"Begad, Perry, but that's a vicious brute of yours!" cried Anthony. This as Wildfire curvetted, snorting, sidled and performed an impassioned dance upon the footpath.
"Not exactly vicious, Tony," I demurred when I had quelled this exuberance, "merely animal spirits. Wildfire is a high-strung creature requiring constant thought and attention and is consequently interesting, besides which—"
Here a shriek and hoarse shouts as, by means of whip and curb and spur, I swung the animal in question from the dangerous proximity of a shop window and checked his impulse to walk on his hind legs.
"Scarcely a lady's pad, Peregrine!" grinned Anthony, as I came perilously near upsetting a coster's barrow, to its owner's vociferous indignation. "Egad, a four-footed devil warranted to banish every other worry but himself!"
"Precisely," said I, when my steed, moderating his ardour, permitted me coherent speech. "And this is the reason I ride him. No one mounted on Wildfire can think of anything but Wildfire and this is sometimes a blessing."
"How so, Perry?"
"Well, I am harassed of late by two obsessions—the memory of that poor—drowned child—I cannot forget her face!"
"But, deuce take it, man—this was days and days ago."
"And the other is, strangely enough—Diana. The thought that I shall meet her so soon—a nameless doubt—an indefinable dread—"
"Dread, Perry? Doubt? What the dooce d'ye mean?"
"That's the devil of it, Anthony—I—don't know. But I have a vague fear—a presentiment, if you like. I feel as if there was a dreadful something impending—a shadow—"
"Oh, pshaw, man! Shadow? Tush an' be damned to it! You're in a devilish low state—indubitably stomach—"
Here further converse was ended for the time being by Wildfire taking it into his head to snort and start, to prance and shiver at a large man in velveteens and a leather hat, whereupon Velveteens backed hastily and swore; Wildfire reared and plunged at him, whereupon Velveteens dodged into a doorway, cursing vehemently; people, at a safe distance, shouted; boys hooted; and then, having thus drawn attention to himself, Wildfire trotted daintily on again, leaving Velveteens spent and breathless with indignant cursings.
So with such minor unpleasantnesses as roaring oaths, curses and personal vilification, we won free of the denser traffic and had at last left the great city behind us and Wildfire's scornful hoofs were spurning the dust of Kent Street.
We rode by New Cross and Lewisham, through Lee Village with its two "Tiger" Inns and the stocks upon the green, through Eltham with the timeworn gables of its ancient palace rising on our right, dreaming of past glories.
"To-morrow night, Perry—to-morrow night we shall see 'em! My Loveliness! Egad, I'm only just beginning to realise how damnably I miss her! Wonderful institution, marriage. To-morrow, Perry! And the day after—home at Nettlestead Abbey—she and I. She loves the old place—and the roses will be in bloom—she adores roses. This is why I'm dragging you down to Nettlestead—must see everything shipshape—the old place ready—with its arms out to welcome her home, d'ye see—as it were."
"It is a glorious old place, Anthony."
"A curst dreary hole without her, Perry! Nothing like marriage, Perry!You'll give up your chambers when you're married, of course?"
"I suppose so, Tony—when I'm married."
"Aha!" he exclaimed, evidently struck by my gloomy tone. "Is it your damned shadow again—the blue devils? Oh, curse and confound 'em, I'll race you t' the next milestone for ten guineas. Come on! Yoicks, boy—hark forward! A touch o' the persuaders—and away!"
With a clatter of eager hoofs Anthony's raking sorrel sprang ahead; but away in pursuit leapt my beautiful roan, shapely head out-thrust, snorting, quivering, passionate for the fray.
Off and away, with the rhythmic swing and beat of swift-galloping hoofs below and the rush of wind above—a clean, sweet wind, full of health and sanity, to banish haunting dread and gloomy doubts of the future together with the devils that begot them, be they blue devils, black, or any other colour.
Faster and faster sped the road beneath me, hedges spun by, tree and gate flitted past as, untouched by whip or spur, Wildfire fell to his long, racing stride, an easy, stretching gallop. And ever he gained upon the sorrel, creeping up inch by inch, crupper and withers and nose; and thus we raced awhile, neck and neck. And now above quick-thudding hoofs and creaking leather I heard Anthony's voice urging his animal to fiercer effort, for slowly but surely, we were drawing away; slowly the sorrel's great crest and flaring nostrils fell to the rear, back and back, level with my gloved hands, my knee, my elbow, out of my view, and presently, glancing behind, I saw Anthony riding like a centaur—a wildly-galloping figure blurred in a storm of dust.
