"That's the house," said Chester to himself; "I can swear to it.
Highcombe Street, Number 44."
He laughed in his excitement--an unpleasant, harsh laugh which startled
him; for as a doctor he had had to deal with strange patients beside the
one at the mysterious house, and he knew pretty well how a man acted who
had been overwrought and whose nerves were in that state which borders
upon insanity.
"This will not do," he muttered. "I must be careful," and, trying to
pull himself together and make his plans in a matter-of-fact way, his
startled feeling grew into a sensation of alarm, and he awakened fully
now to the fact that the strain from which he had suffered had been too
great.
"I must pull up short," he said to himself. "This last month I have
been acting like a madman. Well, love--the real passion--is a kind of
madness, and I could not have acted otherwise with the horror of the
position in which I left her upon my mind."
As he walked home, though, he grew cooler, and made up his mind to watch
the house until he obtained an interview with Marion.
He shrugged his shoulders as he entered his own door, and shut himself
in his consulting-room, to sit for an hour trying to grow calmer; but
there was a wild throbbing in his excited brain which he could not
master, and try how he would, even to the extent of taking a sedative,
he could not keep down the feeling of mad exultation at having at last
discovered the place.
"I shall see her again," he muttered; "I shall see her again!"
A pair of soft dark eyes in a sweet, pale face seemed to rise
reproachfully before him, but he mentally turned from the piteous look.
"I cannot help it. Fate--fate," he muttered; and at last, after
mastering the intense desire to rush off and try and bribe the servants
into speaking, he grew calmer, and obeyed the summons sent by the maid,
joining his aunt and sister in the drawing-room, and afterwards formally
taking the old lady down to the silent meal.
Poor Aunt Grace's plan was not succeeding.
"Don't speak to him, Laura," she had said. "It will show how we despise
him for his disgraceful conduct, and make him the sooner come creeping
to our knees in sackcloth and ashes."
But the days had glided on, and Chester had bought no sackcloth and had
not told the cook to sift him any ashes. For the perfect silence with
which he was treated was the one great satisfaction now of his life.
That night he found his sister watching him once, and as he met her eyes
there was for the moment a feeling of uneasiness akin to remorse; but it
passed off directly, swept away by the exciting thought that he had at
last attained the goal of his desires, and must now sooner or later
encounter Marion.
A week then passed, and he was still no farther, when one evening as he
turned into Highcombe Street, he saw a carriage at the door; and a
minute later three ladies in evening dress came and stepped in, the
footman mounted to his place, and the horses sprang off.
"The brougham I was fetched in," muttered Chester, and hailing a cab he
said sharply, "Follow that carriage at a short distance till I tell you
to stop."
He was not surprised at the direction taken by the carriage in front,
which was kept just in sight till it turned into Bow Street, when
Chester signed to his driver to stop, and sprang out, turning the corner
just in time to see the carriage slowly passing in its turn through the
gateway leading under the portico of the opera.
He followed to find that the occupants had alighted, and upon entering
the lobby he caught sight of the back of Marion's dress as she swept
through one of the great baize-covered doors.
Here there was a check. The door-keeper held out his hand for the
customary ticket, and Chester turned impatiently away, to go to the
box-office, when for the first time it struck him that he was not in
evening dress, and could not pass into the stalls.
He stood biting his lips, and hesitating as to whether he should take a
cab back home, to dress, and return, but he felt that he could not do
that. A dozen things might happen to prevent his catching sight of
Marion again; and snatching at the first idea that came, he took a
ticket for the upper part of the house, hired an opera-glass and then
climbed nearly to the top.
Here upon taking a seat he came out again in despair. Even with the aid
of the glass he found he could not get a glimpse of a third of the
house, and feeling that at all costs he must get into the stalls in as
central a position as possible, he descended again to the box-office,
and secured a stall nearly in the centre of the third row.
Having made sure of his seat, he hurried back to Raybeck Square
calculating that he could be back within an hour.
