set, his brows knit, and his head drooped as if weighed down by some memory. He had been so occupied by his duties as host that he had forgotten the past for that hour or two, at any rate; but at the first strains of the music Nell came back to him. It was the swell of the tide against theAnnie Laurie; it was Nell's voice itself which he heard through the melody of the famous sonata. He listened with an aching longing for those past weeks of pure and perfect love, with a loathing for the empty, desolate present. "Nell! Nell!" his heart seemed to cry.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "I did not find him. He is here by chance."
"He must be a very great musician," said the duchess enthusiastically. "What is his name?"
"Falconer," replied Drake. "He's staying at one of the lodges."
"He played superbly. Do you think I could persuade him to come on to the court for the ninth? I wish you'd ask him. But surely he is going to play again?" she added eagerly.
"I will ask him," said Drake.
"Yes, do, Drake," murmured Lady Luce, who had reëntered the room and glided near him. The divine music had not touched her in the least; indeed, she had thought the solo rather out of place at a dance—quite too sad and depressing; but as she seconded the duchess' request, her blue eyes seemed dim with tears, and her lips tremulous. "It was so very beautiful! I am half crying!" and the perfectly shaped lips pouted piteously.
Drake nodded, led the duchess to a chair, and went slowly up the room toward the gallery stairs.
Nell, who had been watching him in a dull, vacant way,lost him for a moment or two; then she heard his voice near her, and saw him dimly standing in the gallery doorway.
She stifled a cry, and shrank back behind Mrs. Hawksley, so that the stout form of the old lady completely hid her.
"Mr. Falconer?" she heard the deep voice say gravely.
Falconer bowed, his violin under his arm, his pale, thin face perfectly composed. His music was still ringing in his ears, vibrating in his soul, too great to be stirred by the applause which had again broken out.
"I have come to thank you for the sonata, Mr. Falconer, and to ask you to be so kind as to play again," said Drake, in the simple, impassive manner of the Englishman.
"I shall be very pleased, my lord," said Falconer quietly; and he placed his violin in position.
Drake looked absently round the gallery. It was only dimly lit by the candles in the music stands, and the servants had respectfully drawn back, so that Nell was still hidden; but she trembled with the fear that those in front of her might move, and that he might see her; for she knew how keen those eyes of his could be.
Drake felt that the dim light was a pleasant contrast to the brilliance of the room below, and he lingered, leaning against the wall, his arms folded, his head drooped. He was so near Nell that she could almost have touched him—so near that she almost dreaded that he must hear the wild throbbings of her heart. Once, as the violin wailed out a passionate, despairing, yet exquisitely sweet passage of the Raff cavatina Falconer was playing, she heard Drake sigh.
The cavatina came to an end, the last notes—those wonderful notes!—floating lingeringly like a human voice, and yet more exquisite than any human voice. Falconer lowered his violin, the applause broke out again as vehemently and enthusiastically as if the crowd below were at an ordinary concert, and Drake made his way to the player. As he did so, he stumbled over a violin case, the servants with a little cry—for the stumble of an Earl of Angleford is a matter of importance—moved apart, and Drake, putting out his hand as he recovered himself, touched Mrs. Hawksley's arm.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "Ah! is it you, Mrs. Hawksley? You are so pleasantly dark up here."
His eyes wandered from her face to that of the girl who had been shrinking behind her, and he paused, as if smitten by some sudden thought or memory. But Nell rose quickly and hid herself in the group, and Drake went on to Falconer.
"Thank you again," he said. "I have never heard the cavatina—it was it, wasn't it?—better played. I am the bearer of a message from the Duchess of Cleavemere, Mr. Falconer. If you are not engaged, the duchess would bevery glad if you could play for her at Cleavemere Court on the ninth of next month. I ask you at once and so unceremoniously, because her grace is anxious to know. The ninth."
Falconer bowed.
"May I consider, my lord?" he began hesitatingly.
"Why, certainly," said Drake, in the frank, pleasant fashion which Nell knew so well. "Will you send me word? Thanks. That is a fine violin you have."
"It was my father's," said Falconer simply, and unconsciously pressing the instrument closer to him, as if it were a living thing, a well-beloved child.
He had often sold, pawned his belongings for bread, and as often had forgotten his cold and hunger because his precious violin had remained in his possession; that he had never pawned.
Drake nodded, as if he understood; then he looked round.
"Isn't there some supper going, Mrs. Hawksley?" he said pleasantly.
The old lady curtsied in stately fashion.
"Yes, my lord."
