"'TWIXT YOU AND ME A NOISOME SHADOW CAST"
"Adrea!"
It was a cry which seemed to ring through the room, an interruption
so sudden and strange that they started apart like guilty children,
gazing towards the lifted curtain which divided the apartment with
wondering, half-fearful faces. The woman whom Adrea had called her
step-mother stood there, pale and bloodless, with her great black eyes
flashing, and behind her a tall, dark figure was gazing sternly at
them.
Adrea was the first to recover her composure. She was a little further
away, and she could see only her step-mother.
"What do you want?" she exclaimed quickly. "I desire to be alone! Why
do you stand there?"
There was no answer. Then the momentary silence was broken by a quick,
startled cry from Paul, which seemed to cleave the semi-darkness of
the room.
"My God!"
The dark figure had moved forward, and was standing, pale and austere,
before them. It was Father Adrian.
There was a moment's intense silence. Then Paul turned swiftly round
to where Adrea stood, a little behind him. But the suspicions which
had commenced to crowd in upon him vanished before even they had taken
to themselves definite shape. Her surprise was as great as his; and,
as their eyes met, she shuddered with the memory which his presence
had recalled.
"Paul de Vaux, I had no thought of meeting you here," Father Adrian
said sternly.
Paul met his gaze haughtily. There was a rebuke, almost a threat, in
the priest's tone which angered him. Whatever his presence here might
betide, he was in no way responsible for it to Father Adrian.
"Nor I you," he answered. "I imagined that you were staying at the
monastery."
"I am staying there."
Madame de Merteuill stepped slowly into the room. She was still
trembling, and had all the appearance of a woman sore stricken by some
unexpected calamity. Even her voice was faint and broken.
"Father Adrian is a visitor here only--an unexpected one--like
yourself."
"Why is he here?" Adrea asked slowly. "Has he come to see us again?
What does he want?"
Father Adrian turned towards her, grave and severe. "I have come to
see Madame de Merteuill. I bring her a message from an old man
whom, by her absence, she is wronging. You I did not expect to find
here,--and thus."
She made no answer. The priest drew a little nearer to her, and his
thin, ascetic face seemed suddenly ablaze with scorn and anger.
"Child! your destiny is surely to bring sorrow upon all those who
would watch over you, and shape your life aright. Where you have been
living, and how, since your flight, I do not know. You have hidden
yourself well! You have shown more than the ordinary selfishness of
childhood! You have thought nothing of those who may have troubled for
you! I do not ask for your confidence. This is enough for me: I find
you here in his arms--his of all men in the world! False to your
Church; false to your sex; false to your father's memory! Shameless!"
She did not flinch from before him. She looked him in the face, coldly
and without fear.
"You are a priest, and you do not understand. Be so good as to
remember that I am no longer now in your power or under your
authority. You cannot threaten to make me a nun any longer. Remember
that I am outside your life now, and outside your religion."
"You can be brought back," he said calmly. "I have powers."
"Powers which I defy. Your religion is a cold, dry farce, and I hate
it. You cannot frighten me; you cannot alarm me in the least. You can
do ugly things, I know, in the name of your Church; and if you had me
back at the convent, or on that awful island, I should be frightened
at you. Here, I am not."
Instinctively she glanced toward Paul. Already in her thoughts, he was
assuming the protector. He would not suffer harm to come to her.
He was strong and rich and powerful. The horror of days gone by had
already grown faint with her; it was little more than memory. It was
gone, and could not come again.
"I have not come here to talk with you, child," he answered quietly.
"My errand has been with Madame de Merteuill, and it is accomplished,
I go now. Paul de Vaux, our ways lie together for a mile or more, and
I have a word to say to you. Let us go."
Paul was slowly recovering from a state of mental stupor, and, with
his discovery, something of the glamour of his late intoxication was
passing away. He had no regret, there was nothing which he would have
recalled; but his eyes were stronger to pierce the mists, and he was
able to bring the weight of impersonal thought to bear upon all that
had passed between Adrea and himself. Wheresoever it might lead, there
was a tie between them now which could not be lightly severed.
"It is time I went," Paul answered. "Adrea, I will come and see you
to-morrow."
She looked at the priest, suspicious and troubled. "What does he want
with you, Paul?" she whispered. "Don't go with him!"
"I must!" he answered sadly. "He has something to say to me which I
wish to hear. I will come and see you to-morrow."
"If you must, then, until to-morrow. But, Paul!"
She drew him on one side. "Beware of him! Oh! beware of him!" she
said quickly, her eyes full of fear. "He is a fanatic, a Jesuit. Don't
trust him! Have little to say to him. Hush! don't answer me! He is
watching. Good-night, beloved! my beloved!"