The man whom Nell and Falconer had mistaken for Dick passed through the lodge gates, and, turning to the right, walked quickly, but not hurriedly, beside the high park fencing, and presently came up with a dogcart which was being walked slowly along the road.
The cart was a very shabby one, but the horse was a very good one, and looked as if it could stretch itself if it were required to do so. In the cart was a young man in clerical attire. He looked like a curate, and his voice had the regulation drawl as he leaned down and asked:
"Well, Ted?"
The man addressed as Ted shook his head.
"The girl was right," he said, with an air of disappointment. "She's got 'em all on."
"Then it's no use trying it to-night," said the curate. "Perhaps a little later? It must be darkish for some time."
Ted shook his head again.
"No use! Too risky. It will be hours before they all go to bed and the house is quiet; the servants always keep it up after a big affair like this; some of 'em won't go to bed at all, perhaps. Besides, I was spotted just now."
The Parson, as he was called by the burgling fraternity, of which he and Ted were distinguished members, swore under his breath.
"How was that?" he asked.
"I was looking in at one of the windows of the servants' quarters, getting a word or two with the girl, when a couple of the swells came along. They saw me, and mistook me for some one by the name of Dick, and called to me. I walked off as quickly as I could, and I swear they didn't see my face, neither then nor just now, when, as luck would have it, they caught sight of me going out of the gates. They went into the lodge with the young fellow they'd mistaken me for."
The Parson swore again.
"What's to be done? Did you see the things?"
Ted nodded emphatically.
"Yes! They're the best swag I've ever seen. There's a fortune in them; and, if we had any luck, we might get a few more in addition."
"They'll be in the bank to-morrow," said the Parson gloomily. "These swells know how to take care of their jewelry, especially when they're family diamonds like these. We've lost our chance for the present, Ted. Jump up."
But Ted shook his head.
"Not yet. The girl promised to meet me if she could, and I reckon she'll try to." He smiled and smoothed his mustache. "You drive on slowly and wait for me at the turn of the road. I'll come to you, say, in a quarter of an hour."
The dogcart went on, and Ted followed until he came to a small gate in the park fencing, and, opening this, he stood just inside it. His hand went to his pocket for his pipe, but, with the smoker's sigh, he dropped it back again, for he could not risk striking a match.
After he had been waiting there for a few minutes he heard footsteps and the rustle of a skirt among the undergrowth, and presently a woman stole out from the darkness, and, running up to the man, clutched his arm, panting and trembling with fear and excitement.
Now, when Lord and Lady Wolfer had started for the Continent, on the day of what may be called their reconciliation, Burden, her maid, had refused to go. She was a bad sailor, and hated what she called "foreign parts"; and she begged her mistress to leave her behind. Lady Wolfer, full of sympathy in her newly found happiness, had not only let the girl off, but had made her a handsome present, and given her an excellent written character.
Burden took a holiday, and went home to her people, who kept what is called a "sporting public" in the east of London.
Sport, like charity, is made to cover a lot of sins; and Burden, while assisting in the bar of the pub, made the acquaintanceof several persons who were desirable neither in the matter of morals nor manners.
One of these was a good-looking young fellow who went by the name of Ted. He was supposed to be a watchmaker and jeweler by trade—a working jeweler—but he spent most of his time at the public which Burden now adorned, and though he certainly did not carry on his trade there, always appeared to have as much money as leisure.
Cupid, who seems to be indifferent to his surroundings, hovered about the smoky and beery regions of the Blue Pig, and very soon worked mischief between Burden and Ted.
He was pleasant spoken as well as good-looking, and had a free-and-easy way, was always ready with an order for the play or one of the music halls, and—in short, Burden fell in love with him. But when he asked her to marry him, Burden, who was a respectable girl, and, as Lady Wolfer's maid, had held a good position for one of her class, began to make inquiries.
She did not go on with them, but she learned enough to rouse her suspicions.
The jewelry business evidently served as a blind for less honest pursuits. She took alarm, and, like a sensible girl, fled the paternal pub and sought a fresh situation.
As chance—there is no such thing, of course—would have it, Lady Luce was changing maids at this time.
Burden, armed with her most excellent and fully deserved "character," applied for and obtained the situation.
She ought to have been thankful for her escape, and happy and contented in a service which, though very different from that of Lady Wolfer's, was good enough. But Burden had lost her heart; and when one has lost one's heart, happiness is impossible.
She longed for a sight, just a sight, of her good-looking Ted; and one day, while the Turfleighs were stopping at Brighton, her heart's desire was gratified.
She saw her handsome Ted on the pier. He was, if anything, handsomer than ever, was beautifully dressed—quite the gentleman, in fact, and though Burden had fully intended to just bow and pass on, she stopped and talked to him. Cupid slipped round her the chains from which she had so nearly freed herself, and——The woman who goes back to a man is indeed completely lost.
They met every day; but alas, alas! Ted no longer spoke of marriage; and his influence over the woman who loved him unwisely and too well, grew in proportion to her devotion and helplessness.
She soon learned that the man to whom she had given herself was a criminal, one of a skillful gang of burglars. Butit was too late to draw back; too late even to refuse to help him.
It was Burden who clung to the man in hiding behind the park gate.
"What made you hurry so, old girl?" he said soothingly, and putting his arm round her. "What's your fear?"
"Oh, Ted, Ted!" she gasped. "It's so dark——"
"All the better," he said coolly. "Less chance of any one seeing you."
"But some one saw you as you were standing by the window. It was Miss Lorton—they called out—they may have suspicions."
"Don't you worry," he said. "They only thought it was some one after one of the girls. And it was the truth, wasn't it? What a frightened little thing it is! You'd be scared by your own shadow!"
"I am! I am, Ted!" said the unhappy girl. "I start at the slightest noise; and I'm so—so nervous, that I expect Lady Lucille to send me away every day."
The man frowned.
"She mustn't do that," he said, half angrily. "I can't have that; it would be precious awkward just now! That would spoil all our plans."
"I know! I know!" she moaned. "Oh, if you'd only give it up! Give it up this time, only this one time to please me, Ted, dear."
He shook his head.
"I'd do anything to please you, but I'm not alone in this plant, you know; there's others; and I can't go back on my pals; so you mustn't go back on me."
He spoke in the tone which the man who has the woman in his power can use so effectually; then his voice grew softer, and he stroked her cheek gently.
"And think of what this means if we pull this off, Fan! No more dodging and hiding, no more risks of chokee and a 'life' for me, and no more slaving and lady's-maiding for you! We'll be off together to some foreign clime, as the poet calls it; and, with plenty of the ready, I fancy you'll cut a dash as Mrs. Ted."