Bidding the cabman wait, he sprang up to his room, conscious of the fact
that Aunt Grace was watching; and after his hurried change he knew by
the ajar door of the drawing-room that she was there watching still.
But this passed almost unnoticed in the excitement, and once more he was
in the cab, eager and with his imagination running riot.
"What an idiot I was not to ask the number of their box," he said to
himself.
He did ask as soon as he reached the opera house, and found it was
almost central on the grand tier; but after taking his place he had no
opportunity for turning round till the end of the act in progress, and
he sat trembling with excitement and wondering whether Marion had
recognised him as he entered.
The stage, the music, the house crowded with a fashionable assembly,
were non-existent to Chester, as he sat there gazing in imagination at a
face--the face of the woman who from their first encounter seemed to
have taken entire possession of his faculties, enchaining his spirit so
that he seemed to live and breathe for her alone.
"Will this wretched singing never end?" he said to himself, as one of
the great Italian singers filled the vast place with the clear,
vibrating tones of her voice. "The fools! The idiots!" he muttered
angrily as the plaudits rang out at the end of the scene; and then he
sat waiting till at last the drop scene descended and, lorgnette in
hand, he rose and, to avoid the air of being too sudden, he slowly swept
the grand tier of boxes, beginning on his right near the stage, feeling
that Marion must be watching him, and profoundly unconscious of the fact
that scores to right and left were doing the same.
When the field of his glass drew nearer to the box upon which he sought
to focus it, he grew slower in his movements, as if desirous of delaying
the supreme delight for a few moments longer, but at last he stopped
short, gazing with every fibre thrilling at the beautiful, imperious
face which held him as if fascinated.
The faces of her companions were to right and left, each occupying a
corner of the box, while Marion was seated a little back, looking dull
and preoccupied, while she slowly waved a large black fan, which threw
her face into partial shadow from time to time.
For the first minute, as he drank in the various beauties of the
countenance which seemed to be so near, Chester felt that she must be
seeing him, but directly after he knew that she was looking dull and
listless, and as if she felt the scene before her wearisome in the
extreme.
There could be no mistake. It was she. There was not such another face
in the wide world; and yet he hesitated to go round to the box, asking
himself whether he could--whether he had any right to force himself upon
the notice of those who had plainly enough their reasons for wishing to
cut all connection with him as soon as his patient was out of danger.
"They may wish to, but she cannot. It is impossible. She must be ready
to place her hand in mine. Perhaps even now that dull, weary look may
be connected with our sudden parting. Who knows? Yes, come what may, I
will go."
Chester passed slowly along the row and out into the entry, went up the
broad stairs, and with his heart increasing its pulsations rapidly, he
stopped at last at the door of a box, drew a deep breath, and then
tapped lightly.
There was no reply and he tapped again.
This time there was a movement within, the catch was drawn back, the
door thrown open, and a deep voice exclaimed--
"How late you are! Hallo!"
Chester had been in the act of stepping in, but paused on the threshold,
completely taken aback at finding a gentleman in the box, while the
speaker, who had not risen, but leaned back, balancing himself on two
legs of his chair, fell over side-wise in his astonishment, but saved
himself by catching at the partition.
He sprang up the next moment, as Chester recovered himself and advanced,
but neither of the three ladies, who had turned, made the slightest
movement towards acknowledging him, and left it to their companion to
speak.
"May I ask whom you wish to see, sir?"
"Certainly," replied Chester, quietly, "Mrs James, Mrs Dennis, Miss
Clareborough--"
No one moved. He might have been addressing so many statues, as he went
on--
"And Mr Dennis Clareborough."
"You seem to have our names right, sir," said the stalwart young fellow,
shortly, "but I have not the pleasure of knowing you."
"Indeed!" said Chester. "Is your memory so short, sir? May I ask after
your cousin's wound?"
"Certainly, if you like, sir," replied the young man, with a little
laugh, "but I'm afraid I can't tell you."
