WHY HE SUSPECTED.
Lord Vivianne!--there was no mistake. The moon shone full in his face;
she knew the impatient walk; she knew every line of his figure, and for
one moment her heart almost stopped beating.
What, in the name of the most high Heaven, did he want there?
She saw him going quickly up the broad flight of steps; the moon,
shining on them, made them white as snow; the light from the library
window shone softly on the ground.
He had stretched out his hand to ring the bell, when, with a sudden
impulse, a sudden cry, she called out:
"Stop!"
Another half-minute and she had almost flown across the lawn and stood
by his side.
"Stop!" she cried again, and laying her hand on his arm; then she looked
at him. "You!" she said--"is it you?"
"Yes, Lady Studleigh; there is little cause for wonder--it is the man
you were about so cleverly to deceive."
"In Heaven's name," she cried, impetuously, "what has brought you here?
Do not ring the bell! What has brought you to my father's house? You
were not to come until the twentieth."
In her fear and agitation she lost something of her usual dignity.
"That was nicely managed," he replied, with a sneer; "you were to be
married on the tenth, and I was to come on the twentieth. It was
dramatically arranged, Lady Studleigh; it is very sad it should have
failed."
For one moment her face grew white as with the ghastly pallor of death,
her eyes grew dim, her arms fell nervously by her side. So she stood for
a few minutes; then she said, in a low, hoarse voice:
"Do not ring the bell; do not arouse them; I will talk to you now. Come
this way."
Side by side they walked down the broad path together; in the
bewilderment of her thoughts she had but one idea--it was to keep him
away from the library window.
"Now," she said, breathlessly, "let us talk here."
The moon was bright--so pitifully bright, it traced their shadows along
the white stone; it seemed to rejoice in the warm night.
"What have you to say?" he asked, curtly. "I can tell you why I am here.
I have come for your answer ten days before the time, because I have
heard that you are going to play me false: I am here to tell Lord
Linleigh by what right I claim you as my wife; I am here to tell all
whom it may concern what you have been to me."
Suddenly she remembered that the room Earle occupied looked over the
terrace. What if, tempted by the beauty of the night, he should come to
the window, and look out? What if the earl should hear voices or see
shadows? Oh, what was she to do?
Her alarm heightened by seeing a light at one of the windows opposite:
whether it was one of the servants or not, she could not tell; but it
alarmed her.
All at once she remembered that she had free access to the house, she
had but to go back to her rooms by the spiral staircase. Again she laid
her hand on Lord Vivianne's arm.
"I dare not remain here," she said. "Do you see that light? We shall be
seen."
"What if we are?" he replied; "it will not matter if one or two find out
to-night what the world must know to-morrow."
"Hush!" she cried, in an agony of alarm. "How cruel, how merciless you
are! Great Heaven, what shall I do?"
"You can do nothing now, my lady; your time is come; you should have
kept faith with me."
"Will you come to my rooms?" she cried, in an agony of terror.
It seemed to her that his voice sounded so loudly and so clearly in the
summer air, all the world must hear it.
"To your rooms? Yes, I will go there."
"Follow me," she said.
She led the way up the spiral staircase into the boudoir, wishing at
every step he took he might fall dead.
She had forgotten the bridal veil and dress lying there.
The lamps were lighted in the boudoir. She carefully closed the door
lest any sound should reach their ears; then she came back to him.
He stood on the top of the staircase, half uncertain whether to enter or
not.
She went to him. By the light of the lamps he saw how marvelously pale
she had grown; and how terrible was the fear that shone in her eyes.
He looked carelessly round the room. He did not see at first what was
the glittering heap of white raiment; nor had he noticed the orange
wreath. But he saw, lying on the stand amid the flowers, a large, sharp
knife. It had been left there by some careless servant who had been
cutting the thick branches that wreathed the windows. His eyes lingered
on it for one half-minute; if he had known what was to happen, he would
most surely have flung it far from him.
She looked up into his face with cold, determined eyes.
"Now," she said, "do your worst; say your worst. I defy you!"
"Women are the greatest simpletons in creation," he said; "they imagine
it so easy to break faith with a man. You have to find out how difficult
it is."
She made no reply.
"By right of what has passed between us," he continued, "I claim you for
my wife. You told me you would consider the claim, and that you would
give me your decision on a certain date."
No answer. All the defiance that pride could suggest was in her white
face.
"You promised me, also, that you would not attempt in any way to evade
that claim."
"I did, and I was quite wrong in making you that promise."
"That is quite beside the mark; it has nothing whatever to do with the
matter. Having made the promise, you were bound to keep it. I relied
implicitly on your good faith. I left you, intending to return and hear
your decision. What do I find out? That you have simply been deceiving
me, duping me--most cleverly as you thought, most foolishly as you will
see. You imagined that on the twentieth I should come to see you, and
find you married and gone. You have doubtless laughed to think how you
should befool me."