It was the one bait which he knew would be irresistible. She caught her breath, and, pressing closer to him, looked up into his eyes eagerly.
"You mean it, Ted? You won't deceive me again? You'll keep your word?"
"Honor bright!" he responded. "Why shouldn't I? You know I'm fond of you. I'd have married you months ago if I'd struck a piece of luck like this; but what was the useof marrying when I had to—work, and there was the chance of my being collared any day of the week? No! But I promise you that if we pull this off, I am going to settle down; I shall be glad enough to do it. We'll have a little cottage, or a flat on the Continong, eh, Fan? Is the countess going to send the diamonds back to the bank to-morrow?"
He put the question abruptly, but in a low and impressive voice.
Burden shook her head.
"No," she replied reluctantly. "I—I asked her maid; they were talking about them just before I came out. Everybody was talking about them at the ball, and her ladyship's maid gives herself airs on account of them."
"Gases about them? Very natural. And she says?"
"There's a dinner party the night after next, and the countess thought it wasn't worth while sending them to the bank for one day. She's going to keep them in the safe in her room."
Ted's eyes glistened, and he nodded.
"Who keeps the key of the safe, Fan?" he asked; and though they were far from any chance of listeners, his voice dropped to a whisper.
"The countess," replied Burden, still reluctantly.
He nodded.
"I must have that key, Fan. Yes, yes! Remember what we are playing for, you and me! You get that key and put it in the corner of the windowsill where I was standing to-night."
"No, no!" she panted. His arm loosened, and he looked down at her coldly.
"You mean that you won't? Very well, then. But look here, my girl, we mean having these diamonds, with or without your help. You can't prevent us, for I don't suppose you'd be low enough to split and send me to penal servitude——"
"Ted! Ted!" she wailed, and put her arms round him.
He smiled to himself over her bowed head.
"What's the best time? While they're at dinner?"
She made a sign in the negative.
"No," she whispered, setting her teeth, as if every word were dragged from her. "No; the maid will be in the room putting the countess' things away; afterward—while they are in the drawing-room."
He bent and kissed her, his eyes shining eagerly.
"There! You've got more sense than I have, by a long chalk! I should never have thought of the maid being in the room. Clever Fan! Now, you'll put the key on the sill—when? Say ten o'clock. And you'll see, Fan, that thelittle window on the back staircase isn't locked, and keep at watch for us?"
"No, no!" she panted. "I will not! I cannot! I—I should faint! Don't ask me, Ted; don't—don't, dear! I shall say 'I'm ill'—and I shall be—and go to bed!"
"Not you!" he said, cheerfully and confidentially. "You'll just hang about the landing and keep watch for us; and if there's any one there to spoil our game, you'll go to the window and say, just loud enough for us to hear: 'What a fine night!'"
She hid her face on his breast, struggling with her sobs.
"Why, what is there to be afraid of!" he said. "If all's clear we shall have the things in a jiffy, and if it isn't we shall take our hook as quietly as we came, and no one will be the wiser. Should you like Boulogne, Fan, or should you like Brussels? We could be married directly we got on the other side. Boulogne's not half a bad place, and you'd look rather a swell at the Casino."
It was the irresistible argument again. She raised her head.
"You—you will go quietly; there will be no—no violence, Ted?"
"Is it likely?"
She shuddered.
"There—there was in that case at Berkeley Square, Ted!" and she shuddered again.
His face darkened.
"That was an accident. The gentleman was an obstinate old fool. But there's no fear of anything of that kind in this affair. I tell you we shall not be in the house more than five minutes, and if we're seen it won't matter. I'm in decent togs, and my pal is the model of a curate. Any one seeing us would think we were visitors in the house. You shall have a regular wedding dress, Fan. White satin and lace—real lace, mind you! Come, give us a kiss to say that it's done with, Fan!"
He took her face in his hands and kissed her, and with a choking sob she clung to him for a moment as if she could not tear herself away. But, having got what he wanted, the man was anxious to be off.
"Ten o'clock, mind, Fan! And a sharp lookout. There, let me put your shawl round your head. I'll wait here till I hear you're out of the wood."
But he remained only a moment or two after she had left him, and, with quick, light steps, he joined his confederate.
"It's all right," he said, as he got into the dogcart. "I've found out what I wanted. And I've managed with the girl. Had a devil of a job, though! That's the worst ofwomen! You've always got to play the sentimental with them; nothing short of making love or offering to marry 'em is any use. It's a pity this kind of thing can't be worked without a petticoat. There's always trouble and bother when they come in. To-morrow night, Parson, ten o'clock, you and I are men or mice; but it's going to be men," he added, between his teeth. "Did you bring my barker as well as your own?"
The Parson touched the side pocket of his overcoat, and nodded significantly.
The day following a big dance is always a slack one, and the house party at Anglemere came down late for breakfast, the last stragglers endeavoring to screen their yawns behind their hands, and receiving the usual "plans for the day" with marked coolness.
Drake, though he had slept but little, did his duty manfully, and proposed sundry rides and drives; but the majority of the party seemed to prefer a lounge in the drawing-room, or a quiet saunter in the garden; but eventually a drag started for some picturesque ruins, and some of the more energetic rode or drove to a flower show in the neighborhood.
It is an understood thing nowadays that your host, having provided for your amusement, is not necessarily compelled to join in your pursuits; in short, that his house shall not only be Liberty Hall for his guests, but for himself, and Drake, having dispatched the various parties, started a quiet game in the billiard room, and seen that the drawing-room windows were open and shaded, took his hat and stick and went out for a walk.
Lady Luce had not yet put in an appearance. She remained in bed or in her room on such occasions, and only sallied forth in time for luncheon, thereby presenting a fresh complexion and bright eyes with which to confound her less prudent sisters.
Drake had been thinking of her as well as of Nell. He knew that he would have to marry. The present heir to the title and estates was anything but a desirable young man, and it behooved Drake to keep him out of the succession if possible.
Drake, with all his freedom from pride and side, was fully sensible of the altitude of his position, and he knew the world looked to him for an heir to Angleford.
Yes, he would have to marry, and as he had lost Nell, why,not marry Luce? He had an idea that she cared for him, as much as she cared for any other than herself, and he knew that she would fill the place as well as, if not better than, another.
Their names had been coupled together. Society expected the match. Why should he not ask her to renew the engagement, and ask her at once? The house would be comparatively empty, for most of the guests would not return until dinner time, and he would have the opportunity of making his proposal.