Chester felt nettled and turned to the lady in the centre, who sat
looking over the back of her chair.
"Perhaps Miss Marion Clareborough will tell me how her brother is
progressing?"
"Dennis," said one of the ladies, before any reply could be made, "is
this a friend of yours? If so, introduce us."
"Friend of mine? Hang it, no! Gentleman has got into the wrong box.
Never saw him before in my life. What number did you want, sir?"
"This," said Chester, sternly, as he looked the young man fiercely in
the eyes. "Perhaps Miss Clareborough will speak. Believe me, I took
great interest in your brother's case. Can I see him again?"
The lady he addressed turned to one of her companions and whispered a
few words, whereupon Mrs James said coldly--
"Will you help this gentleman to find the box he is in search of,
Dennis? The place is so dark now the curtain is down, and he does not
see the mistake he has made."
"No, that's it," said the young man. "Ah, here you are, then, at last,"
he cried, as the entrance was darkened by another figure. "Come in.
This gentleman wants to find some friends of his, and he has come to
this box by mistake."
"Indeed!" and Chester at that one word felt the blood surge up to his
temples, and a fierce sensation of passion began to make his nerves
tingle.
"Well," continued the speaker, "it's very easy, dear boy. Places are so
confoundedly dark. Couldn't get here sooner, girls; man detained me at
the club--I beg pardon, sir; the box-keeper could no doubt help you."
The cool, contemptuous manner of the man took away Chester's breath, and
he felt himself almost compelled to give place.
"Thanks, much," said the newcomer, drawing slightly aside for Chester to
back out. "Don't apologise. They ought to light up the house more when
the curtain is down."
The next moment the door was thrust to, the catch snapped, and as
Chester stood there, undecided what to do, he could hear the voices
within carrying on a conversation which sounded so calm and
matter-of-fact that in his excited state the listener asked himself
whether he was in his right senses, and at last hurried away, to pause
in the refreshment-room and drink off a glass of brandy to steady his
nerves.
He did not return to his seat in the stalls, but stopped in the entry,
where, invisible in the gloom, partially hidden by one of the curtains,
he stood using his glass upon the occupants of the box he had so lately
quitted.
As he stood there, feeling half stunned, he went over the words that had
passed and the action of the inmates, forgetting that all was quite
consistent with the conduct he might have expected from people whose
whole behaviour had been mysterious and strange.
At last he saw a movement among those he was watching, and, desperate
almost with rage and despair, he hurried round to station himself in the
lobby, where he felt certain that the party must pass. But they were so
long in coming that he was about to seek another doorway.
Then he saw that he was right, for the big, bluff-looking brother and
cousin came by without seeing him, spoke to the footman Chester had seen
at the house, and then returned, as if to join their party.
A few minutes later they came out slowly amongst the crowd, the tide
turning them quite to the outside, so that they were close to him who
watched them intently, as if in doubt of his own sanity, wondering
whether he could have made any mistake.
"No," he whispered to himself, as he fixed his eyes on the beautiful
woman, upon whose arm he could have laid his hand, so close was she to
him as she passed.
It was as if his steady gaze influenced her, for when she was just
abreast she turned her head quickly, and her eyes met his full as she
rested her hand upon the stalwart young fellow's arm.
Chester's look seemed to fascinate her, for her eyes were fixed and
strange in those brief moments. Then she passed on, gazing straight
before her. There was no start, no sign of the slightest emotion. It
was simply the inquiring look of one who seemed to fancy he was the
personage who had made his appearance in their box, otherwise one whom
she had never before seen.
The impulse was strong upon Chester to follow, but for quite a minute he
stood feeling as if he had been stunned.
Then, with a strange, harsh utterance, he forced himself roughly through
the well-dressed crowd in his endeavours to follow the party, but weeks
of anxiety and abnormal excitement were taking their toll at last; a
sudden giddiness attacked him, and with a heavy groan he reeled and fell
in the midst of the pleasure-seeking throng.