But on I rode, heedless of all but the exhilaration of rushing wind, of back-whirling hedgerows and trees, on and on until before us was a hill up which a chaise was crawling.
Now as I watched this vehicle carelessly enough, out from the window came a hatless head—an arm that waved imperiously, and the postboy, glancing back, began to flog his animals to swifter gait. But Wildfire, snorting scorn on all hills and this in particular, never so much as checked or faltered in his long stride and thus we approached the lumbering chaise rapidly.
We were close upon it when once again the head projected itself from the window, but now the face was turned towards me, and in these features I seemed to read a very lively apprehension, nay, as I drew nearer, I saw above the bushy, scowling brows the gleam of sweat; but on I came with loosened rein, heedless of the gentleman's threatening look and wondering at his very evident perturbation; and now I saw that he grasped something half-hidden in the fold of his coat that bulked remarkably like a pistol. But all at once, as he peered at me through the rolling smother of dust, his apprehensive expression vanished and, next moment, his head also, and as I drew level with the chaise, I saw him leaning back in one corner, the pistol upon his knees, and in the other corner the form of a woman wrapped in a pelisse and heavily veiled and who, judging by her posture, seemed asleep.
It was but a glimpse I caught of the interior and then I was by, had reached the summit of the hill and was galloping down the descent, but even so it seemed to me that the gentleman's face was vaguely familiar.
Mile upon mile I held on at this wild speed until Anthony and his sorrel had diminished to a faint, oncoming dust-cloud and Wildfire began to abate his ardour somewhat; as he breasted a long and steep ascent crowned by a hostelry, I, blinking at it through dust-whitened lashes, saw it bore a sign with the words: The Porto Bello Inn. Here I dismounted from my chastened steed, who, if a little blown, was no whit distressed, and forthwith led him to the stables myself, to see him rubbed down and cared for, the while a hissing ostler knocked, shook and brushed from my garments clouds of Kentish dust. In the midst of which performance up rode Anthony.
"Well—damme!" he exclaimed, as he swung to earth, "I said a milestone—"
"True, Anthony, but I felt inclined for a gallop—"
"I believe you!" he laughed. "And now I'm more than inclined for a pot, a tankard, a flagon, Perry—or say a dozen. Damme, I've been breathing nothing but circumambient Kent for the last half-hour—Ale, Perry, ale's the word! This way! And by that same token, here's your money. 'T is a glorious beast, your Wildfire, and curst well ridden, begad!"
"And I ride stones lighter than you do, Goliath!" said I, following him into the sanded parlour.
"I never drink a tankard of ale," gasped Anthony, setting down his vessel with a bang, "no, never, Perry, without remembering the first drink we had together—the ale you paid for! And the ham and eggs—oh, curse and confound it, I shall never taste anything so delicious again, of course. Everything is vastly changed since then, Peregrine—everything except yourself."
"I am two inches taller!" said I.
"Ah, to be sure! And, thanks to Jessamy Todd, a man of your hands.What's become of Jessamy these days—and your friend the Tinker?"
"I shame to say I don't know. I used to see them frequently up to a year ago, but since then, London and its follies have engulfed me."
"We'll devote ourselves to looking 'em up one o' these days!" said Anthony. "Meantime I'm devilish hungry and I always dine at 'The Bull' at Wrotham, so if you're quite ready, let's push on. By the way," he continued, as I followed him into the yard, "did you notice that chaise we passed just beyond Farningham—a black-bodied chaise, picked out in yellow, with red wheels?"
"I did, Anthony—why?"
"Fool of a fellow seemed infernally agitated, actually had a pistol ready for me, or so it seemed."
"I noticed his desperate attitude also,—and thought it very singular."
"Demmit, yes, and what's more singular, I recognised the fool fellow for the fellow I thrashed two years ago at the 'Jolly Waggoner'—Danby his name is."
"Ah, to be sure!" I exclaimed. "I knew his face was familiar. Did you see he had a lady with him?"
"No, what was she like?"
"I only caught the briefest glimpse—besides, she was heavily veiled and seemed to be asleep—"
"Asleep!" exclaimed Anthony fiercely. "Asleep! By God, Perry, I'm half-minded to wait until that damned chaise comes up and see for myself."
"I beg you will do no such thing!" said I, abhorring the idea of violence and possible bloodshed. "If you are hungry—so am I. Let us get on to Wrotham and dinner." So we mounted and in due time descended the steep hill into the pleasant village of Wrotham.