"Then it's high time Mr. Falconer—and the rest of us—were at it," he said; and, with a smile and a nod, he left the gallery.
He would have taken Falconer with him to the supper in the banquet room below, but he knew that, though none of the men or women there would have remarked, or cared about, the old velvet jacket, the musician would be conscious of it, and be embarrassed by it.
While Drake had been absent, Lady Luce had stood, apparently listening with profound attention and sympathy, but the movement of her fan almost gave her away, for it grew rapid now and again, and when Lord Turfleigh came up beside her, his hawklike eyes glancing sharply, like those of a bird of prey, from their fat rims, she shot an angry and unfilial glance at him.
"Where's Drake?" he asked, lowering his thick voice.
"Up there in that gallery somewhere; gone to pay compliments to that fiddler fellow who is playing now."
"Gad!" said his lordship, with a stare of contempt at the rapt audience. "What the devil does he want with the 'Dead March in Saul,' or whatever it is, in the middle of a dance. Always thought he was mad! Has he spoken, said anything?"
He lowered his voice still more, and eyed her eagerly.
She shook her head slightly by way of answer, and the coarse face reddened.
"Curse me, if I can understand it—or you," he said, hishand tugging at his dyed mustache. "You told me, God knows how long ago, that he was 'on' again; then he bolts—disappears."
"Do you want all these people to hear you?" she asked, her eyes hidden by her slowly moving fan.
Her father had been several times to the refreshment buffet, and had "lowered"—as he would have put it—the best part of a bottle of champagne, and was a little off the guard which he usually maintained so carefully.
"They can't hear. I'm not shouting. And you always evade me. You're not behaving well, Luce. Dash it all! I've reason to be anxious! This match means a good deal to me in the present state of our finances!"
"Hush!" she whispered warningly. "I can't explain now. I don't understand it myself; but I've seen enough to know that I should only lose him altogether if I tried to force him. You know him, or ought to do so! Did you ever get anything from Drake by driving him? He had no opportunity of speaking, of explaining."
"By gad! I don't understand it!" he muttered. "Either you're engaged to him or you're not. You led me to believe that the match was on again——"
The fan closed with a snap, and her blue eyes flashed at him with bitter scorn.
"Hadn't you better leave me to play the game?" she asked. "Or perhaps you think you can play it better than I can? If so——The man has stopped; Drake will be down again. I don't want him to see us talking. Go—and get some more champagne."
Lord Turfleigh swore behind the hand that still fumbled at his mustache, and walked away with the jerky, jaunty gait of the old man who still affects youth, and Lady Luce composed her lovely face into a look of emotional ecstacy.
"Oh, how beautiful, Drake!" she said. "Do you know that I have been very nearly crying? And yet it was so sweet, so—so soothing! Who is he? And what are we going to do now?" she asked, without waiting for an answer to her first question, about which she was more than indifferent.
Drake looked round for the duchess.
"I must take the duchess in to supper," he said apologetically. "I will find some one for you—or perhaps you will wait until I will come for you?"
"I will wait, of course," she said, with a tender emphasis on the "of course."
Those who had been listening followed Drake and the duchess to the supper room, talking of the wonderful violin playing as they went; and Lady Luce seated herself in a recess and waited. Several men came to her and offered totake her to supper, but she made some excuse for refusing, and presently Drake returned.
She rose and took his arm, and glanced up at him, not for the first time that evening, curiously. The easy-going, indolent Drake of old seemed to have disappeared, and left in his place this grave and almost stern-mannered man. She had always been just a little afraid of him, with the fear which is always felt by the false and shifty in the presence of the true and strong; and to-night she was painfully conscious of that vague and wholesome dread.
He found a place for her at a small table, and a footman brought them things to eat and drink; but though she affected a blythe and joyous mood, tapping her satin-clad foot to the music which had begun again, she was too excited, too anxious, to enjoy the costly delicacies before her.
"I have so much to tell you, Drake!" she said, in a low voice, after one or two remarks about the ball and its success. "It seems years, ages, since I saw you! Why—why did you go away for so long, Drake? And why did you not write to me?"
He looked at her with his grave eyes, and her own fell.
"I wrote to no one; I was never much of a hand at letter writing," he said.
"But to me, Drake!" she whispered, with a pout. "I wanted to hear from you so badly! Just a line that would have given me an excuse for writing to you and telling you—explaining——"
He did not smile. He was not the man to remind a woman of her falseness, but something in his eyes made her falter and lower her own.
