Part 7 (2/2)

”Why not stop here a moment?” I said, hardly knowing that I spoke, or why I spoke. My mouth had grown suddenly dry. The _timbre_ of my voice somehow founded different. Without answering she shortened her reins, and her horse was still.

Why had we stopped? Why had I suggested our stopping? I saw her, in the darkness, turn her face to mine, but she said nothing.

”Dulcie!” I exclaimed suddenly, no longer able to control myself.

Without knowing it I leant forward in my saddle. I could see her eyes, now. Her gaze was set on mine. Her lips were slightly parted. Her breast rose and fell.

Some strange, irresistible force seemed all at once to master me, deadening my will, my brain, my power of self-restraint. My arm was about her; I was drawing her towards me. I felt surprise that she should offer no resistance. My lips were pressed on hers....

She was kissing me feverishly, pa.s.sionately. Her whole soul seemed to have become suddenly transformed. Her arms were about my neck--I could not draw away.

”Oh, Mike! Mike!” she gasped, ”tell me you really mean it--that you are not just playing with me--flirting with me--tell me you ... oh, I love you so, dearest. Ah, yes. I love you so, I love you so!”

It was very dark by the time we had made our way through the extensive wood--a short cut to Holt Manor--and were once more in the lanes, I felt strangely happy, and yet a curious feeling which I could neither explain nor account for obsessed me.

Our joy was so great--would it last? That was the purport of my sensation, if I may express it so. I longed at that moment to be able to look into the future. What had the Fates in store for me--for us both?

Perhaps it was as well I didn't know.

We had entered the park gates, and were half-way up the long avenue of tall elms and stately oaks, when I saw a light approaching through the darkness. It came nearer, and we guessed it must be a man on foot, carrying a lantern.

Now he was quite close.

”Is that Miss Dulcie? a voice inquired out of the blackness, as the light became stationary.

”Yes. That you, Churchill?” Dulcie called back.

Churchill was the head gardener. Born and bred on the estate, there were few things he loved better than to recall to mind, and relate to anybody sufficiently patient to listen to him, stories and anecdotes of the family. Of ”Miss Dulcie” he would talk for an hour if you let him, telling you how he remembered her when she was ”not so high,” and of the things she had done and said as a child.

”What do you want, Churchill?” she called to him, as he remained silent.

Still for some moments he did not speak. At last he apparently plucked up courage.

”There's been sad doings at the house,” he said, and his voice was strained.

”Sad doings!” Dulcie exclaimed in alarm. ”Why, what do you mean?”

”There's been a shocking robbery, Miss Dulcie--shocking. You'll hear all about it when you go in. I thought it best to warn you about it. And Master d.i.c.k--”

He stopped abruptly.

”Good heavens, Churchill!” she cried out in great alarm, ”quick, tell me what has happened, tell me everything. What about Master d.i.c.k?”

”He's been served shocking, Miss. Oh, it's a terrible affair. The whole house looted during the hunt breakfast this, morning, and Master d.i.c.k--”

”Yes! Yes!”

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