The "Bull" welcomed us, or more particularly Anthony, with cheeriness tempered with respect; such a bustling of ostlers, running to and fro of serving men; such a dimpling and curtseying of buxom, neat-capped maids; such beaming obeisances from mine host, all to welcome "Mr. Anthony": indeed such a reception as might have warmed the heart of any man save your embittered, cold-hearted cynic or one who rode with demons on his shoulders.
Though the fare was excellent my appetite was poor and I ate and drank but little, to Anthony's evident concern; and when at last we took the road again, I rode with a jibbering devil on either shoulder, filling me again with nameless fears and vague, unreasoning doubts of I knew not what. Above and around me seemed an ever-growing shadow, a foreboding expectancy of an oncoming evil I could neither define nor shake off, try how I would.
Anthony seemed to sense something of this and (like the good fellow he was) strove valiantly to banish my uncanny gloom, though my attention often wandered and I answered at random or not at all.
"Clothes go a damned long way with a woman, Perry!" he was saying. "I'm married and I know! That evening suit o' yours with the lavender-flowered waistcoat is bound to rivet her eye—nail her regard, d'ye see! Then there's your new riding suit, I mean the bottle-green frock with the gold-crested buttons. She must see you in that and there's few look better astride a horse than yourself—" here I became lost again in the vile gibbering of my demons until these words of Anthony's brought me back again:
"—dev'lish solitary place with an unsavoury reputation. The country folk say it's haunted."
"I beg your pardon, Tony, but what were you telling me?"
"My poor ass," said Anthony, edging nearer the better to peer into my face, "I have been endeavouring to give you a brief description of Raydon Manor—the house peeping amid the trees yonder."
We were climbing a hill and from this eminence could behold a fair sweep of landscape, a rolling, richly wooded countryside very pleasant to behold, and, following the direction pointed by Anthony's whip, I descried the gables of a great, grey house bowered in dense-growing trees that seemed to shut the building in on every side, the whole further enclosed by a lofty wall.
"Ah, a haunted house, Anthony," said I, glancing at the place with perfunctory interest.
"So the yokels say hereabouts, Perry, but if half what I hear is true, it is haunted by things far worse—more evil than ghosts."
"Meaning what?" I questioned.
"Well, it is owned by a person of the name of Trenchard who seems to be a rich mixture of gentlemanly ruffian, Turkish bashaw and the devil. Anyhow, the place has a demned unsavoury reputation and abuts on my land."
"Indeed!" said I, stifling a yawn. "And what manner of neighbour is he—to look at?"
"Don't know—never clapped eyes on the fellow—nobody ever sees him. Fellow rarely stirs abroad and when he does, always in closed carriage—muffled to the eyes—queer fish and demned unpleasant, by all accounts."
"Evidently!" said I, then uttered an exclamation as Wildfire tripped and off spun his near foreshoe.
"Curse and confound it!" exclaimed Anthony ruefully. "And no smith nearer than five miles!"
"That being so," quoth I, dismounting, "confound and curse it with all my heart."
"There's the 'Soaring Lark' not half a mile away—a small inn, kept by a friend of mine."
"And a ridiculous name for any inn!" said I.
"Wait till you see it, Perry."
So saying, Anthony turned aside down an unexpected and rutted by-lane, I leading my horse; and, rounding a sharp bend in this narrow track, we came upon a small inn. It stood well back amid the green and was further shaded by three great trees; and surely the prettiest, brightest, cosiest little inn that the eye of wearied traveller might behold. Its twinkling lattices open to the sunny air showed a vision of homely comfort within; its hospitable door gaped wide upon an inviting chamber floored with red tile, and before it stood a tall, youngish man in shirtsleeves with the brightest eyes, the cheeriest smile and the blackest whiskers I had ever seen.
"O Mary, lass!" he cried, "Mr. Anthony!" And then, as he hurried forward to take our horses: "Why, Lord, Mr. Anthony, sir, we du be tur'ble glad to see 'ee—eh, old lady?" This last to her who had hurried to his call—a youngish woman, as bright, as cosy, as cheery, but far prettier than the inn itself.
"Oh, but indeed we be j'yful to see 'ee, Mr. Anthony; us was talkin' o' you an' your bonny lady this very day. She do be well, sir, I 'ope, an' comin' home to the great house soon, Mr. Anthony?"