He stopped dead short, half resolved to obey the impulse; then, after the manner of men, he walked on again, and away from Anglemere, and, instead of returning to the house in time for lunch, found himself at one of the outlying farms.
It is needless to say that he was accorded a hearty welcome. They did not fuss over him; the Anglemere tenants were prosperous and self-respecting; and though they regarded their lord and master as a kind of sovereign, and felt greatly honored by his presence under their roof, there was nothing servile in their attentions.
Drake sat down to the midday meal with a ruddy-cheeked child on each side of him, and chatted with the farmer and his wife, the farmer eating his well-earned dinner with his usual appetite, the latter waiting on them with assiduity and perfect composure. Now and again Drake made a joke for the sake of the children, who laughed up at him with round eyes and open mouths; he discussed the breeding and price of poultry, the rival merits of the new churns and "separators" with the dame, and the prospects of the coming harvest with the good man. For a wonder the farmer did not grumble. The Anglefords were good landlords; there was no rack-renting, no ejections, and a farm falling vacant from natural causes was always eagerly tendered for.
After the meal, which Drake enjoyed exceedingly, he and the farmer sat at the open window with their pipes and a glass of whisky and water, and continued their conversation.
"I'm hearing that your lordship thinks of coming to Anglemere and living among us," said the farmer. "And I hope it's true, with all my heart. The land needs a master's presence—not that I've anything to complain of. Wood, the steward, has acted like a gentleman by me, and I hear no complaints of him among the neighbors. But all the same, it ain't like having the earl himself over us. It makes one's heart ache to see that great place shut up and empty most o' the year. Seems as if there ought to be some one living there pretty nigh always, and as if there ought to be little children running about the terrace an' the lawns. Begging your lordship's pardon, if I'm too free."
"That's all right, Styles," said Drake. "I know what you mean."
The farmer nodded, and stopped his pipe with his fat little finger.
"I make so bold because I remember your lordship a wee chap so high." He put his hand about eighteen inches from the floor, as usual. "And a rare, hot-spirited youngster you was! Many's the time you've made me lift you into the cart, and you'd allus insist upon driving, though the reins were most too thick for your hands. Well, my lord, what we feels is that we'd like to live long enough to see another little chap—a future lordship—a-running about the place."
Drake nodded gravely and took a drink. Even this simple fellow was aware of Drake's duty to the title and estates.
"Perhaps you may some day, Styles," he said, smiling, and checking the sigh.
The farmer nodded twice, with pleasure and satisfaction.
"Glad to hear it, my lord; and I hope the wedding's to be soon."
"Soon or late, I hope you will come and dance at the wedding ball, Styles," Drake responded, with a laugh, as he got up to go.
But the laugh was not a particularly happy one, and he walked toward home in anything but a cheerful mood; for it is hard to be compelled to have to marry one woman while you are in love with another.
He entered the park by the small gate behind which Ted and Burden had stood on the preceding night, and was treading his way through the wood when he saw two figures—those of a man and a girl—walking in the garden behind the south lodge. He glanced at them absently for a moment, then he stopped, and, leaning heavily on his stick, caught his breath.
The man was Falconer, and the girl was—Nell!
They were pacing up and down the path slowly, she with her eyes downcast, some flowers in her hands, he with his face turned toward her, a rapt look in his eyes, his hands, folded behind his back, twitching nervously. They turned full face to Drake as he stood watching them, and he saw her distinctly. It seemed marvelous to him that he had not fully recognized her last night, that he had not guessed that the young engineer was Dick. The blood rushed to his face, then left it pale, and he stood, unseen by them, gnawing at his mustache.
In all his musings on the past, all his thoughts and dreams of her, the possibility of her being engaged or married had never occurred to him. He had always pictured her as still"Nell of Shorne Mills," living at The Cottage as she had done when she and he were lovers.
And it was she—she, Nell!—to whom this musician was engaged! A wave of bitterness swept over him, and in the agony of his jealousy he could have laughed aloud.
He had been sighing for her, longing for her, feeding his soul on his memory of her, all these months, while she had not only forgotten him, but had learned to love another man!
He stood and stared at them, as if he saw them through a mist, too overwhelmed to move; but presently he saw Nell look up with tears in her eyes, and hold out her hand slowly, timidly.
Falconer took it and put his lips to it. The sight broke the spell that held Drake, and, with a muttered oath, he turned and walked away quickly through the wood toward the house.
The first dinner bell was ringing as he entered the hall. Most of the guests had gone up to dress, but one or two still lingered in the hall, and among them Lady Angleford and Lady Luce. The former came to meet him as he entered.
"Why, where have you been, Drake?" she said, with the little maternal manner with which she always addressed him.
Lady Luce was lounging in a chair, playing with a grayhound, and she looked up at him with a smile, then lowered her eyes, as if she were afraid their welcome should be too marked.
"I've been for a walk," he said. His face was flushed, his eyes bright—too bright—with suppressed emotion. "I've been lunching at the Styles' farm——"
"That's a long way! Aren't you tired? Will you have some tea? I'll get some made in a moment or two. Do!"
"No, no; thanks!" he said, as he pitched his cap on the stand. "It's too late."
As he spoke he went up to Lady Luce and looked down at her, his face still flushed, his eyes still unnaturally bright.
"What have you been doing with yourself, Luce?" he asked.
She glanced up at him for a moment, then lowered her eyes and drew the dog's sleek head close to her.
"I don't know," she said, with a slight shrug of the shoulders. "Nothing, I think. It has been an awfully long day."
"Luce has been bored to death, and—for once—has admitted it," said Lady Angleford, laughing. "Her yawns and sighs have been too awful for words."
He stood and looked down at her. She was perfectly dressed, and looked like a girl in the light frock, with its plain blouse and neat sailor knot. At any rate, if he marriedher he would have a beautiful wife; and that was something. That she loved him, was still more.
Now that he knew Nell had forgotten him, there was no reason why he should hesitate.
He bent lower, and his hand fell on the dog's head and touched hers.
"Luce!" he said.
She looked up, saw that the words she had been longing for were trembling on his lips, and her face grew pale.
"Luce, I want to speak to you," he said, in a low voice. Lady Angleford had gone to a table to collect her work; there was no one within hearing. "I want to ask you——"
Before he could finish the all-important sentence, Wolfer and one or two other men who had been riding came in at the door.
"Bell gone?" exclaimed Wolfer. "Afraid we are late. Had a capital ride, Angleford! What a lovely country it is! Is my wife in yet?"
Drake bit his lip; for, having made up his mind to the plunge, he disliked being pulled up on the brink.
