Part 52 (1/2)
She was there.
Her hands were clasped over her fast-heaving breast. She was powerless to look at him, powerless to speak to him--powerless to move towards him, until he opened his arms to her. Then, all the love and all the sorrow in the tender little heart flowed outward to him in a low murmuring cry. She hid her blus.h.i.+ng face on his bosom. The rosy colour softly tinged her neck--the unspoken confession of all she feared, and all she hoped.
It was a time beyond words. They were silent in each other's arms.
But under them, on the floor below, the stillness in the cottage was merrily broken by an outburst of dance-music--with a rhythmical thump-thump of feet, keeping time to the cheerful tune. Toff was playing his fiddle; and Toff's boy was dancing to his father's music.
CHAPTER 12
After waiting a day or two for news from Amelius, and hearing nothing, Rufus went to make inquiries at the cottage.
”My master has gone out of town, sir,” said Toff, opening the door.
”Where?”
”I don't know, sir.”
”Anybody with him?”
”I don't know, sir.”
”Any news of Sally?”
”I don't know, sir.”
Rufus stepped into the hall. ”Look here, Mr. Frenchman, three times is enough. I have already apologized for treating you like a teetotum, on a former occasion. I'm afraid I shall do it again, sir, if I don't get an answer to my next question--my hands are itching to be at you, they are!
When is Amelius expected back?”
”Your question is positive, sir,” said Toff, with dignity. ”I am happy to be able to meet it with a positive reply. My master is expected back in three weeks' time.”
Having obtained some information at last, Rufus debated with himself what he should do next. He decided that ”the boy was worth waiting for,”
and that his wisest course (as a good American) would be to go back, and wait in Paris.
Pa.s.sing through the Garden of the Tuileries, two or three days later, and crossing to the Rue de Rivoli, the name of one of the hotels in that quarter reminded him of Regina. He yielded to the prompting of curiosity, and inquired if Mr. Farnaby and his niece were still in Paris.
The manager of the hotel was in the porter's lodge at the time. So far as he knew, he said, Mr. Farnaby and his niece, and an English gentleman with them, were now on their travels. They had left the hotel with an appearance of mystery. The courier had been discharged; and the coachman of the hired carriage which took them away had been told to drive straight forward until further orders. In short, as the manager put it, the departure resembled a flight. Remembering what his American agent had told him, Rufus received this information without surprise. Even the apparently incomprehensible devotion of Mr. Melton to the interests of such a man as Farnaby, failed to present itself to him as a perplexing circ.u.mstance. To his mind, Mr. Melton's conduct was plainly attributable to a reward in prospect; and the name of that reward was--Miss Regina.