"Thank you, yes, Mary," answered Anthony, baring his head and givingher his hand, "we shall be coming home next week. And here, George andMary, is my friend Mr. Vereker. His horse has cast a shoe, send it toJoe at Hadlow to be shod. Meanwhile we will drink a flagon of yourOctober."
So while George led away my horse, his pretty wife brought us into the sanded parlour, where, having despatched a shock-headed boy with my horse, George presently joined us.
The ale duly drunk, Anthony proposed he should ride on to Nettlestead while Wildfire was being shod and return for me in an hour or so, to which I perforce agreeing, he rode away, leaving me to await him, nothing loath. For what with the spirit of Happiness that seemed to pervade this little inn of the "Soaring Lark" and the cheery good humour of its buxom host and hostess, my haunting demons fled awhile and in their place was restored peace. Sitting with George in this low-raftered kitchen while his pretty wife bustled comfortably to and fro, we talked and grew acquainted.
"By the way, George," said I, "Mr. Vere-Manville showed me a haunted house called, I think, Raydon Manor, do you know anything of it?"
Now at this innocent question, to my surprise George's good humour vanished, his comely features were suddenly overcast, and he exchanged meaning glances with his wife.
"Why, sir," he answered at last, speaking in a lowered voice as if fearful of being overheard, "there's some as do say 't is haunted sure-ly."
"How?" I demanded.
"Well—things 'as been seed, ah, an' heerd in that theer ghastly wood."
"What things?"
"Well—things as flits an' things as wails—ah, fit to break your 'eart an' chill a man's good flesh. Ghost-lights has been seed at dead o' night, an' folks has 'eer'd music at dead o' night an' screams o' devil-laughter, ah, an' screams as wasn't laughter. Old Gaffer Dick 'e du ha' seed things an' there's me, I've 'eer'd an' seed things—an' lots o' folk beside."
"What did you see, George?"
"I dunno rightly, sir, an' never shall this side o' glory, but 'twere a shape, a thing—I might call it a ghost an' I might call it a phanitum; hows'ever 't were a shape, sir, as I seed a-floatin' an' a-wailin'—Lord, I'll never forget 'ow it wailed!"
Here he mopped his brow at the mere recollection.
"But do you never see any one about by day?"
"Aye, sir, there be a great, sooty black man for one, a hugeous niggermoor with devil's eyes as roll an' teeth like a dog—there's 'im! An' there's three or four desp'rit-seemin' coves as looks like prize fighters—though they ain't often seed abroad an' then mostly drivin' be'ind fast 'orses, sir—coach, sir."
"And what of the owner of the place, Mr. Trenchard, I think his name is?"
"Very seldom stirs abroad, sir, an' then allus in a fast-travellin' closed carriage; though there's a-plenty o' company now an' then, 'ard-ridin' gentlemen—specially one as usually travels down from Lunnon in a chaise wi' red wheels—"
"What—a black-bodied chaise picked out in yellow?" I enquired sharply.
"Aye, sir, the same."
"And are there lady visitors as well as gentlemen?"
"Aye, there are so, sir—coveys of 'em, very fine feathers an' pretty as pictoors t' look at but—"
"Ah!" said I, as he paused, "that kind?"
"Aye, sir, if ye know what I mean."
"I do! Raydon Manor seems haunted in many ways."
"Aye, sir, an' this is very sure—if Innocence ever goes in, it never comes out!"
Thus we talked, George the landlord and I, while his pretty, buxom wife bustled quietly to and fro or vanished into the mysteries of her dairy, whence came the creak of churn, the chink of pot or pan and suchlike homely sounds where her two trim maids laughed and chattered over their labours.
It was a glorious afternoon and, at my suggestion, George brought me into a garden behind the inn where flowers rioted, filling the air with their mingled perfumes, and so to a well-stocked orchard beyond, whence came the warm odour of ripening fruit.
"You have a very beautiful home, George."
"An' all thanks to my little old woman, sir. I were a soldier once an' a tur'ble drinker, but Mary—Lord, sir, 'tis wonnerful how good a good woman can be an' how bad a bad 'un can be—though she's generally made bad, I've noticed! Damme, sir, axin' your parding but damme notwithstanding, there's some men as I'd like to 'ave wrigglin' on the end of a bagnet!" And he turned to scowl fiercely towards a stretch of dark woodland that gloomed beyond a rolling stretch of sunny meadow land.
"The sentiment is a little bloody, George," said I, glancing at this stretch of dark wood, "but under the circumstances, I think it does you credit. And now, seeing I have a full hour to wait for Mr. Vere-Manville, I will take a little stroll and waste no more of your time;" and smiling down his protestations to the contrary, I sauntered off through the golden afternoon.
