Chapter II.FlightHugh Desmond was more of a hunter than a libertine. What he desired, he pursued, but after the capture he was sated, and would turn to a fresh venture. If he could stop short before the “kill” he would have been content. A devil drove him on to the very edge, and then some instinct less ignoble urged him to restraint.For, though he went as Hugh Desmond, which was his family name, he was in reality the seventh Lord Reckavile, with a reputation so sinister that every decent woman shrunk from him till she knew him, and then fell in love with him.A soldier of fortune, who had not the patience to remain in the Army, he had sought death deliberately instead of glory, in each of the foreign campaigns in which he had fought, always driven from country to country by the Curse, and too poor to take a position in which he might have earned distinction. He was hounded by a desire which knew no satisfaction, and a pride which claimed a high regard for honour.Such had been the contradiction and the Curse of his race. It was with a sigh of relief that he stood on the platform and saw the train bearing Winnie back to London, and to her husband, slowly steam away. She had been lacrimose and vowed that she would never have a day’s happiness till he saw her again.He had agreed to her acclamations, but wished to be quit of her, feeling angry with himself for a lack of ardour he could not induce.On the way back to the hotel he made up his mind for another of those wild expeditions abroad which had filled most of his life.Some evil fate led him to pass the Cathedral Church, where the organ was playing. The artist in him made him pause in rapture, and he entered softly. The sensuous odour of incense and the gorgeous music of the benediction service greeted him, and the dim lights, the towering pillars, and the blaze of the high altar, appealed to his aesthetic fancy, after the gross life of the last few days. How happily he could have become a monk, mortifying the flesh and flogging himself when unholy desires came to taunt him.To devote his life to the Holy Virgin, and crush down the base part would be a fight worthy of his pride.The organ ceased and the dreams with it. He looked round, and in the seats opposite to him, were the girls from the convent school, for this was a saint’s day.With a sudden quickening of the pulse he saw his little wood nymph, her hands clasped and her face alight with devotion, but now a saint, transfigured, adorable.He watched entranced; he could have bent before her, offering fealty, pleading only for some token so that he might remain her true knight, serving only in her cause.The baser part of him was gone at that moment, and then she looked round for a brief moment, and their eyes met.She turned quickly away, but he could see a dark flush spread over her lovely face; she had seen him, and the sight had not affected her as that of a mere stranger. The blood rushed to his head. He hastily scribbled a note on a leaf from his pocket book, and wrapped it in his hand.The mood of piety had gone, and the hunting instinct was dominant. As the worshippers left the building he passed to her side, and as she turned to bow to Christ on His altar, he slipped the note into her hand.The awful impiety of the act almost made her drop it, but she clutched it to her with a look of pain, and went out of the sacred building. In the privacy of her room, she furtively opened the crumpled piece of paper and read:Dear little Angel. When I saw you tonight I adored you. You are far removed from all other beings. If you wish to save a suffering mortal, meet me in the woods where we last saw each other. Otherwise my death may be on your hands. Fear nothing, I will guard you as my own sister. At three tomorrow, but I will wait till you come.Your devoted servant and knight,Hugh Desmond.In her maiden breast strange feelings were stirring. She knew it was wrong, that she ought to take the note to Sister Ursula at once and tell her the story which she had even withheld from the father at confession, but that was not possible. He had been so kind, he had not tried to stay her, or to say anything at which she could take offence. And now he said his life was at stake; perhaps he had some terrible trouble in which she could help him. If so surely she was doing right to give him aid.So she hid the note under her pillow and dreamt of the morrow.Desmond waited in the woods, picturing her as she had sat there in her girlish sweetness, when he had seen her, till the dusk of evening was coming on and the birds had ceased to sing. He rose stiff and cramped. Well, the gods had decided against him, so there was no use complaining. She had probably torn up the note or perhaps even handed it over to the Mother Superior.Suddenly she stood before him, panting, and like a fairy in the twilight. He had not heard her approach, and stood enraptured with the sight.“Oh, I know I ought not to have come,” she said “but we did not go out this afternoon, and then I thought that you would be waiting, and after what you said about being in trouble, I felt I must come, but I cannot stop or they will miss me.”“Little Daphne, you have been very kind. I have ached to see you. I have been here all the afternoon, and would have stayed all night if there had been a chance of meeting you.” He approached her, and she did not shrink from him, only crossed her hands over her breast, and stood expectant.“What did you want to tell me?” she asked.