"I went away because I was tired of England," he said. "I came back because—well, because I was obliged."
"But you won't go away again?" she said, with genuine dismay in her voice and face. "I—I feel as if, as if it were my fault; as if—ah, Drake, have you not really forgiven me?"
Her eyes filled with tears, as genuine as her dismay—for think of the greatness of the prize for which she was playing—and Drake's heart was touched with a pity which was not wholly free from contempt.
"There shall be no such word as forgiveness between us, Luce," he said gravely. She caught at this, though it was but a straw, and her hand, from which she had taken her glove, stole over to his, and her eyes sought his appealingly.
But before he could take her hand—if he had intended doing so—Lady Angleford came up to them.
"Drake, they want you to lead the cotillon," she said.
He rose, but stood beside Luce.
"Directly Lady Luce has finished her supper, countess. Please don't hurry."
But Lady Luce sprang up at once.
"I have finished long ago; I was not hungry."
"Come, then," he said, and he offered her his arm, "Will you dance it with me?"
Her heart leaped.
"Yes. It will not be for the first time—Drake!" and as she entered the room with him, her heart thrilled with hope, and her blue eyes sparkled with a triumph which none could fail to notice.
Certainly not poor Nell, who still remained in her dim corner in the gallery. Mrs. Hawksley had begged her to come down to the supper which had been laid for her and her brother and Falconer; but Nell, who felt that it would be impossible to make even a pretense of eating or drinking, had begged them to excuse her; and when they had gone and the gallery was empty, she leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes; for she was well-nigh exhausted by the conflicting emotions which racked her. She longed to go, to leave the place, to escape from the risk of Drake's presence; but she could not leave the house alone, and to go from the gallery and absent herself for the rest of the evening might attract notice and comment.
Was it possible that Drake had been near her, so near as to almost have touched her? She trembled—and thrilled—at the thought; then crimsoned with shame for the sinful thrill of joy and happiness which his nearness had caused her.
What was he to her now? Nothing, nothing! She had yielded him up to the beautiful woman he had loved before he saw her, Nell; and it was shameful and unwomanly that she should feel a joy in his proximity.
Falconer came up before the rest of the orchestra, and brought a glass of wine and a biscuit for her.
"I am afraid you have a headache, the lights and the music—they are so near; and it is hot up here. Will you drink some of this, Miss Lorton?"
His voice was low and tender, though he strove to give it a conventional touch and merely friendly tone.
"Thank you, yes," said Nell gratefully. "How good of you to think of me! How magnificently you played! I can't tell you how happy your success has made me! And such a success! I was as proud as if it were I who was playing; and I was prouder still when I saw how quietly youtook it. Ah, you felt that it was just your due. I suppose genius always takes the crowd's applause calmly."
His face flushed, and his dark eyes glowed.
"There is some applause I, at any rate—who am no genius, however—cannot take calmly," he said. "I would rather have those words of approval from you than the shouting and clapping of a multitude. Yes, it made me happy; but I am happier now than words can express."
If Nell had looked up into the eyes bent on hers, she must have read his secret in them; but the band had begun to play, and at that moment Drake was leading Lady Luce to her place for the cotillon, and Nell's eyes were drawn, riveted to the fair face, the blue eyes shining triumphantly; and she forgot not only Falconer's presence, but his existence.
As he saw that she did not heed him, the color died out from his face, and the light from his eyes, and, with a sigh, he left her and went back to his place in the orchestra.
The dance proceeded through all its graceful and intricate evolutions, and even to the spectators in the gallery it was evident that Lady Luce had stepped into the position of the belle of the ball. The excitement of hope and fear, the gratification of vanity which sprang from her consciousness that she was occupying the most prominent place as the earl's partner, had given to her face the touch of warmth it needed to make its beauty well-nigh perfect. Her lips were parted with a smile, the blue eyes—ordinarily a trifle cold—were glowing, and the diamonds sparkled fiercely on her heaving bosom.
Nell could not remove her eyes from her, but sat like a bird held by the fascination of the serpent. She was blind to all else but those two—the man she loved, the woman to whom she had surrendered him.
The time passed unheeded by her, and Falconer's voice sounded miles away as he bent over her.
"Dick has sent up to say that we can go," he said. "There's no fear of the lights now; indeed, the ball is nearly over. This is the last dance."
Nell rose stiffly and wearily.
"I—I am glad," she said.
"You are tired, very tired," he said. "Will you let me give you my arm?"
He felt her hand tremble as she put it on his arm, and he looked down at her anxiously.