To-morrow the term of my patient waiting was to be accomplished; Diana was coming back to me! At this thought there rushed over me such an eager, passionate joy that my breath caught and I paused to lean across a gate, endeavouring to picture her to myself as she now was, 'a changed Diana and yet the same', even as she had written. And as I stood thus, down to me through the sunny air came the song of a mounting lark who, as if knowing my thought, seemed striving to sing forth something of the ineffable happiness that thrilled me. The song ended, I went on again, walking slowly, my head bowed, lost in a happy dream. And presently I found myself walking amid trees, through an ever-deepening shadow, and, looking up, saw I had entered the pine wood. For a moment I hesitated, minded to turn back into the sunshine, then I went on, picking my way among these gloomy trees, the pine needles soft beneath my tread; thus, since there was no wind, I walked in silence broken only by the faint jingle of my spurs and the rustle of my advance, a silence that affected me with a vague unease. There seemed something stealthy in this uncanny stillness so that I grew stealthy also and set myself to keep my spurs from jingling, for unseen eyes seemed to be watching me. The deeper I penetrated this dismal wood, the darker it grew, and I advanced, cautious and silent, and with a vague sense of expectancy though of what I could not determine. With the glad sunshine my joyousness had vanished, in its stead came again doubt and foreboding with my devil that gibbered upon my heels; demons and evil things seemed all about me.
But suddenly I came out upon a narrow track or rather footpath and though the kindly sun contrived to send down a fugitive shaft ever and anon, yet my depression was in no wise abated and I began to hurry my steps, anxious to be out of these dismal shadows. All at once I halted, for before me was a lofty wall and I saw that the path led to a low-arched doorway or postern, a small door but of great apparent strength, that seemed to scowl upon me between its deep buttresses. And now as I gazed there grew within me an indefinable feeling, a growing certainty of something very threatening and sinister about this door, and turning, I hasted back along the path, turning neither to right nor left, hurrying as from something beyond expression evil. Nor did I stop or glance back until I was out in the pure sunshine and the cosy inn of the "Soaring Lark" seemed to smile at me beyond broad meadows, blinking its bright casements like so many bright eyes in cheery welcome. But even so I shivered, for the gloomy shadow of the wood seemed all about me still and therewith a growing depression that would not be banished but held me in thrall despite sunshine and cheery inn. What was it that I feared? I asked myself, and why—why—why?
I found Anthony awaiting me, but even his cheer presence failed to dispel my gloom. And so in a while, my horse being ready, we set out for London with hearty "God-speeds" from George and his wife Mary. But all the way back, my mind still laboured with these same perplexing questions:
What was it that I feared? And why—why—why?
And thereto I found no answer.
"Ye're a little pale—yes, a trifle haggard, Perry, but there's nothing like a romantic pallor to attract the feminine regard and captivate the female heart, my boy—I'm married and I know! But your dress is a thought too sombre, I think, considering your youth, though I'll admit it suits you and there's a devilish tragic melancholy Danish-air about ye as should nail the female orb—"
"Don't be an ass, Anthony. How is my cravat?"
"Work of art, begad! How are my pantaloons, Perry? My tailor's made 'em too loose, the damned scoundrel. I'm wrinkled like a rhinoceros, by heaven! Keep your eye on 'em when I bend—"
"My dear Anthony," said I, "if they were any tighter you couldn't bend—"
"Well, my coat, Perry—how is it behind?"
"Admirable!"
"Feels like a sack, demmit! My Loveliness has the eye of a hawk, you'll understand—hasn't seen me for a whole month—nothing like first impressions, begad. Feels like an accursed sack, I tell you—"
"Gentlemen, the carriage awaits!" murmured Clegg from the doorway.
"What—already?" cried Anthony, clapping on his hat and reaching for his surtout.
"You forget we're Lord Wyvelstoke's privileged guests.—Come,Anthony!" and I led the way down to the carriage.
"Ain't you nervous, Perry?" enquired my friend, as we rolled smoothly away.
"No."
"Queer fish—I am!" said he, fidgeting with his cravat.
"You're deuced cool, devilish serene and enigmatical at times, like your uncle Jervas."
"You flatter me, Tony."
"Devil a bit—and this coat of mine feels like a—what the devil are we stopping for?"
