"Dinner over, of course, Preenham?"
"Oh, dear, yes, sir," said that worthy, taking Artis's hat and cane.
"Carriage was ordered for half-past seven, and they've gone to the
theatre, sir."
"Gone where?"
"Theatre, sir--Haymarket, sir."
"Why, Preenham--"
"It was Mr Girtle, sir, proposed it. Said it would be a pleasant
change for everybody. The carriage was ordered, and dinner an hour
sooner."
"The sky will fall next," said Artis, with a sneering laugh. "Bring me
some coffee in the library, and--no, some brandy and soda and the
cigars."
"Yes, sir. Miss D'Enghien's in the drawing-room, sir. Had a bad
headache, and didn't go."
"Why didn't you say that at first?" cried Artis; and he went up two
stairs at a time, to find Katrine in the act of throwing herself into a
chair, and looking flushed and hot.
"You here?" she said, wearily.
"My darling!" he cried. "If I had only known. At last!"
He threw himself at her feet, clasped her waist, and drew her half
resisting towards him, while before a minute had elapsed, her arms were
resting upon his shoulders, and her eyes were half closed in a dreamy
ecstasy, as she yielded to the kisses that covered her face.
Suddenly, with a quick motion, she threw him off.
"Quick--some one," she whispered.
Her ears were sharper than his, and she had heard the dull rattle of the
door handle.
"I don't know what to take," she said, in a weary voice; "I suppose it
will not be better before morning."
"I have taken the brandy and soda into the library, sir," said Preenham.
"Would you like it brought up here?"
"To be sure," he cried. "The very thing for your headache. Bring it
up, Preenham."
"You madman!" cried Katrine, angrily. "You take advantage of my
weakness for you. Another moment, and we should have been discovered.
No, no; keep away."
"Miss is as good as a mile."
"You grow more reckless, every day. We must be careful."
"Careful! I'm sick of being careful."
"Hush!"
The butler entered with a tray and the brandy and soda.
"Open it, sir?"
"Yes. Two. Now try that. Best thing in the world for a bad head."
The old butler withdrew as softly as he had come in, and Katrine took
two or three sips from her glass, while Artis tossed his off, and then,
setting it down, walked quickly to the door.
Katrine's eyes dilated, and, bending forward, she listened, and then
sprang up and glided quickly across from the inner room to meet Artis
half-way, and be clasped in his arms.
"What have you done?" she cried.
"Nothing."
"You have fastened the door."
"Nonsense."
"I say you have!"
"Well, suppose I have. What then?"
"You madman! Unfasten the door."
"Not I."
"I tell you that you are mad," she cried, trying to free herself.
"Gerard, dear Gerard, be reasonable."
She writhed herself free and ran and turned the bolt back. He followed
to refasten it, but she held him.
"Think of the consequences of our being found locked in here."
"Bah! no one will come now till after eleven, and if they did I don't
care. Look here," he cried, clasping her to his breast again, "suppose
this Arabian Night sort of fortune were found, do you think I am blind?
You would marry this Capel."
"Well?"
"I won't have it," he cried.
"Why not?" she whispered, and her creamy arms clasped about his neck.
"We are so poor, Gerard, and we must have money to live."
"Yes, but at that cost," he cried, passionately.
"Well, what then? Think! Over a million, which you should share.
Gerard--dearest--you will not be so foolish, when I am so near this
gigantic prize. He is my complete slave. I can do with him just what I
will."
"But--Kate--I believe you would--"
He did not achieve his sentence, but responded passionately to her
caresses till he felt her suddenly grow rigid in his arms, and then one
arm was snatched from his neck, and, with her hand, she struck him
sharply across the face.
"How dare you!" she cried.
Gerard Artis let his hands fall to his side, and Katrine darted to a
tall figure in evening dress standing just inside the door, and flung
herself at his knees.
"Save me!" she half shrieked, "from the insults of this man."
Paul Capel drew himself aside, and Katrine fell prostrate on the thick
carpet, as he gravely opened the door.
The girl sprang to her feet and darted out of the room, while Capel,
after watching her for a moment or two, closed the door, turned the
bolt, and then threw his crush hat upon a table, his black wrapper over
a chair, and tore off his white gloves, changing the ivory-handled
malacca cane from hand to hand as he did so.
"Home soon," said Artis, with a sneer, as he slowly walked to the little
table, poured out some more brandy, and gulped it down.
"Yes," replied Capel, gravely. "Thank Heaven I did come home soon. I
came to spend an hour alone with the woman I loved."
"And you were forestalled," cried Artis. "Here, what are you going to
do?"
"Thrash a contemptible scoundrel within an inch of his life," cried
Capel; and he made a grasp at Artis's arm.
But the latter eluded him, bounded to the fire-place, and picked up the
bright poker.
"Keep off," he cried, "or I'll murder you."
_Cling! Jingle_!
He had struck the glass lustres of the great chandelier, and the
fragments fell tinkling down.
_Crack_! A yell of pain! A dull thud!
With a dexterous blow, Capel caught Artis's right hand with the stout
cane, numbing his nerves, so that the poker fell. With a second blow,
he seemed to hamstring his adversary, who staggered, and would have
fallen, but for Capel's hand grasping him by the collar; and then, for
two or three minutes, there was a hail of blows falling, and a terrible
struggle going on. The light chairs were kicked aside, a table
overturned, a vase and several ornaments swept from a cheffonier, and
suppressed cries, panting noises and blows, filled the gloomy room,
till, after one final stroke with the cane, Capel dashed the helpless,
quivering man to the floor, and placed his foot upon his breast.
An hour later, when Preenham went up from a confidential talk with his
fellow-servants to admit Mr Girtle and Lydia--back from the theatre--he
found the front door open. Had he been half an hour sooner, he would
have seen Katrine, fully dressed, supporting Artis down the dark stairs,
and out into the darkness of the great square, where they were seen by
the light of one of the street lamps to enter a cab, and then they
passed out of sight.
Preenham saw nothing, and Mr Girtle and Lydia ascended to the
drawing-room, the latter feeling light-hearted and happy, in spite of
the evening's disappointment.
The old lawyer uttered a cry of dismay, as he saw the wreck, and that
Capel was seated in a low chair, bent down, with his face buried in his
hands.
"My dear boy! What is it?" he cried, as Lydia ran to his side, and her
soft hand was laid or his.
"Don't touch me, woman," he almost yelled, as he sprang from his chair.
"Oh," he said, softly, "it is you?"
He took and kissed her hand, and then left the room.
"Preenham, what does this mean?" cried Mr Girtle, as the butler brought
in lights; and they learned the truth.