“Only that you are the loveliest maid in the world, and I have longed for you since we met. You have been with me night and day. Oh Daphne, I love you dearly, and without you I shall certainly die.”She drew back then with a quick movement.“But you said your death would be on my hands if I did not come?”“If you will not love me I shall die,” he said, but the phrase sounded hollow to him.The setting sun was on her, and an expression of bewilderment showed on her face. She could not understand deliberate deceit, and thought she must have misunderstood him. They remained for a moment in silence, and in that pause a fight was taking place in Desmond’s mind, but the sight of her proved too much, and with one swift tiger-like movement he took her in his arms.Had she resisted, or struggled, his hunting instinct would have overmastered him, but she remained, neither consenting nor resisting, just as a child might lie in the arms of its father.His hot breath was on her cheek, and in a whisper he said, “I love you, little Daphne, the night is round us, come, we will love while we may.” His lips were close to hers, but some invisible force restrained him. What had he written; he would treat her as a sister. The word of a Reckavile was inviolate, whether for good or evil, and slowly he released her from his close embrace.“I will take you back,” he whispered. “It is too late for you to be out.”“Thank you, I ought to go, but it is so lovely here, and you are so good to me.”“Come with me,” he said unable to trust himself further.He took her to the garden wall where she had jumped down, and lifted her young warm body like a feather.She was again adorable, and his mood was exalted. She reached down, and he took her hand to kiss, but she put two soft arms round his neck and kissed him frankly as a child might kiss.“I shall be here every night till you come again,” he said, disarmed completely.There was a movement above, and she was gone.This meeting was the first of many. Desmond stayed on at the hotel, and the foreign expedition was postponed.Each night he would wait beneath the wall, which bordered the woods, till all hope of seeing her had gone. Then he would go to the hotel not angry but hoping for a happier chance on the morrow.She would slip out when she could, fearfully at first, but as discovery seemed remote, with growing confidence.A change came over her. She found herself thinking more of Hugh as he had taught her to call him, and less of her devotions. Even at mass his image was before her, and she felt wicked, but could not alter her feelings. Longing seized her for something she only dimly comprehended; she became moody and irritable, and neglected her work. Sister Ursula was distressed, she had grown to love the girl. She misread the symptoms and thought Carlotta was pining to be free, like a caged bird. When they met the talk was all of the strange places he had seen, and she would listen all eyes and ears, drinking in every word. And so Desmond stayed on, cursing himself for the vile thing he was planning, yet persisting in his scheme. At last he came to the same spot now sacred to both, and lifted her down. Both were disturbed. The autumn was coming on, the time Carlotta dreaded, for she hated the cold and damp, and the death of the flowers.“Daphne, my darling,” he said holding her in his arms, “I have to go away tomorrow to my own home to see to matters there. I shall be away for a week at least. When I come back I will see you again.” He spoke almost coldly, and she gave a little cry of pain, and realised perhaps for the first time what his absence would mean. She held fast to him.“Oh, must you go?” she asked with a moan.“I must, I have been here too long as it is, but I will come back.”“Don’t be long, I shall miss you. It is so lonely without you.”“Would you come with me to Italy for the winter?” he whispered, “away from all this cold and wet, into the sunlight. We can see Venice, you have never been there, and find your mother,” he added falsely.Her body quivered in his embrace, but she stood silent. When it came to leaving the Convent and its quiet shelter, and the good Sisters, a gulf seemed to open beneath her feet.“I could not,” she said, but the vision of all the beauties he had pictured, actually possible to her was dazzling her very soul.“I will come for you,” he said “and you must decide for yourself. Only if you don’t come with me, I must go away altogether.”“Don’t,” she answered, “it would be too cruel. If you leave me I shall die. I cannot live without you.” Her fierce passion was something he had not seen before. He took her in his arms then, and kissed her on the mouth, the eyes and hair, holding her close, and she returned his kisses with utter abandon, her soft arms round his neck. He was the first to recover, and gently disengaged himself. He was trembling; he had never felt like this in any of his affairs.“You must go, my darling,” he said very gently, and lifted her to the wall, not daring to say more.She was crying now, softly as she always did, and the tears fell on him like rain.“Good-bye,” he said hoarsely, and turned away through the dark woods.“You scoundrel,” he said to himself. “Now what are you going to do? She is not like the others, she will never forget.