"After dinner," he whispered, bending still lower, and he went upstairs with the other men. Lord Turfleigh, who was with them, paused at the landing, murmured an excuse, and toddled heavily down again. Lady Luce had picked up her book and risen, and she lifted her head and looked at her father with an unmistakable expression on her face.
He raised his heavy eyebrows and stretched his mouth in a grin of satisfaction.
"No!" he said, in a thick whisper. "Really?"
She nodded, and flashed a smile of exultant triumph round the hall.
"Yes. He had nearly spoken when you came in! My luck, of course! Another minute! But he will speak to-night!"
"My dear gyurl!" he murmured. "You make your poor old father a proud and happy man. My own gyurl!"
She glanced at Lady Angleford warningly, and going up to her, took her arm and murmured sweetly:
"Let us go upstairs together, dear."
Lady Angleford looked at her with a meaning smile.
"How changed you have suddenly become, Luce!" she said. "Where are all your yawns gone? One would think you had heard news!"
Luce turned her face with a radiant smile.
"Perhaps I have," she said, in a low voice. "I—I will tell you—to-morrow!"
They parted at the door of Lady Angleford's room, Lady Luce's being farther down the corridor. Next to LadyAngleford's was the suite which had been prepared for Drake, and he came out of the room which adjoined the one she used as a dressing room as she was going into it.
"I'm sorry if my absence to-day was inconvenient, countess," he said.
"Not in the least! Everybody was disposed of; indeed, I was so free that Lady Wolfer and I went for a long drive. How changed she is! I don't know a happier woman! And she has given up all that woman's rights business."
Drake nodded, with, it must be admitted, little interest.
"By the way," he said, as casually as he could, "what is the name of the young engineer and his sister who are staying at the lodge?"
"Lorton," replied the countess. "So stupid of me! I thought it was Norton, and I addressed the invitation so; but Mrs. Hawksley tells me that it is Lorton. The brother comes from Bardsley & Bardsley."
Drake nodded. He needed no confirmation of the fact of Nell's presence.
"And she's engaged to this Mr. Falconer?"
"Oh, yes," replied the countess. "There can be no doubt of it. Mrs. Harksley says that his attentions to her last night—at the ball, I mean—were quite touching. They walked home together arm in arm. I really must call on her. They say she is extremely pretty."
"No need to call, I think," he said. "I mean," he went on, as the countess looked surprised, "that—that they will be gone directly."
"Oh, but I thought he might be going to remain as resident engineer."
"No, I think not," said Drake, almost harshly. "From all I hear, he's too young."
Lady Angleford nodded, and went into her room, where her maid was awaiting her.
"Will you wear your diamonds, my lady?" she asked.
The countess nodded absently, and took the key of the safe from her purse; but when the maid placed the square case which held the marvelous jewels on the dressing table, Lady Angleford changed her mind.
"No, no," she said; "not to-night. It is only a house party. Put them back, please."
The maid replaced the case in the safe, but she could not turn the key.
"You must be quick. I am afraid I'm late," said the countess.
"I can't turn the key, my lady," said the woman.
Lady Angleford rose and tried to turn it, but the key remained obstinately immovable.
"Knock at the earl's door and ask him if he will be kind enough to come to me," she said.
The maid did so, and Drake came in.
"I can't lock the safe, Drake," said the countess. "I am so sorry to trouble you."
"It's no trouble," he responded. "Literally none," he added, with a short laugh. "You hadn't quite closed the door. See?"
"We were stupid. How like a woman!" she said penitently.
"Take care of the key," he said. "The diamonds had better be sent to the bank the day after to-morrow, unless you want to wear them again soon."
"No," she said. "They make such a fuss about them; and—well, they are rather too much of a blaze for such a little woman as I am."
"Nonsense!" he said. "Here's the key."
He laid it on the dressing table, and she was about to take it up to replace it in her purse, and put the purse in one of the small drawers of the dressing table, when there came a knock at the door, and Burden entered.
"I—I beg your ladyship's pardon," she faltered, drawing back.
"What is it?" asked the countess.
"I wanted to borrow some eau de Cologne for my lady," said Burden. "I thought your ladyship had gone down, or I wouldn't——"
"Give her the eau de Cologne," said the countess to her maid. "Please ask Lady Luce to keep it. I shall not want it."
Burden took the bottle and went out. On the other side of the door she paused a moment and caught her breath. Chance, or the devil himself, was working on Ted's behalf, for she had happened to enter the room at the very moment the countess had put the key in the purse, and the purse in the drawer. And all day Burden had been wondering how she should get that key.
She went on after a moment or two, and Lady Luce looked up from her chair in front of the dressing table, as Burden entered.
"Where have you been?" she asked sharply.
"I went to borrow some eau de Cologne, my lady," replied Burden.
"Well, please be quick; you know we are late. I will wear——" she paused a moment. She wanted to look her best that night. The beauty which had caught Drake in the past, the beauty which was to ensnare him again, and win for her the Angleford coronet, must lack no advantage dresscould lend it. "The silver gray and the pearls, please," she said, after a moment or two of consideration. "Why, what is the matter with you?" she asked sharply, as she saw the reflection of Burden's face in the glass. "Are you ill, or what?"
Burden tried to force the color to her face and keep her hands steady.
"I—I am not very well, my lady," she faltered. "I—I have had bad news."
"Bad news! What news?" asked Lady Luce coldly.
"My—mother is very ill, my lady," replied Burden, on the spur of the moment.
Lady Luce moved impatiently.
"It is a singular thing that persons of your class are always in some trouble or other; you are either ill yourselves, or some of your relations are dying. I am very sorry and all that, Burden, but I hope you were not thinking of asking me to let you go home, because I really could not just now."
"No, my lady; perhaps a little later——"
"Well, I'll see," said Lady Luce irritably. "I don't suppose you could do any good if you were to go home; I suppose there's some one to look after your mother; and, after all, she may not be so bad as you think. Servants always look at the worst side of things, and meet troubles halfway."
"Yes, my lady," said Burden.
"And do, for goodness' sake, try and look more cheerful, my good girl! It's like having a ghost behind me. Besides, if you are worrying yourself about your mother you can't dress me properly; and I want you to be very careful to-night—of all nights!"
She leaned back and smiled at her face in the glass, and thought no more of the maid's pale and anxious one. Had she been not so entirely heartless, had she even only affected a little interest and expressed some sympathy, the unhappy girl might have broken down and confessed her share in the meditated crime; but Lady Luce was incapable of pretending sympathy with a servant. In her eyes servants were of quite a different order of creation to that of her own class; hewers of wood and drawers of water, of no account beyond that which they gained from their value to their masters or mistresses. To consider the feelings of the servants who waited upon her would have seemed absurd to Lady Luce, almost, indeed, a kind of bad form.
