Part 71 (1/2)
”Say at once you are glad to be rid of me,” breaks he in bitterly, stung by her persistent coldness.
”You are forgetting your original purpose,” she says, after a slight pause, declining to notice his last remark. ”Was there not something you wished to say to me?”
”Yes.” Rousing himself with an impatient sigh. ”Molly,” blanching a little, and trying to read her face, with all his heart in his eyes,--”are you going to marry Shadwell?”
Molly colors richly (a rare thing with her), grows pale again, clasps and unclasps her slender fingers nervously, before she makes reply. A prompting toward mischief grows within her, together with a sense of anger that he should dare put such a question to her under existing circ.u.mstances.
”I cannot see by what right you put to me such a question--now,” she says, at length, haughtily. ”My affairs can no longer concern you.”
With an offended gleam at him from under her long lashes.
”But they do,” cries he, hotly, maddened by her blush, which he has attributed jealously to a wrong cause. ”How can I see you throwing yourself away upon a _roue_--a blackleg--without uttering a word of warning?”
”'A _roue_--a blackleg'? Those are strong terms. What has Captain Shadwell done to deserve them? A blackleg! How?”
”Perhaps I go too far when I say that,” says Luttrell, wis.h.i.+ng with all his heart he knew something vile of Shadwell; ”but he has gone as near it as any man well can. You and he cannot have a thought in common.
Will you sacrifice your entire life without considering well the consequences?”
”He is a gentleman, at all events,” says Miss Ma.s.sereene, slowly, cuttingly. ”He never backbites his friends. He is courteous in his manner; and--he knows how to keep--his temper. I do not believe any of your insinuations.”
”You defend him?” cries Luttrell, vehemently. ”Does that mean that you already love him? It is impossible! In a few short weeks to forget all the vows we interchanged, all the good days we spent at Brooklyn, before we ever came to this accursed place! There at least you liked me well enough,--you were willing to trust to me your life's happiness; here!--And now you almost tell me you love this man, who is utterly unworthy of you. Speak. Say it is not so.”
”I shall tell you nothing. You have no right to ask me. What is there to prevent my marrying whom I choose? Have you so soon forgotten that last night you--_jilted_ me?” She speaks bitterly, and turns from him with an unlovely laugh.
”Molly,” cries the young man, in low tones, full of pa.s.sion, catching her hand, all the violent emotion he has been so painfully striving to suppress since her entrance breaking loose now, ”listen to me for one moment. Do not kill me. My whole heart is bound up in you. You are too young to be so cruel. Darling, I was mad when I deemed I could live without you. I have been mad ever since that fatal hour last night.
Will you forgive me? _Will_ you?”
”Let my hand go, Mr. Luttrell,” says the girl, with a dry sob. Is it anger, or grief, or pride? ”You had me once, and you would not keep me.
You shall never again have the chance of throwing me over: be a.s.sured of that.”
She draws her fingers from his burning clasp, and once more turns away, with her eyes bent carefully upon the carpet, lest he shall notice the tears that threaten to overflow them. She walks resolutely but slowly past where he is standing, with folded arms, leaning against the wall, toward the door.
Just as her fingers close on the handle she becomes aware of footsteps on the outside coming leisurely toward her.
Instinctively she shrinks backward, casts a hasty, horrified glance at her dressing-gown, her bare feet, her loosened hair; then, with a movement full of confidence, mingled with fear, she hastens back to Luttrell (who, too, has heard the disconcerting sound) and glances up at him appealingly.
”There is somebody coming,” she breathes, in a terrified whisper.
The footsteps come nearer,--nearer still; they reach the very threshold, and then pause. Will their owner come in?
In the fear and agony and doubt of the moment, Molly lays her two white hands upon her bosom and stands listening intently, with wide-open gleaming eyes, too frightened to move or make any attempt at concealment; while Luttrell, although alarmed for her, cannot withdraw his gaze from her lovely face.
Somebody's hand steals along the door as though searching for the handle. With renewed hope Luttrell instantly blows out both the candles near him, reducing the room to utter darkness, and draws Molly behind the window-curtains.
There is a breathless pause. The door opens slowly,--slowly. With a gasp that can almost be heard, Molly puts out one hand in the darkness and lays it heavily upon Luttrell's arm. His fingers close over it.
”Hus.h.!.+ not a word,” whispers he.