silent, unable to respond, for that was the name of the youngman who was so foully done to death in that hollow behind the beechavenue.
"Moreover," she went on, noticing the effect of her words upon me,"moreover, you are at liberty to tell George what you like concerningme. He loves me--and when a man's in love he believes no evil of thewoman. So go!" she laughed. "And afterwards tell me what he says. Ishall be so very interested to know."
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
THE SIGN TO THE UNKNOWN.
Love knows not want--he has no such intimate as poverty; if he smiles,he has but one dread foe; if he frowns, he has but one true friend; andthose both concentrate in the oblivion of death.
I loved--yes, I loved Lolita. While she lived, the soul-invigoratingfire of her eyes kept alive my passion-torn frame. And yet who was Ithat I dared thus ally myself with heavenly beauty and terrestrialgreatness? She was the daughter of an Earl and I a mere secretary,dependent upon her brother's favours. No title, no transcendentqualities were mine. And yet, was I not ennobled? Did I not wearwithin my heart the never-fading insignia of love, the qualifications ofwhich were fervency and immutable truth?
The proud Countess had sneered at me. She sneered because the passionof true love had never known a place in her fickle heart. As next day Isat alone in the express travelling up to Scotland, memory of the hourcame back to me when I had first gazed upon those charms I since hadlearned to reverence with all the fervour of matchless truth. Irecollected how long, long ago, whenever I saw Lolita, my pulse beatwith an unwonted motion, and the throbbing of my heart spoke to my soulin a language it had never known before--my brain became on fire, andere I knew the term, I knew what constituted love. Yes, love--love thathad not yet taught me what presumption was, but I rather stood theawe-struck victim of his all-puissant will.
And now I was tearing with all speed to seek her, to hear the truth fromher own sweet lips. Never once had she told me that my love wasreciprocated, yet in her clear bright eyes I had long ago seen thatmixture of tender pity, noble generosity, candour and pure refinedwomanly feeling open as the face of day, that told me that she was notaverse to my attentions even though I was neither wealthy nor of noblebirth.
Day had succeeded day since her departure for the north, and everycoming dawn had proved what gave bitter anguish to my soul. A strangesuspicion that seemed to envelop her like a cloud--a suspicion whichsomehow I could not determine--had caused the struggle of conflictingthoughts. And now I was rushing towards her, hoping fervently that herwords to me might reveal the truth, and infuse into my chaotic soul onebright spark of heavenly comfort whence might blaze the inextinguishableflame of requited love.
Alone, gazing aimlessly at the fleeting panorama of hill and dale as theexpress rushed on from Crewe to Carlisle, my busy fancy seemed toreconcile impossibilities, and as the mariner who feebly grasps theplank surrounded by a sea of deadly horrors, so I, amid the gloom ofblack despair, illumined the fallacious touch of hope and wandered intothe maze of gilded fallacy.
Ah! Hope, thou flitting phantom, thou gaudy illusion, thou fondmisleader of the wrecked senses, that framest a paradise of airynothingness, how strange that thou canst in pleasing dreams bring to thetortured mind a brief respite.
And yet when I recollected the dark suspicions that rested upon my love,I held my breath. When I calmly reviewed all the circumstances, lifeseemed all a blank to me; my reason bade me cease to hope. Yet betterbe warmed by madness than chilled by coward fear; better burn withjealousy than die the silent fool of black despair.
In such a mood I sat thinking and pondering until we glided into thegreat echoing station of Carlisle. Then I descended, bought a paper,and tried to read as the portion of the train in which I sat continuedits way eastward towards Edinburgh. To concentrate my mind upon aprinted page was, however, impossible. I recollected those strange,ominous words of the Countess when we had parted in the Saints' Garden,and somehow felt convinced that her position was impregnable.
Keene had distinctly declared that if Marigold failed to tell the truth,then my love must fall a victim. Why--and how? All was so mysterious,so utterly inscrutable, so bewildering that the enigma admitted of nosolution.
I could not disguise the fact from myself that Lolita had gone northpurposely to avoid the unwelcome stranger who had so mysteriouslyreturned, and I now intended at all hazards to obtain from her some factconcerning the conspiracy into which he seemed to have entered.