“Are you going to leave her, and break her very soul. She has no mother and no friends outside the convent. Or are you going to take her, she is yours for the asking, and ruin her?”There was another possibility, but he would not allow his thoughts in that direction—marriage, but that was horrible. To settle down as a married man; no that could never be for him.And so he went irresolute, torn by conflicting feelings, the sweetness of her kisses an abiding and tormenting memory.And Carlotta, for her the old life was done. It was all biting pain now. She had been instructed by the Sisters, and she knew right from wrong. She had been playing with fire, and now she was burnt.The days passed in weariness; she tried to forget in her devotions, but the old fervour would not come. Perhaps she might have recovered in time, might even have forgotten, but fate was playing a part.He had been gone a week when the Mother Superior sent for Carlotta.“Come here, my child,” she said, “I want to talk to you about your future. We must discuss what you are to do.”“I do not understand,” said Carlotta.“My poor child, it is time you were told the truth,” and she recounted the story of her mother, and of her treatment. Carlotta could have died with shame; her sensitive soul was deeply wounded. That she had been kept on out of charity, a foundling; it was awful.“And so you see, my dear,” the Mother continued, “we must look out for something for you. We have places where we train girls, and I think we can get you into one of those.”“And I am to leave here?” Carlotta gasped.“I am afraid so, my dear child, the rules will not allow you to stay after you are seventeen, and that will be in a few months.”She went on talking quietly, but Carlotta heard nothing. It was as though she were sinking in deep waters, and a faint sound of a voice far away was speaking.She did not cry, but her face was white and pinched.“You understand?” asked the Mother and kissed her.“Yes, Mother, I will do what you want.”“That’s a good child, run along now. I will have another talk when I have heard from the training college.”For once her judgment was at fault; she thought Carlotta had taken it very well, and would be reconciled to her new life.No sleep came to Carlotta that night. She tossed on her bed, and a dry fever tormented her.“Oh, Holy Mother!” she prayed “take this shame from me, what can I do?”When dawn came she was calm; she had made up her mind once and for all. She was Italian, and had not the calculating mind of the northerner; she would go to him, yes, this very evening, and her courage rose high at the thought.Desmond was waiting by the wall; the Curse had driven him back. He must see her, if only to say good-bye. How often has the Devil tried this game with success.She came to the wall, which on the garden side was low, and leant on the parapet. He noticed with a start that she was holding a little hand-bag, so small and dainty that even at the moment he wondered what on earth she could get into it.“I am coming with you, if you will take me,” she said quite calmly.“My God!” he said, staggering back, “do you mean it?”“Of course. You asked me last week, and said you would come for me.”He was at a loss. This dainty little girl was talking like some practiced woman of the world, or was it sheer innocence?Then he was swept away, and all moderation left him. He gathered her from the wall and seized her roughly in his arms.“Daphne, my darling, come. We will fly together, over the blue seas, and love each other dearly, and no one shall come between us. It will be all Heaven, and you shall be my angel, my Love! My Queen!”The hours sped by in the soft velvet night, and he took her by the hand, and led her to the town. His senses came to him, and his quick mind saw the danger. She would be missed, and a search made. He went to his hotel, but not to the front door. He had brought a young fellow from his estate to look after him, Southgate, son of a publican, who had some training as a valet. He had taken him with him before and knew his loyalty and discretion.He roused him up from the servants’ quarters.“Go to theKing’s Headdown the street, and hire a trap. Mention no name except a false one, and say it is an urgent case—an accident. Here is money. You can return the trap tomorrow evening. Bring it to the Cross by the London Road. Hurry, mind, and don’t arouse any suspicion.”“Yes, my lord,” said the valet, who was used to his master’s vagaries.Desmond led Carlotta down the silent street, and waited at the Cross. She was quiet, and filled with pure happiness and trust. She had yielded herself to this man absolutely, and for ever. The die was cast, and she was content.They drove off into the night, and he held her in his arms where she slept like a tired child.Mile after mile was covered, and dawn was breaking when she woke to find herself at the door of an old inn. Southgate jumped down, and held the steaming horses, while Desmond lifted her down, and carried her to the house. The door was opened by an old woman, who curtseyed to Desmond.He said something to her in a low voice, and passed on up the stairs to a door, which the woman opened, holding a candle for them.Very gently Desmond laid her on the bed, and kissed her.“This good woman will see to you,” he said. “You will be quite safe here.”She was so weary that she could scarcely touch the hot soup which the woman brought her, and soon was lost in happy dreams.
Hugh Desmond was more of a hunter than a libertine. What he desired, he pursued, but after the capture he was sated, and would turn to a fresh venture. If he could stop short before the “kill” he would have been content. A devil drove him on to the very edge, and then some instinct less ignoble urged him to restraint.