We had reached the top of St. James's Street and glancing through the window, I saw our progress blocked momentarily by converging traffic; I was about to lean back in my seat again when my careless glance was arrested by an elegant closed chaise going in the opposite direction; the light was still good, and thus I saw this for a black-bodied chaise picked out in yellow with red wheels. The window was down and thence fluttered a lady's scarf or veil, a delicate gossamer thing spangled with gold stars; as I watched, from the dim interior of the chaise came a woman's white hand to gather up this glittering scarf, a shapely hand sparkling with gems, amongst which I saw one shaped like a scarabaeus; then the chaise rolled away and was gone.
"What the dooce are you staring at, Perry?"
"Nothing!" I answered, frowning. "Nothing!"
His lordship's house was ablaze with lights and, though we were so early, in the street immediately before it was a crowd that pushed and jostled as we mounted the carpeted steps and were ushered into the lofty hall. Here, the footmen having relieved us of our hats and coats, we found the sedate Atkinson as gravely imperturbable as I remembered him two years ago, who acknowledged my greeting with sedate smile and grave obeisance and brought us forthwith to a chamber where I found Lord Wyvelstoke in confabulation with my two uncles.
At our entrance they rose, and his lordship limped forward to welcome us; and looking upon his slender, elegant figure, beholding his impassive face with its air of serene and conscious power, I warmed to the kindness of his smile, even as I had done two years ago.
Our greetings over, his lordship slipped his arm in mine and led me apart.
"Well, Peregrine," said he, with his old, keen look, "I perceive your two years of self-sacrifice have not been in vain; you are grown in every sense. And to-night unselfishness shall have its full reward. To-night, Peregrine, I render back to you your Diana, but a Diana glorified—a woman, and one who has endeared herself to me by her great-hearted and noble qualities. In her is nothing paltry, education has not stunted or narrowed the soul of her. She has been faithful to her task for your sake and faithful to you for Love's sake. By your unselfishness she has indeed become all that we hoped—and more, one to be proud of. But I grow garrulous in her praise—go to her and see for yourself. She is awaiting you in her boudoir with Mrs. Vere-Manville."
So saying, his lordship rang and the silent Atkinson appeared, who led us up a wide stairway and so to a dainty chamber where, bowing, he left us.
A faint perfume was in the air, elusive but sweetly intimate. Upon an ottoman lay a fan and a pair of lace mittens.
"Begad," murmured Anthony, sniffing, "there's nothing like perfume to give a fellow palpitations, and palpitations always make my cravat too tight—devilish thing's choking me! A good woman, Perry, can be the most doocedly alluring, devilish engaging, utterly provoking creature in creation—far more so than—t' other sort. I'm married and I know!"
"Yes," said I, looking down at the discarded fan and deeply stirred by the elusive fragrance.
"Devil take this cravat!" exclaimed Anthony, wrestling with it before a mirror. "If they don't come soon, 't will be wreck, demmit! I wish to heaven they'd come."
"So do I, Anthony!"
"Finishing touches, I expect, Perry—they will do it! And mean to surprise us, of course." But as moment after moment elapsed, his impatience grew. "I wonder what's keeping 'em!" he exclaimed.
"I wonder!" said I.
At the end of ten minutes he was striding up and down the room in a very ferment.
"Damned strange!" he muttered. "Devilish incomprehensible! They must know we're here. Been waiting fifteen minutes now, begad! Getting beyond a joke—deuced exasperating, Perry, y' know. Dammit, man, why can't you say something, do something, instead of sitting there so devilish calm and serene, staring before you like an infernal sphinx?"
At the end of twenty minutes Anthony could wait no more and bidding me follow, jerked open the door and strode out. But I sat there staring before me at an empty fireplace and still all my thought was of the chaise with the red wheels.
But presently my gaze came by chance upon something that lay in a corner of the hearth, a piece of paper crumpled and rent as in passionate haste. For a while I viewed it idly, heedlessly, then all at once I saw a name, a scrawling signature plain to read; next moment the fragment of paper was in my grasp and I read this:
… confess to find you more bewitchingly beautiful than ever. Andtherefore, having regard to what transpired between us in Italy, youwill come this evening without fail toYour ever adoring slave and master,HAREDALE.
How long I remained staring at this fragment of paper I do not know, but I started suddenly to see Atkinson bowing in the doorway and followed him from the room and downstairs and suddenly found myself in a polite tumult; silks rustled, feathers nodded, turbans bowed and jewels glittered.
But almost at once, amid all this throng, my eyes saw but one. Tall she was, with jewels that sparkled in her dark and lustrous hair; how she was gowned I cannot remember, but her white throat was unadorned save for a small gold chain whence hung a plain gold locket, at sight of which my heart seemed to swell within me.