The strange incident in that lonely farmhouse and the attack upon MarieLejeune were again facts which combined to show what a wide-spread plotwas in progress--a plot the motive of which was still enshrouded inmystery, but of which the victim was undoubtedly to be none other thanmy well-beloved.
Lolita, who was staying with her aunt, the Dowager Lady Casterton, atthe _Royal Hotel_, in Princes Street, sprang quickly to her feet when,shortly before dinner, the waiter ushered me into their privatesitting-room. Fortunately her aunt was still in her room, and we weretherefore alone.
"Willoughby!" she gasped springing forward to me breathlessly. "You!Whatever brings you here--what has happened at Sibberton?"
"Nothing," I replied in order to set her at ease. "Or rather nothing inparticular. Every one is very well, and the house-party has assumed itsusual gaiety."
"Marigold is still at home?" she inquired, as though her first thoughtwas of her brother's wife. I answered in the affirmative, and thenslowly and with reverence raised her slim white hand to my lips. Sheallowed me to kiss her fingers in homage, smiling sweetly upon me thewhile.
She was in a magnificent dinner-dress of black net shimmering withsequins--a gown the very simplicity of which rendered it graceful,charming, and the essence of good taste. At her throat was a single rowof large pearls, but she wore no other ornament. She always dressedartistically and in the latest mode, and surely her gown was exactlysuited to the hotel _table d'hote_.
I had only just had time to go to my room, change, and seek her, for Ihad not notified her of my coming in order that she should have nochance of avoiding me. Yet her manner of greeting was as though mypresence gave her the utmost pleasure. Her cheeks flushed as I pressedher fingers to my lips, and I knew that her heart, like mine, beatquickly with the passion of affection.
In a few brief words I told her that I had taken quarters in the hotel,that I should explain to her aunt that my presence in Edinburgh wasconnected with the Earl's affairs, and that I desired to have a privatechat with her after dinner.
"Something has happened, Willoughby," she said apprehensively. "I seeit in your face! What is it? Tell me?"
"Nothing very serious," was my evasive reply, for I heard LadyCasterton's high-pitched voice outside, and wished to conceal from thesnappy old dowager that the real object of my visit was to see Lolita.
Next instant the old lady entered, dressed in black and wearing a smartcap of fine old lace. Much surprised at my presence, she greeted me andcommenced inquiring after the Earl and the Countess, remarking that sheintended to join the house-party in November as she had to make a visitto Lord Penarth in Wales before coming to us.
"We've had a most delightful time at Strathpeffer--Lolita and I," sheremarked. "And as I wanted to pay a few visits about Edinburgh, we'rejust here for a few days. Of course you knew from George that we werehere?"
"Yes," I replied. "I have some business to do for him in Edinburgh, soI thought I would put up here."
And then, in obedience to the gong, we all three descended into thelarge dining-room of the hotel. A good many people were present, but nowoman so beautiful or brilliant as Lady Lolita Lloyd.
I noticed how the guests turned to look at her, and then to whisperamong themselves, for her beauty was remarkable and her photographsoften appeared in the ladies' papers, just as did those of Mangold. Apretty woman with a title is always remarked in a hotel.
We sat at our small table chatting affably through the meal, yet I sawhow intense was her desire to know the tru
e reason of my presence. ThatI had some distinct object in coming north she could not doubt, and wastherefore anxious for the long meal to end and for opportunity to speakwith me alone.
Old Lady Casterton was a typical dowager of the days of classdistinction--a stout, well-preserved, white-haired person who regardedthe world through her _lorgnon_ with an air of wonder, as though shewere examining some interesting species. She stared at all commonpeople, who felt themselves uncomfortable 'neath her gaze, and generallyspoke in a tone loud enough to be heard by all in the vicinity. She wasyoungest sister of the old Earl of Stanchester, and had married the Earlof Casterton, who afterwards became one of England's most famousgenerals, and had been left a widow of very large and wealthy estate.
With me she was always perfectly affable, knowing the strong personalfriendship existing between the Stanchesters and my own family. Henceshe