"I wish I had taken you out of this before," he said remorsefully. "I have spoken to you—asked you—once or twice; but—but you did not seem to hear me. It is my fault. I ought to have insisted upon your going."
"No, no!" said Nell. "It is nothing. I am a little tired, and——Is it late?"
"Yes," he said. "Most of the people are leaving. It has been a great success. Is this the way?"
They had gone down the stairs leading to the lower hall, but here Falconer hesitated doubtfully. This second hall led into the larger one, through which the guests were passing.
Nell caught a glimpse of them, and shrank back.
"Not there," she said warningly. "There must be a door——"
"Ah, here it is!" he said; and he led her through an opening between portière curtains. They found themselves in a small conservatory, and Falconer again stopped.
"It is very stupid!" he said apologetically.
"There may be an opening to the terrace," said Nell nervously; "once we are outside——"
"Here we are, out in the open air."
Nell drew a long breath, and pushed the hair from her forehead.
"We must go down these steps, and then to the right. I remember——"
They crossed the terrace, when two or three persons came out through a window behind them. They were talking, and Nell heard a voice which made her wince, and her hand grip Falconer's arm convulsively; for the voice was Drake's.
"They have a fine night to go home in," he was saying. "Not much of a moon, but better than none."
Nell stopped and looked despairingly at the patch of light which the window threw right across their path to the steps.
"Come quickly," said Falconer, in a low voice.
"No, no; we shall be seen!" she implored, in an agitated whisper.
But Falconer deemed it best to go on, and did so.
As they moved, Drake saw them, but indistinctly.
"Good-night, once more!" he called out, in the tone of a host speeding parting guests.
Falconer raised his soft felt hat.
"Good-night, my lord," he responded. At the same moment they stepped into the stream of light. Drake had been on the point of turning away, but as he recognized Falconer's voice and figure, he stopped and took a step toward them. Then, as suddenly, he stopped again, gazing after them as a man who gazes at a vision of the fancy.
"Who—who is that?" he demanded, almost fiercely.
Lady Luce was just behind him.
"That was the man who played the violin," she said."Didn't you recognize him? How romantic he looks! Quite the idea of a musician."
Drake put his hand to his brow and stood still, looking after the two figures, now disappearing in the darkness, made more intense by the contrasting streaks of light from the windows.
"My God! How like!" he muttered, taking a step or two forward unconsciously.
But Lady Luce's voice aroused him from the half stupor into which he had fallen, and he turned back to her.
"I must be mad or dreaming!" he muttered. "What folly! And yet how like—how like!"
"Why, what is the matter, Drake?" asked Lady Luce, laying her hand on his arm, and looking up at him anxiously. "You are quite pale. You look"—she laughed—"as if you had seen a ghost!"
He smiled grimly. She had described his feelings exactly. In the resemblance of the girl, whoever she was, on the violinist's arm, he had in very truth seen the ghost of Nell of Shorne Mills.
Nell hurried Falconer along, but presently was forced to stop to regain her breath. Her heart was beating so wildly that she had to fight against the sensation of suffocation which threatened to overcome her.
"Let us wait a minute," said Falconer gently. "You are nervous, overtired. We will wait here."
But Nell had got her breath again by this time.
"No, no!" she said, almost vehemently. "Let us go. I know the way——"
"Dick will be waiting for us at the door of the east wing," he said. "If you can find that——"
"I know," she said quickly. "That is it on our left. But—but I do not want to see any one."
"All the guests are leaving by the front of the house; we are not likely to meet any one."
He was somewhat surprised at her agitation, and her evident desire to leave the place unseen; for Nell was usually so perfectly self-possessed and free from nervousness or gaucherie.
She drew him to the side park under the shadow of the wing, in which few of the windows were lighted, and as they waited she gradually recovered herself.
"There is Dick," said Falconer presently. "He is waiting for us by that window."
Nell looked in the direction he indicated.
"Is that Dick?" she said, peering at the figure. "It is so dark I can scarcely see. I don't think it is Dick. If it is, why is he looking in at the window?"
"He may be talking to some one inside," said Falconer. "I'll call him. Dick!"
As he called, the figure half turned, then swung round away from them, and with lowered head moved quickly away from the window, and passed into the darkness of the shrubbery.
"How strange!" said Falconer; and he felt puzzled. Why should Dick start at the sound of his name, and make off into the darkness?
Falconer bit his lip. It was just possible that Dick, who was young, and also particularly good-looking, was carrying on a flirtation with some one in the house. If so, the explanation of his sudden flight was natural enough.