For, though he went as Hugh Desmond, which was his family name, he was in reality the seventh Lord Reckavile, with a reputation so sinister that every decent woman shrunk from him till she knew him, and then fell in love with him.
A soldier of fortune, who had not the patience to remain in the Army, he had sought death deliberately instead of glory, in each of the foreign campaigns in which he had fought, always driven from country to country by the Curse, and too poor to take a position in which he might have earned distinction. He was hounded by a desire which knew no satisfaction, and a pride which claimed a high regard for honour.
Such had been the contradiction and the Curse of his race. It was with a sigh of relief that he stood on the platform and saw the train bearing Winnie back to London, and to her husband, slowly steam away. She had been lacrimose and vowed that she would never have a day’s happiness till he saw her again.
He had agreed to her acclamations, but wished to be quit of her, feeling angry with himself for a lack of ardour he could not induce.
On the way back to the hotel he made up his mind for another of those wild expeditions abroad which had filled most of his life.
Some evil fate led him to pass the Cathedral Church, where the organ was playing. The artist in him made him pause in rapture, and he entered softly. The sensuous odour of incense and the gorgeous music of the benediction service greeted him, and the dim lights, the towering pillars, and the blaze of the high altar, appealed to his aesthetic fancy, after the gross life of the last few days. How happily he could have become a monk, mortifying the flesh and flogging himself when unholy desires came to taunt him.
To devote his life to the Holy Virgin, and crush down the base part would be a fight worthy of his pride.
The organ ceased and the dreams with it. He looked round, and in the seats opposite to him, were the girls from the convent school, for this was a saint’s day.
With a sudden quickening of the pulse he saw his little wood nymph, her hands clasped and her face alight with devotion, but now a saint, transfigured, adorable.
He watched entranced; he could have bent before her, offering fealty, pleading only for some token so that he might remain her true knight, serving only in her cause.
The baser part of him was gone at that moment, and then she looked round for a brief moment, and their eyes met.
She turned quickly away, but he could see a dark flush spread over her lovely face; she had seen him, and the sight had not affected her as that of a mere stranger. The blood rushed to his head. He hastily scribbled a note on a leaf from his pocket book, and wrapped it in his hand.
The mood of piety had gone, and the hunting instinct was dominant. As the worshippers left the building he passed to her side, and as she turned to bow to Christ on His altar, he slipped the note into her hand.
The awful impiety of the act almost made her drop it, but she clutched it to her with a look of pain, and went out of the sacred building. In the privacy of her room, she furtively opened the crumpled piece of paper and read:
Dear little Angel. When I saw you tonight I adored you. You are far removed from all other beings. If you wish to save a suffering mortal, meet me in the woods where we last saw each other. Otherwise my death may be on your hands. Fear nothing, I will guard you as my own sister. At three tomorrow, but I will wait till you come.Your devoted servant and knight,Hugh Desmond.
Dear little Angel. When I saw you tonight I adored you. You are far removed from all other beings. If you wish to save a suffering mortal, meet me in the woods where we last saw each other. Otherwise my death may be on your hands. Fear nothing, I will guard you as my own sister. At three tomorrow, but I will wait till you come.
Your devoted servant and knight,
Hugh Desmond.
In her maiden breast strange feelings were stirring. She knew it was wrong, that she ought to take the note to Sister Ursula at once and tell her the story which she had even withheld from the father at confession, but that was not possible. He had been so kind, he had not tried to stay her, or to say anything at which she could take offence. And now he said his life was at stake; perhaps he had some terrible trouble in which she could help him. If so surely she was doing right to give him aid.
So she hid the note under her pillow and dreamt of the morrow.
Desmond waited in the woods, picturing her as she had sat there in her girlish sweetness, when he had seen her, till the dusk of evening was coming on and the birds had ceased to sing. He rose stiff and cramped. Well, the gods had decided against him, so there was no use complaining. She had probably torn up the note or perhaps even handed it over to the Mother Superior.
Suddenly she stood before him, panting, and like a fairy in the twilight. He had not heard her approach, and stood enraptured with the sight.
“Oh, I know I ought not to have come,” she said “but we did not go out this afternoon, and then I thought that you would be waiting, and after what you said about being in trouble, I felt I must come, but I cannot stop or they will miss me.”
“Little Daphne, you have been very kind. I have ached to see you. I have been here all the afternoon, and would have stayed all night if there had been a chance of meeting you.” He approached her, and she did not shrink from him, only crossed her hands over her breast, and stood expectant.