The dinner bell had rung before she was dressed, and she hurried down to find herself the last to arrive in the drawing-room. She sought Drake's face as she entered. It still wore the expression of suppressed excitement which she had noticedwhen he came in from his walk, and he smiled with a kind of reluctant admiration as he noticed the magnificent dress, and the way in which it set off her beauty.
At dinner his altered mood was so marked that several persons who were near him noticed it. He, who had been so quiet and grave, almost stern in his manner and speech, to-night talked much and rapidly, and laughed freely.
The flush on his face deepened, and his eyes flashed so brightly that Wolfer, who was sitting near him, could not help noticing how often Drake permitted the butler to fill his glass, and wondered whether anything had happened, and whether he were drinking too much.
But Drake's gayety was infectious enough, and the dinner was a much livelier one than any that had preceded it.
Lady Luce was, perhaps, the most quiet and least talkative; but she sat and listened to Drake's stories and badinage, with a smile in her eyes and her lips slightly apart.
In a few hours he would speak the word which would make her the future Countess of Angleford!
The ladies lingered at the table rather longer than usual, for Drake's stories had suggested others to the other men, and his high spirits had awakened those of the persons near him. But Lady Angleford rose at last, and the ladies filed off to the drawing-room.
The men closed up their ranks, and Drake sent the wine round briskly. There was no dance to cut short the pleasant "after-the-ladies-have-gone" time; and they sat long over their wine, so that it was nearly ten o'clock when Drake, with his hand on the decanter near him, said:
"No more, anybody? Sure? Turfleigh, you will, surely!"
But the old man knew that he had had enough. He, too, was excited, and under a strain, and he rose rather unsteadily and shook his head.
"No, thanks. Er—er—I fancy we've rather punished that claret of yours to-night, my dear boy."
"It's a sad heart that never rejoices!" Drake retorted, with a laugh which sounded so reckless that Wolfer glanced at him with surprise.
"We'd better have a cigarette in the smoking room before we go into the drawing-room," said Drake, and he led the way.
As they went, talking and laughing, together across the hall, a white-faced woman leaned over the balustrade above, and watched them.
The other servants were in the servants' hall, enjoying themselves; the gentlemen were in the smoking room, and the ladies in the drawing-room. She was alone in the upper part of the house, which was so quiet and still that the soundof a clock, in one of the rooms, striking ten was like that of a church bell in her ears.
She started and pressed her hand to her heart, then stole to the window on the back staircase, and, keeping behind the curtain, listened. Her heart beat so loudly as to almost deafen her, but she heard a slight noise outside, and something fell with a soft tap against the window sill. It was the top of the ladder falling into its place.
Burden had switched off some of the electric lights in the corridor—was, indeed, prepared to switch the remainder if any one happened to come up—and she could just see a face through the window. The sight of it almost made her scream, for the face was partially covered by a crape mask, through which the eyes gleamed fiercely.
Burden clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle the cry of terror, and, absolutely incapable of remaining on the spot, fled to her own room and locked herself in.
Ted raised the window noiselessly and stepped into the corridor. He had a plan of the house, drawn from Burden's description, and he made straight for the countess' room. The Parson stood at the bottom of the ladder on guard. And each man carried a revolver loaded in all six barrels.
A few minutes before the burglar had so neatly effected his entrance, the men left the smoking room for the drawing-room—all excepting Lord Turfleigh, who had taken a soda and brandy with his cigar, and deemed it prudent to indulge in a little nap before joining the ladies.
Drake was a little less excited than he had been, but he was still resolved to ask Luce to be his wife, and he meant to take her into the conservatory, or one of the rooms where they could be alone for a few minutes. But when he entered the drawing-room she was playing. He went up to the piano, and, bending over it as if to look at the music, whispered:
"Will you go into the conservatory presently?"
She nodded, and without raising her eyes, but with a sudden flush. Drake went across the room to where Lady Angleford and Lady Wolfer were seated, talking, and the first word he heard was Nell's name.
"Of course it is the same," Lady Wolfer was saying eagerly. "Her brother was at the engineers, Bardsley & Bardsley! And Nell has been near us all this time, and inthis house, and I didn't know it! If I had, I would have gone to her at once. She's the dearest and sweetest girl in all the world, and I owe her——" She stopped and sighed, but not sadly. "She left us quite suddenly to go to her stepmother, who was a cousin of my husband's; and I have only seen her once since. They—she and her brother—were living in one of these large mansions—a dreadfully crowded and noisy place; but, though they were poor, she seemed quite happy and contented. I begged her to come and live with me, but she would not leave her brother—though for that matter we should have been delighted to have him also, especially if he is anything like her. Oh, yes, the dearest girl! And you don't know how much I owe her! Some day I may be tempted to tell you." She sighed again, and was silent for a moment, as she recalled the scene in her bedroom on the night of the dinner party, the night before Nell had left Wolfer House so suddenly. "I must go and see her to-morrow morning. They say she is engaged to the young man, the violinist."
Lady Angleford nodded.
"Yes; and if she was engaged to him when you last saw her, that would account for her happiness, notwithstanding her poverty. She is an extremely pretty girl. I remember her quite well. I saw her at your dinner party, you know. I hope she is going to marry a man worthy of her. I'll go with you to see her to-morrow, if you'll let me."
Drake stood listening, his hands clasped behind his back, his face set sternly. Every word they said caused him a pang of pain; and as he listened, his mind went back to the happy weeks when Nell was engaged to a man who certainly was not worthy of her.
Lady Angleford looked up at him.
"We were talking of Miss Lorton and her brother, Drake," she said. "She's a kind of connection of Lady Wolfer's, and lived with them for a time. I wish you would see the brother and see if he really is too young to be the resident engineer. It would be so nice to have some one whom one knows."
"I will see," he said, so grimly that Lady Wolfer glanced up at him with some surprise; and, as he moved away, Lady Angleford looked after him and sighed.
"How changed he is!" she said, in a low voice.
"In what way?" asked Lady Wolfer.
The countess was silent for a moment or two.
"He seems as if he were unhappy about something," she said; "as if something were worrying him. I only saw him twice before he came into the title, and though he was by no means 'loud' or effusive, he was bright and cheerful; butnow——I noticed the change the moment he came into the Hall on his return. It seems so strange. He had cause for anxiety then, for there was a chance of his losing Angleford; but now one would think he possessed all that a man could desire."