Flushed and bright-eyed, she stood beside Lord Wyvelstoke to receive the many guests. And viewing her as I stood thus, myself unseen amid the crowd, beholding her serene and noble carriage, her vivid colouring, the classic mould of form and features, the grace and ease of her every movement, I saw she was indeed more beautiful than I dreamed and caught my breath in a very ecstasy. Here was Diana herself, yet a Diana glorified even as Lord Wyvelstoke had said, and with a thousand elusive graces beyond my poor description.
And now I was bowing before her, heard her tremulous murmur of "Peregrine!" and answered back as tremulously, "Diana!" and so, yielding place to others, I passed on, to bow and smile and chatter inanities with such of the guests as were of my acquaintance, but yearning for chance of speech with her alone.
Then, somehow, she was beside me, her hand upon my arm, and we were walking, though whither I cared not, my every sense thrilled by her gracious ease, her stately beauty and all the wonder of her.
I remember we sat and talked of the past two years, of much that she had seen and done; and she questioned me a little breathlessly and always of myself, and I, conscious of the many bewildering changes in her and of those deep, grey eyes looking at me beneath their level brows, or hidden by their down-sweeping black lashes, answered briefly or very much at random, so that she questioned me at last:
"Peregrine, are you listening?"
"Yes—no!" I answered. "How can I? You are so—wonderful!"
At this the rich colour deepened in her cheek and her eyes grew ineffably tender.
"And you," she murmured, "you are still my Peregrine of the Silent Places, the gentleman who stooped to teach me that love could be—a holy thing—"
From the distance stole the sound of music and suddenly, as if conjured up of these sweet strains, were eager gentlemen all about us, vying with each other for the honour of escorting her down to the ballroom.
"Miss Lovel," simpered a gallant young exquisite, his fashionably pallid features peeping out between the silkiest of glossy whiskers, "we are to be favahed, I think, to be charmed and delighted by your incomparable singing—aw, how do, Vereker! Miss Lovel, you behold me a humble ambassador, to beg, to entreat you to keep us waiting no longer—"
"The evening is young, my lord," she answered lightly, "though your impatience is flattering, I vow—"
"Impatience, Miss Lovel?" sighed a gorgeous being in scarlet and epaulettes. "Impatience—haw—is quite inadequate to express our—hum—I should say, my own sentiments; 'impatience' is a word too—ha—altogether too feeble! For my own part I should—haw—I should rather say we—"
"Passion, ma'm, passion!" exclaimed a square-faced gentleman in naval blue. "Speaking as a blunt sailor, passion's the word, Miss Lovel—passion. Passion's the only word, I think, gentlemen?"
"Indubitably!"
"Positively!"
"Per-fectly!"
Hereupon the Army retired a little discomfited but rallied sufficiently to suggest the word "languish."
"Behold us then, Miss Lovel, passioning—" said the Navy.
"And—haw—languishing, Miss Lovel—" sighed the Army.
"Behold us then unanimously beseeching you—aha, here comes Pevensey to add his supplication to ours."
The Duke shot his ruffle, fixed his eyeglass and bowed.
"Permit me, Miss Lovel, to add my petition! Vereker will spare you to us awhile, I am sure!" said he. "To behold a goddess is to be blessed; to hear her sing will be—"
"Joy!" suggested the Navy.
"Divine!" sighed the Army.
"Transcendent rapture!" quoth the Duke.
Diana laughed and rose, looking from one to other with that serene and level gaze I knew so well, and saluted them with a slow and graceful curtsey.
"Indeed you overwhelm me, sirs," said she, smiling. "Your impatience shall be satisfied, you shall passion and languish no longer!" And now as I bowed above her hand came her whisper, "I go to sing for you—to you, Peregrine!"
Then, giving her fan to Navy and her gloves to Army, she took theDuke's arm, and moved away.
And in a while, sitting in a corner of the great ballroom between my two uncles, I saw her stand before this august assemblage serene in her proud, young beauty; saw her calm gaze seek until it met mine and drew my breath a little quicker because of her very loveliness.
Then I felt the smart of sudden tears as from the orchestra whispered a loved and familiar melody that rose, little by little, into that wild and plaintive Zingari air she had sung so often in the Silent Places years ago.
And now from her white throat stole a murmur of sweet sound, swelling gradually to a full, round sweetness, rising to a passion of sorrow and heartbreak, and dying to a sigh, was gone.