“What did you want to tell me?” she asked.
“Only that you are the loveliest maid in the world, and I have longed for you since we met. You have been with me night and day. Oh Daphne, I love you dearly, and without you I shall certainly die.”
She drew back then with a quick movement.
“But you said your death would be on my hands if I did not come?”
“If you will not love me I shall die,” he said, but the phrase sounded hollow to him.
The setting sun was on her, and an expression of bewilderment showed on her face. She could not understand deliberate deceit, and thought she must have misunderstood him. They remained for a moment in silence, and in that pause a fight was taking place in Desmond’s mind, but the sight of her proved too much, and with one swift tiger-like movement he took her in his arms.
Had she resisted, or struggled, his hunting instinct would have overmastered him, but she remained, neither consenting nor resisting, just as a child might lie in the arms of its father.
His hot breath was on her cheek, and in a whisper he said, “I love you, little Daphne, the night is round us, come, we will love while we may.” His lips were close to hers, but some invisible force restrained him. What had he written; he would treat her as a sister. The word of a Reckavile was inviolate, whether for good or evil, and slowly he released her from his close embrace.
“I will take you back,” he whispered. “It is too late for you to be out.”
“Thank you, I ought to go, but it is so lovely here, and you are so good to me.”
“Come with me,” he said unable to trust himself further.
He took her to the garden wall where she had jumped down, and lifted her young warm body like a feather.
She was again adorable, and his mood was exalted. She reached down, and he took her hand to kiss, but she put two soft arms round his neck and kissed him frankly as a child might kiss.
“I shall be here every night till you come again,” he said, disarmed completely.
There was a movement above, and she was gone.
This meeting was the first of many. Desmond stayed on at the hotel, and the foreign expedition was postponed.
Each night he would wait beneath the wall, which bordered the woods, till all hope of seeing her had gone. Then he would go to the hotel not angry but hoping for a happier chance on the morrow.
She would slip out when she could, fearfully at first, but as discovery seemed remote, with growing confidence.
A change came over her. She found herself thinking more of Hugh as he had taught her to call him, and less of her devotions. Even at mass his image was before her, and she felt wicked, but could not alter her feelings. Longing seized her for something she only dimly comprehended; she became moody and irritable, and neglected her work. Sister Ursula was distressed, she had grown to love the girl. She misread the symptoms and thought Carlotta was pining to be free, like a caged bird. When they met the talk was all of the strange places he had seen, and she would listen all eyes and ears, drinking in every word. And so Desmond stayed on, cursing himself for the vile thing he was planning, yet persisting in his scheme. At last he came to the same spot now sacred to both, and lifted her down. Both were disturbed. The autumn was coming on, the time Carlotta dreaded, for she hated the cold and damp, and the death of the flowers.
“Daphne, my darling,” he said holding her in his arms, “I have to go away tomorrow to my own home to see to matters there. I shall be away for a week at least. When I come back I will see you again.” He spoke almost coldly, and she gave a little cry of pain, and realised perhaps for the first time what his absence would mean. She held fast to him.
“Oh, must you go?” she asked with a moan.
“I must, I have been here too long as it is, but I will come back.”
“Don’t be long, I shall miss you. It is so lonely without you.”
“Would you come with me to Italy for the winter?” he whispered, “away from all this cold and wet, into the sunlight. We can see Venice, you have never been there, and find your mother,” he added falsely.
Her body quivered in his embrace, but she stood silent. When it came to leaving the Convent and its quiet shelter, and the good Sisters, a gulf seemed to open beneath her feet.
“I could not,” she said, but the vision of all the beauties he had pictured, actually possible to her was dazzling her very soul.
“I will come for you,” he said “and you must decide for yourself. Only if you don’t come with me, I must go away altogether.”
“Don’t,” she answered, “it would be too cruel. If you leave me I shall die. I cannot live without you.” Her fierce passion was something he had not seen before. He took her in his arms then, and kissed her on the mouth, the eyes and hair, holding her close, and she returned his kisses with utter abandon, her soft arms round his neck. He was the first to recover, and gently disengaged himself. He was trembling; he had never felt like this in any of his affairs.
“You must go, my darling,” he said very gently, and lifted her to the wall, not daring to say more.
She was crying now, softly as she always did, and the tears fell on him like rain.
“Good-bye,” he said hoarsely, and turned away through the dark woods.
“You scoundrel,” he said to himself. “Now what are you going to do? She is not like the others, she will never forget.