"The vanity of human wishes, my dear!" said Lady Wolfer. "Something may have happened while he was abroad," she suggested in a low voice.
"You mean a love affair? I don't think so."
The countess glanced toward the piano. She felt sure that Drake was about to renew his engagement with Lady Luce, and she deemed him the last man in the world to marry for the sake of "convenience."
Drake moved about the room restlessly, waiting for Luce to rise from the piano; but she was playing a long piece—an interminable one, as it seemed to him. Presently he felt for his pocket handkerchief, and, not finding it, remembered leaving it on the dressing table where Sparling had placed it. He went into the hall to send a servant for it; but there was not one in sight, and he went quickly up the stairs and entered his dressing room. He noticed that most of the electric lights were down, and, disliking the gloom, went toward the row of switches. They were fixed to the wall almost opposite Lady Angleford's dressing room, and as his hand went up to them, he heard a slight sound in the room.
It was a peculiar sound, like the soft bang which is made by the closing of a safe door. For a moment Drake paid no heed to it; then suddenly its significance struck upon him. Lady Angleford was in the drawing-room. Who could be at the safe?
He stepped outside the door, and waited for a second or two, then he opened the door softly, and saw a man rising from his knees in front of the safe. The man turned at the moment and stood with the case of diamonds in his hand—two other cases bulged from his side pockets—his eyes gleaming through his mask.
Now, in fiction the hero who is placed in this position always cries aloud for help, and instantly springs at the burglar; but in real life the element of surprise has to be taken into account; and Drake was too amazed at the moment to fling himself upon the thief. Besides, it is your weak and timid man who immediately cries for help. Drake was neither weak nor timid, and it would not occur to him to shriek for assistance. So the two men stood motionless as statues, and glanced at each other while you could count twenty. Then the burglar whipped a revolver from his pocket and presented it.
"Stand out of my way!" he said gruffly, and disguisinghis voice, for he knew how easily a voice can become a means of identification. "Better stand out of my way, or, by God! I'll fire!"
Drake laughed, the short laugh of a strong man ridiculing the proposal that he shall probably stand aside and permit a thief to pass with his booty.
"Put down that thing," he said. "You know you can't fire; too much noise. Put it down—and the cases. No? Very well!"
He sprang aside with one movement, and with the next went for the man.
Ted was really a skillful craftsman, and had taken the precaution to fasten a string across the room, from the bed to the grate.
Drake's foot caught in it, and he went sprawling on his face.
Ted sprang over him, and gained the corridor. With a dexterity beyond all praise, he switched off the remaining lights and then pushed up the window and dropped, rather than climbed, down the ladder.
Drake was on his feet in a moment and out in the corridor in the next. He had heard the window pushed up, and knew the point at which the man had made his escape.
Even then he did not give the alarm, and he did not turn up the lights, for he could see into the night better without them. He leaned out of the window and peered into darkness, and distinguished two forms gliding toward the shrubbery.
It was a long drop, but he intended taking it. He swung one leg over the sill as some one came up the stairs.
It was Sparling.
"Why are all the lights out?" he exclaimed. "Who's there?" for there was light enough from the hall for him to see Drake dimly.
"All right; it's I," said Drake quietly. "Turn up the lights. There are burglars. Don't shout; you'll frighten the ladies. Get the bicycle lamp from my room—quick!"
Sparling tore into the room, and came dashing out with the lamp, and, with trembling hands, lit it.
"Drop it down to me when I call," said Drake. "I'll risk its going out. Then get some of the men and search the grounds. And—mind!—no frightening the ladies!"
Then he lowered himself, dropped, and called up. He caught the lamp, which was still alight, and covering the glass with his hand, ran in the direction the men had taken; and as he ran he buttoned his dress coat over the big patch of white made by his wide shirt front.
He had stalked big game often enough to be aware that his only chance of tracking the thieves lay in his following themquietly and unseen, and he ran on tiptoe, and keeping as much as possible among the shrubs as he went, his ears and eyes strained attentively, he endeavored to put himself in their place.
"Yes," he muttered, "they'll make for the road, where there'll be a trap waiting for them—or bicycles; but which part of the road?"
The park fence was high, but easily climbable by an experienced burglar, and they might make for it at any point; presumably the nearest.
By this time he was cool enough, but extremely angry; and he blamed himself for falling so easily into the string trap. What he ought to have done——At this point in his futile reflections he stopped and listened, not for the first time, and he fancied he heard a rustling among the trees in front of him. He ran on as softly as possible, and presently saw a figure—one only—going swiftly in the direction of the lodge.
Drake understood in a moment; one man had gone to bring the vehicle near the gates, and this other man was waiting for it.
Up to this instant Drake had given no thought to the fact that he was pursuing two men, desperate, and, no doubt, armed, while he had no kind of weapon upon him. But now he smiled with a grim satisfaction as he saw that he had only one man to deal with.
Their separation was a point in his favor.
Steadily he followed on the man's track, and in a moment or two he saw the glimmer of the light from the lodge window; and as he saw it, he heard the roll of wheels approaching the gates.
The burglar, unacquainted with the topography of the road, was breaking his way through the undergrowth; and Drake, seeing that there was a chance of cutting him off by striking into one of the paths, turned into it.
He had to run for all he was worth now, and as he sped along he was reminded of his old college days, when he sprinted for the mile race—and won it. He reached a corner where the narrow path joined the wider one leading to the gate, and here he stopped, listening intently, and still covering the light of the lamp with his hand. Suddenly he heard footsteps near the lodge, and with a thrill of excitement more keen than any other chase had given him, he ran toward them.
As he did so, he caught sight of a woman's dress, and a faint cry of alarm and surprise arose. Was there a woman in the business?
Before he could answer the mental question he saw a figure—thefigure he had been pursuing—dash from the woods on the right and make for the path he had just left. Drake swung round sharply and tore after him. The man looked over his shoulder, swore threateningly, and snatched something from his pocket. In drawing the revolver, however, he dropped something, and Drake saw, with immense satisfaction, that it was the diamond case.
"Give in, my man!" he said.
Ted laughed, caught up the case, and rushed on in the direction of the gate. But at that moment the tall figure of Falconer ran from the lodge.
Falconer stood for a moment, then he took in the situation, and dashing to the gate, flung it close. Ted heard the clang of the gate, and ran back toward Drake, with revolver raised.