"Why did he run away? Where has he gone?" said Nell. "You were wrong. It was not Dick."
"Very likely," assented Falconer. "It was so dark——Yes, I was wrong, for there he stands by the door," he broke off, as, coming round the corner, they saw Dick, who was engaged in lighting his pipe.
"Hallo! here you are, at last," he said, cheerfully. "Couldn't tear yourselves away from the festive scene? By George! if you'd spent the night in an engine room, you'd be glad enough to cut it."
"Poor Dick!" said Nell.
"Oh, I haven't had such a bad time," he said. "They brought me a ripping supper, and a special dish with the chef's compliments. I don't know where the chef's going when he leaves this terrestrial sphere; but, wherever it is, it's good enough for me. Well, Nellikins, enjoyed yourself?"
Nell forced a smile.
"Very much," she replied. "It—it was a great success."
"So I hear," said Dick. "But you seem to have taken the cake to-night, old man. They told me that you created a perfect furore, whatever that is. Anyway, Mrs. Hawksley and the rest came down with the most exciting account of your triumph. Seriously, Falconer, I congratulate you. I won't say that I prophesied your success long ago, because that's a cheap kind of thing to say; but I always did believe you'd hit the bull's-eye the first time you got a chance; and you've done it."
"I think they were pleased," said Falconer.
"His lordship and the rest of the swells ought to be very much obliged," remarked Dick. "You've given éclat to his dance. Observe the French again? There is no extra charge."
"His lordship was extremely kind," said Falconer, "and his thanks more than repaid me for my poor efforts. I don't wonder at his popularity. I've always heard that the higherthe rank the simpler the manners; and Lord Angleford is an instance of it. My acquaintance with the nobility is extremely limited——"
"Ditto here," said Dick. "Though the young lady on your arm has lived in marble halls, and hobnobbed with belted earls and lords of high degree. But I'm glad to hear that this one is affable."
Falconer laughed.
"Affable is the wrong word; it means condescension, doesn't it? And Lord Angleford was anything but condescending. He might have known me for years, if one judged by the tone of his voice and manner; and, as I said, I'm more than repaid."
"Well, I'm glad to hear he made a favorable impression on you," Dick said. "I haven't had the pleasure of making his acquaintance yet; but I shall probably see him before I go. But your success doesn't end here, Falconer. I'm told that you are going to play at Cleavemere Court. By George! if you knock them there as you did here—which, of course, you will do—your fortune's made. The duchess has no end of influence, and you'll be paragraphed in the papers, and get engagements at the houses of other swells, and before we know where we are, we shall see 'Señor Falconer's Recitals at St. James' Hall,' advertised on the front page of theTimes. And serve you right, old man, for if ever a man deserved good luck, it is you. Eh, Nell?"
"Yes, yes," said Nell.
"And did you see his lordship, our all-puissant earl, my child?"
"Yes," she said, beginning to tremble—but, indeed, she had been trembling all through the conversation. How should she be able to get away from the house—the place which belonged to Drake? "Yes, I saw him. Dick, did a man—a man with a slight figure something like yours—pass you just before we came up?"
"No," he said.
"Are you sure? He must have passed by you."
"A figure like mine, did you say? Yes; I'm quite sure he didn't. I have too keen an eye for grace of form to let such a figure pass unnoticed."
"It may have been a servant or one of the guests," Falconer said.
"Oh, draw it mild!" remonstrated Dick. "Do I look like a flunkey or a groom? What is it you think you have seen?"
"A man was standing looking in at one of the windows of the inner side of the wing," said Nell. "We thought it was you; but, when Mr. Falconer called, the man, whoever he was, turned and walked into the shrubbery."
"A 'particular friend' of one of the maids, I dare say," remarked Dick easily. "And I've no doubt you have broken up a very enjoyable spooning. Now, would you like——Now what is it?"
For Nell had stopped short, and had seized his arm.
"There!" she exclaimed, in a whisper. "There he is again—that is the man!"
They had come to the lodge by this time, and Nell was gazing rather nervously toward the big gates.
"Where?" asked Dick. "I can see no one. Nell, you have had too much champagne. You'll be seeing snakes presently if you don't mind. Where is he?"
Nell laughed, but a little shakily.
"He has gone, of course. He went quickly through the gate."
"And why shouldn't he?" said Dick, with a yawn. "Oh, Falconer! when I think of the cool tankard into which I shall presently plunge my beak——What's come to you, Nell? It isn't like you to 'get the nerves.'"