“Are you going to leave her, and break her very soul. She has no mother and no friends outside the convent. Or are you going to take her, she is yours for the asking, and ruin her?”
There was another possibility, but he would not allow his thoughts in that direction—marriage, but that was horrible. To settle down as a married man; no that could never be for him.
And so he went irresolute, torn by conflicting feelings, the sweetness of her kisses an abiding and tormenting memory.
And Carlotta, for her the old life was done. It was all biting pain now. She had been instructed by the Sisters, and she knew right from wrong. She had been playing with fire, and now she was burnt.
The days passed in weariness; she tried to forget in her devotions, but the old fervour would not come. Perhaps she might have recovered in time, might even have forgotten, but fate was playing a part.
He had been gone a week when the Mother Superior sent for Carlotta.
“Come here, my child,” she said, “I want to talk to you about your future. We must discuss what you are to do.”
“I do not understand,” said Carlotta.
“My poor child, it is time you were told the truth,” and she recounted the story of her mother, and of her treatment. Carlotta could have died with shame; her sensitive soul was deeply wounded. That she had been kept on out of charity, a foundling; it was awful.
“And so you see, my dear,” the Mother continued, “we must look out for something for you. We have places where we train girls, and I think we can get you into one of those.”
“And I am to leave here?” Carlotta gasped.
“I am afraid so, my dear child, the rules will not allow you to stay after you are seventeen, and that will be in a few months.”
She went on talking quietly, but Carlotta heard nothing. It was as though she were sinking in deep waters, and a faint sound of a voice far away was speaking.
She did not cry, but her face was white and pinched.
“You understand?” asked the Mother and kissed her.
“Yes, Mother, I will do what you want.”
“That’s a good child, run along now. I will have another talk when I have heard from the training college.”
For once her judgment was at fault; she thought Carlotta had taken it very well, and would be reconciled to her new life.
No sleep came to Carlotta that night. She tossed on her bed, and a dry fever tormented her.
“Oh, Holy Mother!” she prayed “take this shame from me, what can I do?”
When dawn came she was calm; she had made up her mind once and for all. She was Italian, and had not the calculating mind of the northerner; she would go to him, yes, this very evening, and her courage rose high at the thought.
Desmond was waiting by the wall; the Curse had driven him back. He must see her, if only to say good-bye. How often has the Devil tried this game with success.
She came to the wall, which on the garden side was low, and leant on the parapet. He noticed with a start that she was holding a little hand-bag, so small and dainty that even at the moment he wondered what on earth she could get into it.
“I am coming with you, if you will take me,” she said quite calmly.
“My God!” he said, staggering back, “do you mean it?”
“Of course. You asked me last week, and said you would come for me.”
He was at a loss. This dainty little girl was talking like some practiced woman of the world, or was it sheer innocence?
Then he was swept away, and all moderation left him. He gathered her from the wall and seized her roughly in his arms.
“Daphne, my darling, come. We will fly together, over the blue seas, and love each other dearly, and no one shall come between us. It will be all Heaven, and you shall be my angel, my Love! My Queen!”
The hours sped by in the soft velvet night, and he took her by the hand, and led her to the town. His senses came to him, and his quick mind saw the danger. She would be missed, and a search made. He went to his hotel, but not to the front door. He had brought a young fellow from his estate to look after him, Southgate, son of a publican, who had some training as a valet. He had taken him with him before and knew his loyalty and discretion.
He roused him up from the servants’ quarters.
“Go to theKing’s Headdown the street, and hire a trap. Mention no name except a false one, and say it is an urgent case—an accident. Here is money. You can return the trap tomorrow evening. Bring it to the Cross by the London Road. Hurry, mind, and don’t arouse any suspicion.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the valet, who was used to his master’s vagaries.
Desmond led Carlotta down the silent street, and waited at the Cross. She was quiet, and filled with pure happiness and trust. She had yielded herself to this man absolutely, and for ever. The die was cast, and she was content.
They drove off into the night, and he held her in his arms where she slept like a tired child.
Mile after mile was covered, and dawn was breaking when she woke to find herself at the door of an old inn. Southgate jumped down, and held the steaming horses, while Desmond lifted her down, and carried her to the house. The door was opened by an old woman, who curtseyed to Desmond.
He said something to her in a low voice, and passed on up the stairs to a door, which the woman opened, holding a candle for them.
Very gently Desmond laid her on the bed, and kissed her.
“This good woman will see to you,” he said. “You will be quite safe here.”
She was so weary that she could scarcely touch the hot soup which the woman brought her, and soon was lost in happy dreams.