Death stared Drake in the face; but it is at such moments that men of his temperament are coolest. He sprang aside as he had done in Lady Angleford's room. The revolver "pinged," there was a flash of light, but the bullet sped past him, and Drake flung himself upon his man.
Ted was as slippery as an eel, and striking Drake across the head with the revolver, he ran into the woods, with Drake after him; but the man knew there was no escape for him in that direction, and after a moment or two he turned and faced Drake again.
"Keep off, you fool, or I'll shoot you!" he growled hoarsely.
"Give in," said Drake again. "The game's up!"
Ted laughed shortly, and aimed the revolver again; but as his finger pressed the trigger, a cry rose from behind him, his arm was struck aside, and once more the bullet whizzed past its mark, and Drake was saved.
He saw the figure of a woman struggling with the burglar, saw the man raise his hand to strike her from him, saw her fall to the ground, and knew, by some instinct, that it was Nell.
In that instant the capture of the man was of no moment to him. With a cry, he flung himself on his knees beside her.
"Nell, Nell!" he panted. "Is it you?"
She remained quite motionless under his words, his touch, and he raised her head and tried to see her face.
The lamp he had dropped some moments before.
Suddenly a great shudder ran through her. She sighed, and opened her eyes.
"Drake!" she murmured; "Drake! Is he——"
He thought she referred to the man.
"Never mind him," he said eagerly. "Are you hurt? Tell me?"
She put her hand to her head, and struggled to her feet,swaying to and fro as if only half conscious, then her hands went out to him, and she uttered a cry of terror and anxiety.
"He—he shot you!" she gasped.
"No, no!" he responded quickly. "There is no harm done, if the brute has not hurt you."
She shook her head and leaned against the tree, trembling and panting.
"I was in the garden. I—heard you and the man running, and—and—I—ran across the path——"
"In time to save my life," he said gravely. "But I'd rather have died than you should come to harm."
As he spoke, he heard the noise of a struggle behind him. He had absolutely ceased to care what became of the man whom he had been pursuing so relentlessly for a few minutes before; but the noise, the hoarse cries, which now broke upon them had recalled him to a sense of the situation.
"They are struggling at the gate—I must leave you," he said hurriedly. And he ran down the path.
As he approached the gate, he saw Falconer and the burglar struggling together. Falconer was losing ground every moment, and as Drake was nearly upon them, Ted got his opponent under him; but Falconer still clung to him, and Ted could not get free from him. As he shot a glance at Drake he ground his teeth.
"Let me go, you fool!" he hissed. "Let me——"
He got one arm free, the glimmer of steel flashed in the dim light as he struck downward, and Falconer with a sharp groan loosed his hold.
Ted was clear of him in an instant and sprang for the gate; but as he opened it Drake was upon him. Ted was spent with his struggle with Falconer; he had dropped his revolver; Drake had seized the arm which held the knife—seized it in a grip like that of a vise.
"Parson! Quick!" cried Ted. The dogcart drove up to the gate, and the Parson was about to spring to the aid of his mate, when another figure came running up. It was Dick.
"Why, what on earth's the matter?" he cried.
At the sound of his voice, the Parson, counting his foes with a quick eye, leaped into the cart and drove away at a gallop. Ted cursed at the sound of the retreating cart and struck out wildly, but Drake had pinned him against the gate.
"Knock that knife out of his hand!" he said sharply, and Dick did so. In another moment the burglar was on his back in the road with Drake's knee on his chest.
"That will do!" he panted. "I give in! It's a fair cap! But if that white-livered hound had stood by me, I'd have beaten the lot of you! As it is, I've given as good as I'vegot, I fancy!" and he nodded tauntingly as he glanced to where Dick knelt beside Falconer.
Drake tore off the mask, and Ted shrugged his shoulders.
"You can take your knee off my chest, my lord," he said; "you're a tidy weight. Oh, I'm not going to try to escape. I know when I'm done. But it was a near thing."
Sparling and a couple of grooms with lanterns came running toward them, and Drake rose.
"Look to him," he said quietly. "He is not armed."
Ted took the cases from his pockets and flung them down as the men surrounded him; then he drew out a cigarette case, and, with a cockney drawl, said:
"Can one of you oblige me with a light?"
Sparling knocked the cigarette out of his hand, and one of the grooms growled:
"Shall I give him one over the head, for his cheek, Mr. Sparling?"
"Yes; that's about all you flunkeys can do; hit a man when he's down," said Ted. "But you needn't trouble. Here comes the peelers."
His quick ears had caught the heavy footsteps of the policeman, who came running up, and, before he was asked to do so, he held out his hands for the handcuffs.
"Is the cove dead?" he asked curtly; but no one answered him; indeed, no answer was possible, for Falconer lay like one dead, and Drake, who supported his head, could perceive no movement of the heart.
"One of you take a cart and go for the doctor," he said gravely.
As he spoke, Nell came toward them. The climax had been reached so quickly that Falconer had been wounded and the burglar caught before she could find strength to follow Drake; for the reaction which had followed upon her discovery of the fact that he was unhurt had made her weaker than the man's blow had done.
But now, as she saw the circle of men bending and kneeling round a prostrate figure, her terror rose again and she hurried forward. Pushing one of the men aside, she looked down, and with a cry fell on her knees beside the unconscious man and gazed with horror-stricken eyes.
"He is dead! He is dead! He has killed him!" she moaned.
There was a moment's silence, while Drake looked at her with set face and gloomy eyes; for at the anguish in her voice a pang of jealousy shot through him, of envy; for how willingly he would have changed places with the injured man!
He rose, lantern in hand, and went round to her.
"He is not dead," he said, almost inaudibly.
"Oh, thank God!" she breathed.
"But he is badly hurt, I am afraid," said Drake gravely. Then he turned to the men. "We will carry him to the lodge. Gently!"
They lifted the wounded man and bore him along slowly. As they did so, Nell walked by his side, and half unconsciously took his hand and held it fast clasped in her trembling one. Even at that moment he saw her actions, and his heart ached. Yes, to have Nell hold his hand thus, to have her sweet eyes resting on him so tenderly, so anxiously, he would have willingly been in Falconer's place.
They carried Falconer up to his room, and Drake, with the skill he had acquired in many a knife-and-gun-shot accident, staunched the wound. Falconer had been stabbed in the chest, and the blood was flowing, but slowly.
Drake was so absorbed in the task that he had forgotten Dick's presence until, looking up, he caught Dick's eye fixed on him with sheer wonder.
"Drake!" he said, in a whisper. "You here?"
Drake nodded.