"I do not deny it," she said, contemptuously.
A strange light flashed in his eyes.
"I would have you beware," he said. "I told you long ago that my
overweening love for you was driving me mad. Be careful how you anger
me."
"I have the same amount of contempt for your anger as for your love,"
she said.
"Take care! I have told you before, desperate men do desperate deeds.
Take care! I have found out your pretty plot, and am here to spoil it."
"What have you discovered?" she asked.
"For the first thing, that while you have been so cleverly deceiving all
London, you were engaged the whole time to Earle Moray, the lover you so
kindly left for me."
"After that?" she asked.
His face grew dark in its fury as he replied:
"That you--love him!"
"I do!" she cried, with sudden passion, "my whole heart loves him, my
whole soul calls him conqueror!"
He raised his hands menacingly, his fury knew no bounds.
"You would strike me!" she said, sneeringly. "If you killed me, I should
say the same over and over again; I love him and I hate you. What else
have you discovered?"
"That you intend to marry him on the tenth. That is the extent of my
knowledge; I know no more. But whether you are going to run away with
him, or whether Lord Linleigh intends to countenance a ceremony that
will be a lie, I cannot tell. Running away is more in your line,
certainly."
"Would you mind telling me," she asked, "how you know this?"
He laughed.
"I will tell you, with pleasure," he replied; "the more so as I think it
reflects great credit on my powers of penetration. I was in London the
day before yesterday, in New Bond Street, and, while walking leisurely
along, I met your poet and gentleman, Earle Moray."
"I wish that I could strike you dead for using his name," she said.
"I am sure you do, and I do not blame you. Under the circumstances, it
is the most natural wish in the world. As I was saying, I met your
cavalier; he was walking along, with a smile on his face--evidently
wrapped in most pleasant thoughts. He started when he saw me, and looked
slightly confused."
"My poor Earle!" she murmured; "my poor Earle!"
"The very fact of his looking confused aroused my suspicion. Why should
he be confused, just because he had met me? I spoke to him, and he
seemed disinclined to talk to me. Another thing struck me--he seemed to
wish to get rid of me. He is very transparent, poor fellow. I was quite
determined that he should not lose me. Walking on, we passed Horton &
Sons, the great jewelers, and, in some vague way, Lady Studleigh, I had
a presentiment that I was at one end of a mystery."
"You are a clever fiend," she said.
"Praise from such lips is praise, indeed! As we passed the door of
Horton & Sons, from the very confused way in which he looked at it, I
felt sure that he had been inclined to enter--in fact, that he intended
to enter, but would not because I was there. I instantly resolved that I
would baffle him; so we walked together up and down the street. Each
time he passed the door I saw him look longingly at it. I began to think
that I had missed my vocation; I ought to have been a detective. At
last, to his utter relief, I am sure, I said adieu.
"I watched him. No sooner had I gone away, than he hastened to the shop.
I said to myself, what could he possibly want there? what could he want
to buy that he would not let me see? Then I went into the shop after
him. It is a large place, and I stood where I could both hear and see
him without being seen or heard. Innocently enough--I laugh when I think
of it--he asked for a case of wedding-rings; he wanted the best, of
solid gold. That was to hold you, my lady. It would require a strong
ring to make you all his, would it not? He asked for the best--poor,
deluded fool!"
Her white face and glittering eyes might have warned him; but they did
not.
"He chose the ring, evidently having the size by heart. Then he asked to
see some pearl lockets. He selected one, and asked for a certain motto
to be engraved on it. But he asked again when it could be done. They
told him in two days. This did not suit him; he must have it in a few
hours; he was leaving town to-morrow. They asked if he would leave it
and they would try. He replied, 'No; that he wanted both ring and locket
on the tenth.' And then he left the shop. I need not tell you how that
startled me. Why should he want a wedding-ring on the tenth. Then--I can
hardly tell you how it was--a certain suspicion entered my mind that the
wedding-ring and locket were for you!"
"My poor Earle!" she said, with a long, low sigh.
"I secured the services of some one whom I knew to be clever,
trustworthy, and keen. We watched your friend, and found that he was
making preparations for a long absence, and that he was going abroad.
Still, I must confess, I was not prepared to hear that he had started
yesterday, and had taken a first-class ticket to Anderley. It did not
require a genius, you know, to put all these strange coincidences
together. I guessed in one moment that you were playing me false. I
should have been here before, but that an imperative engagement kept me
in town. I started at noon to-day, and, owing to some mistake in the
trains, did not reach Anderley until too late to take a fly, a cab, or
horse, or anything else. I was compelled to walk here, and that accounts
for my delay, for my late visit. Now I am here."
She looked steadily at him.
"Yes," she said, "you are here. What do you want?"