For a long moment after the final liquid note had died away was utter stillness, an awed silence; then some one ventured to clap, others joined in, and upon this sound came shouts, cries, cheer on cheer—a frantic ovation.
"By Gad, Perry," exclaimed my uncle George, blinking moist lashes. "She—she can sing, ye know! What I mean is she can—sing, b'gad! What d' you say, Jervas?"
"That you are exactly right, George, she can sing!" answered my uncle Jervas softly. "She and her voice are one in beauty. And she signals you, Perry, I think!"
"Be off, Peregrine!" said my uncle George. "Be off, lucky dog—London will run mad—she'll be the reigning toast to-morrow."
The Army and the Navy yielded her to me with a somewhat bad grace, and her slim fingers on my arm guided me through the throng to a deep curtained window recess, and in this comparative seclusion she turned and faced me, and I saw that she was trembling a little.
"Peregrine," she murmured, wistful and eager, "am I changed very much—too much? I have worked—so hard and all—all for you—O Peregrine—dear—do I truly please you?"
"Please me!" I mumbled. "Oh, my Diana—!" Her lashes drooped and then, as she swayed to me, I clasped her in my arms and, tremulous, fragrant, vital with love and youth, she gave her lips to mine.
"Is it worth the years of waiting?" she whispered beneath my kisses.
"God knows it!" I answered and lifted her hand to my lips and then stood utterly still, cold with a sudden, horrible sickness—staring at this white hand, where, amid sparkling gems, I saw the dull oval of a scarabaeus ring.
"What is it, Peregrine?" she questioned, a little breathlessly. "This scarab? It is one my dear pal bought me in Egypt. Come away, dear, let us run from the crowd—let us steal away together, somewhere—anywhere—you and I." And speaking, she drew about her shoulders a scarf, a filmy thing of gossamer, spangled with gold stars. "Quick, Peregrine!" she breathed. "There is the duke—coming this way, quick—before he spies us!"
"Impossible!" I answered, wondering to hear myself speaking so lightly. "His Grace has seen us already—besides, your duty lies here to-night."
"Very well, dear Peregrine," she sighed, "but I had hoped you—you would have bade me forget duty—a little while."
So she turned away and indistinctly I heard the duke begging her to sing again; then I watched her go, smiling and bowing to her, but with a buzzing in my brain and all hell raging in my breast.
A black-bodied chaise—picked out in yellow—red wheels—CaptainDanby!
For a long time I stood in the shadow of the window curtains staring out upon a moon hidden ever and anon in flying cloud-wrack; but at last I turned and wandered away with some vague idea of finding Anthony, and as I went, the lights and glitter, the sounds of voices and laughter grew ever more distasteful, and turning my back on it all, I found my way into a wide corridor. And here, in a shady alcove screened by curtains, I espied Anthony kissing his wife; her round, white arms were about his neck, crushing his cravat woefully, but seeing the rapture in their faces I stole away and left them.
Reaching the hall I bade a footman summon my carriage, but on second thoughts countermanded the order and, donning hat and cloak, set out to walk home to my chambers. A wind was abroad and I walked bareheaded to cool the fevered throbbing of my temples, but this wind found voices to mock me and at my heels ran demons, gibbering obscenities.
Reaching my door at last, I thundered on the knocker until it opened, and brushing past the pallid Clegg, bade him order my horse.
"Horse, sir?" he repeated, a note of interest in his usually toneless voice. "Do you propose to go riding, sir?"
"I do!"
"Yes, sir—which horse do you—?"
"Wildfire. Have him brought round at once!"
"Very good, sir!"
Not waiting for Clegg's assistance, I slipped off my evening garments and was pulling on my riding boots when I heard the tattoo of Wildfire's impatient hoofs upon the roadway.
"What time may I expect you back, sir?" enquired Clegg, as I jingled downstairs.
"I cannot say. I may be late or very early so—get to bed."
"If you are travelling far, sir, might I suggest that your pistols are ready in their holsters upstairs—"
"I shall not need them!" said I, and stepped out into the street whereWildfire danced and capered in the grasp of Tom, my groom.
"He do be werry fresh, sir," warned Tom.
"So much the better!" said I. "Hold him until I give the word."
So saying, I swung to saddle, settled feet in stirrups and gripped the reins short in gloved hand.
"An evil night, sir!" said Clegg. "And you won't take your pistols?"
"No! Let go, Tom!"
Back sprang the groom and, snorting joyfully, Wildfire sprang away.