Part 17 (1/2)
”What is it?” he asked hastily. ”Has Evan--done something worse than usual?”
”Not to my knowledge. It is not Evan.”
”Not Evan, what then; tell me Mrs. Aliston,” his face becoming paler and paler.
”Frank, your sister has eloped!”
He fell into the nearest chair, white and limp.
”Go on,” he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, lifting a haggard face towards her; ”tell me--the worst, Mrs. Aliston.”
”She has eloped with John Burrill,” went on Mrs. Aliston, a shade of coldness in her voice. ”They ran away on Sat.u.r.day afternoon.”
His head dropped forward and fell upon the table before him. Thus for a moment he remained motionless, then his voice broke the stillness, sounding faint and hollow.
”Is that--all--you can tell me?”
”All! Yes!” exclaimed Mrs. Aliston in a burst of nervousness. ”I wish I had not told you so much. Frank don't take it so hard.”
He lifted his head, showing her a ghastly face and pale trembling lips.
”Did Constance see Sybil? Does she know--” he broke off abruptly and half rising from his chair, stretched out to her an imploring hand.
”Mrs. Aliston,” he said hoa.r.s.ely. ”I must see Constance. I _must_. For G.o.d's sake send her to me, just for one moment.”
”But--” began Mrs. Aliston.
”I tell you I _must_ see her,” he cried, with sudden fierceness. ”I shall go to her if there is no other way.”
Great drops of sweat stood out on his forehead; once more he looked as he had two days before, when he stood alone under the trees of Wardour Place, after his parting with Constance.
Seeing that look upon his face, Mrs. Aliston went slowly towards the door.
”I will send Constance to you,” she said gently and went out, closing the door softly.
When he was alone the look upon Francis Lamotte's face became fierce and set. Springing to his feet he paced the floor like a mad man.
”That letter,” he hissed, ”that accursed letter, what has it told? I must know! I must know the worst! blind fool that I was to let my own hand bring this about. Oh! this is horrible! Am I lost or--”
Suddenly he seemed to recollect himself and dropping into a chair he buried his pa.s.sion-distorted face in his arms and so awaited the coming of Constance.
He had not long to wait; soon his listening ear caught the gentle opening and closing of the door, and then he felt a light hand upon his arm, and a sweet pitying voice said: ”Poor Frank, poor boy, don't let this overcome you so.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Poor Frank, don't let this overcome you.”]
One hand reached up and clasped the soft hand that rested on his arm, but he did not lift his head, as he said brokenly:
”Tell me the worst, Constance.”
”Why, Frank! the worst is told.”