Part 36 (2/2)
Alice, unable to sleep, had sought forgetfulness of her bitter captivity in the old poet's charming lyrics. She sat on the floor, some blankets and furs drawn around her, the book on her lap, the stupidly dull lamp hanging beside her on a part of the swivel. Her hair lay loose over her neck and shoulders and s.h.i.+mmered around her face with a cloud-like effect, giving to the features in their repose a setting that intensified their sweetness and sadness. In a very low but distinct voice was reading, with a slightly quavering emotion:
”Mignonne, allons voir si la rose, Que ce matin avoit desclose Sa robe de pourpe au soleil.”
When Hamilton, after stealthily mounting the rough stairway which led to her door, peeped in through a s.p.a.ce between the slabs and felt a stroke of disappointment, seeing at a glance that Farnsworth was not there. He gazed for some time, not without a sense of villainy, while she continued her sweetly monotonous reading. If his heart had been as hard as the iron swivel-b.a.l.l.s that lay beside Alice, he must still have felt a thrill of something like tender sympathy. She now showed no trace of the vivacious sauciness which had heretofore always marked her features when she was in his presence. A dainty gentleness, touched with melancholy, gave to her face an appealing look all the more powerful on account of its unconscious simplicity of expression.
The man felt an impulse pure and n.o.ble, which would have borne him back down the ladder and away from the building, had not a stronger one set boldly in the opposite direction. There was a short struggle with the seared remnant of his better nature, and then he tried to open the door; but it was locked.
Alice heard the slight noise and breaking off her reading turned to look. Hamilton made another effort to enter before he recollected that the wooden key, or notched lever, that controlled the c.u.mbrous wooden lock, hung on a peg beside the door. He felt for it along the wall, and soon laid his hand on it. Then again he peeped through to see Alice, who was now standing upright near the swivel. She had thrown her hair back from her face and neck; the lamp's flickering light seemed suddenly to have magnified her stature and enhanced her beauty. Her book lay on the tumbled wraps at her feet, and in either hand she grasped a swivel-shot.
Hamilton's combative disposition came to the aid of his baser pa.s.sion when he saw once more a defiant flash from his prisoner's face. It was easy for him to be fascinated by opposition. Helm had profited by this trait as much as others had suffered by it; but, in the case of Alice, Hamilton's mingled resentment and admiration were but a powerful irritant to the coa.r.s.est and most dangerous side of his nature.
After some fumbling and delay he fitted the key with a steady hand and moved the wooden bolt creaking and jolting from its slot. Then flinging the clumsy door wide open, he stepped in.
Alice started when she recognized the midnight intruder, and a second deeper look into his countenance made her brave heart recoil, while with a sinking sensation her breath almost stopped. It was but a momentary weakness, however, followed by vigorous reaction.
”What are you here for, sir?” she demanded. ”What do you want?”
”I am neither a burglar nor a murderer, Mademoiselle,” he responded, lifting his hat and bowing, with a smile not in the least rea.s.suring.
”You look like both. Stop where you are!”
”Not so loud, my dear Miss Roussillon; I am not deaf. And besides the garrison needs to sleep.”
”Stop, sir; not another step.”
She poised herself, leaning slightly backward, and held the iron ball in her right hand ready to throw it at him.
He halted, still smiling villainously.
”Mademoiselle, I a.s.sure you that your excitement is quite unnecessary.
I am not here to harm you.”
”You cannot harm me, you cowardly wretch!”
”Humph! Pride goes before a fall, wench,” he retorted, taking a half-step backward. Then a thought arose in his mind which added a new shade to the repellent darkness of his countenance.
”Miss Roussillon,” he said in English and with a changed voice, which seemed to grow harder, each word deliberately emphasized, ”I have come to break some bad news to you.”
”You would scarcely bring me good news, sir, and I am not curious to hear the bad.”
He was silent for a little while, gazing at her with the sort of admiration from which a true woman draws away appalled. He saw how she loathed him, saw how impossible it was for him to get a line nearer to her by any turn of force or fortune. Brave, high-headed, strong as a young leopard, pure and sweet as a rose, she stood before him fearless, even aggressive, showing him by every line of her face and form that she felt her infinite superiority and meant to maintain it. Her whole personal expression told him he was defeated; therefore he quickly seized upon a suggestion caught from a transaction with Long-Hair, who had returned a few hours before from his pursuit of Beverley.
”It pains me, I a.s.sure you, Miss Roussillon, to tell you what will probably grieve you deeply,” he presently added; ”but I have not been unaware of your tender interest in Lieutenant Beverley, and when I had bad news from him, I thought it my duty to inform you.”
He paused, feeling with a devil's satisfaction the point of his statement go home to the girl's heart.
The wind was beginning to blow outside, shaking open the dark clouds and letting gleams of moonlight flicker on the thinning fog. A ghostly ray came through a crack between the logs and lit Alice's face with a pathetic wanness. She moved her lips as if speaking, but Hamilton heard no sound.
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