"Yes; it's a strange meeting, Dick, isn't it? But we have been near each other—though we didn't know it—for some days past. You are 'the young engineer,' and I——"
He shrugged his shoulders, and Dick leaped at the truth.
"You are Lord Angleford?" he said.
Drake nodded.
"Yes. I'll explain presently. Just now all we can think of is this poor fellow."
"Poor chap!" said Dick sadly. "If I'd only come up a minute or two sooner—I'd gone down to the village for some 'bacca. Who'd have thought he was such a plucky one. For he's not strong, Drake, you see."
Drake nodded.
"No," he said; "but it is not always the strongest who are the bravest. Who is that?" for there came a knock at the door.
Dick went and opened it. Nell stood there, white to the lips, but calm and composed. He answered the question in her eyes.
"All right, Nell! Don't be frightened. He'll pull through; won't he, Drake?"
She turned her eyes upon him, and he met their appeal steadily.
"I hope so," he said.
She stole into the room, and, with her hands clasped, looked down at Falconer in silence.
"I hope so," repeated Drake emphatically. "There arenot so many brave men that the world can afford to lose one."
She raised her eyes to his face quickly.
"Yes," he said, "he was unarmed and knew that it was a struggle for life, that the man was desperate and would stick at nothing. It was the pluckiest thing I have ever seen." Then he remembered how she had sprung forward to strike up the burglar's arm, and he added, under his breath, "almost the pluckiest."
The crimson dyed her face for a moment, and her eyes dropped under his regard; but she said nothing, and presently she stole out again.
It seemed an age to the two men before the doctor arrived, though the time was really short; it seemed another age while he made his examination. He met Drake's questioning gaze with the grave evasion which comes so naturally to the smallest of country practitioners.
"A nasty wound, my lord!" he said. "But I've known men recover from a worse one. Unfortunately, he is not a strong man. This poor fellow has known the meaning of privation." He touched the thin arm, and pointed to the wasted face. "They tell their own story! Now, if it were you, my lord——" he smiled significantly.
"Would to God it had been!" said Drake. The village nurse, whom the doctor had instructed to follow him, entered and moved with professional calm to the bedside, and the doctor gave her some instructions.
"I'll send you some help, nurse," he said.
As he spoke, Nell came to the door.
"No," she said, very quietly; "there is no need; I will help."
Almost as if he had heard her, Falconer's lips quivered, and he murmured something. Nell glided to the bed, and kneeling beside him, took his hand. His eyes opened, with the vacant stare of unconsciousness for a moment, then they recognized her, and he spoke her name.
"Nell!"
"Yes," she whispered, in response. "It is I. You are here at the lodge. Here is Dick, and"—her voice fell before Drake's steady regard—"you are with friends, and safe."
He smiled, but his eyes did not leave her face.
"I know," he said. "I—I am more than content."
Drake could bear it no longer. Dick followed him out of the room, and they went downstairs.
"I will wire for Sir William, the surgeon," said Drake, very quietly. "He will come down by the first train. Everything shall be done. Tell—tell your sister——"
Dick nodded gravely.
"He's one of the best fellows in the world; he's worth saving, Drake——" he said. "I beg your pardon," he broke off. "I—I suppose I ought to call you 'my lord' now. I can scarcely realize yet——"
Drake flushed almost angrily.
"For Heaven's sake, no!" he exclaimed. "There need be no difference between you and me, Dick, whatever there may be between——I'll come across in the morning to inquire, and I'll tell you all that has happened. Dick, you'll have to forgive me for hiding my right name down there at Shorne Mills. It was a folly; but one gets punished for one's follies," he added, as he held out his hand.
Still confused by the discovery that his old friend "Drake Vernon" was Lord Angleford, Dick could only let him go in silence, and Drake passed out.
As he did so, he looked up at the window of the sick room. A shadow passed the blind, and as he recognized it he sighed heavily. Yes; notwithstanding his wound and his peril, the penniless musician was the lucky man, and he, my Lord of Angleford, the most unfortunate and unhappy.
Slowly he made his way toward the house, and as he went the face and the voice of the woman he loved haunted him. For a moment she had rested in his arms, and he could still feel her head on his breast, still hear the "Drake, Drake!"
She had not forgotten him, then; she still remembered him with some kindness, though she loved Falconer? Well, he should be grateful for that. It would be good to think of all through the weary years that lay before him.
How beautiful she was! With what an exquisite tenderness her eyes had dwelt upon the wounded man! He started, and almost groaned, as he remembered that not so long ago those eyes had beamed love and tenderness upon himself.
"Oh, Nell, Nell!" broke from him unconsciously. "Oh, my dear, lost love! how shall I live without you, now that I have seen you, held you in my arms again?"
The great house loomed before him; the hall door was open; figures were standing and flitting in the light that streamed on the terrace; and with a pang he awoke to the responsibilities of his position, to the remembrance of his interview with Luce. There she stood on the top of the steps, a shawl thrown round her head, her face eager and anxious.
"Drake! Is it you?" she exclaimed; and she came down the steps to meet him, her hand outstretched.
The others crowded round, all talking at once. He shook her hand, held it a moment, then let it drop.
"He is all right, I hope," he said.
"He!" she murmured. "It is you—you, Drake!"
He frowned slightly.
"Oh! I?" he said, with self-contempt. "I have got off scot-free. Where is the countess?"
Lady Luce looked at him keenly, and with a half-reproachful air.
"I—I—have been very frightened, Drake," she said.
For the life of him he could not even affect a tenderness.
"On my account? There was not the least need."
Lady Angleford came forward hurriedly.
"Drake! You are not hurt! Thank God!" And her hands clasped his arm.
"You have got your jewels?" he said, in the curt tone with which a man tries to fend off a fuss. "Are they all there?"
She made an impatient movement.
"Yes, yes—oh, yes! As if they mattered! Tell me how that poor man is. How brave of him!"
He smiled grimly.
"Yes. He will pull round, I hope. We shall know more in the morning. Hadn't you ladies better go to bed? Wolfer, I have wanted a drink once or twice in my life, but never, I think, quite so keenly as now."
The men gathered round him as he stopped at the foot of the stairs to wish the women good night. Luce came last, and as she held out her hand, looked at him appealingly. Was he going to let her go without the word she had been expecting—the word he had promised? He understood the appeal in her eyes, but he could not respond. Not to-night, with Nell's face and voice haunting him, could he ask Lady Luce to be his wife. To-morrow—yes, to-morrow!
She smiled at him as he held her hand, but as she went up the stairs the smile vanished, and, if it is ever possible for so beautiful a woman to become suddenly plain, then Lady Luce's face achieved that transformation.