Part 44 (1/2)

”Very good, sir.”

And the discreet little maid retired, closing the door after her.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

WHICH SPEAKS ONLY OF FAREWELLS

The door had scarcely closed, and already she was near him.

”Luke,” she whispered, and her voice was hoa.r.s.e now and choked, ”the police!”

”That's about it,” he said. ”I thought that they meant to let me get away.”

”So father understood from Sir Thomas Ryder. What will you do, Luke?”

”I can't do anything, I am afraid. I wanted to get away----”

”And I have kept you--and now it is too late.”

A very little while ago she had hated the idea of his going. Luke--a fugitive from justice--was a picture on which it was intolerable to look. But now the womanly instinct rose up in revolt, at the very thought that he should be arrested, tried, and condemned! What mattered if he were a fugitive, if he were ostracized and despised?

what mattered anything so long as he lived and she could be near him?

A very little while ago, she would have done anything to keep him from going; she almost longed for his arrest and the publicity of the trial. She was so sure that truth would surely come out, that his innocence would of necessity be proved.

But now, woman-like, she only longed for his safety, and forgetting all the tradition of her past life, all the old lessons of self-restraint, forgetting everything except his immediate danger, she clung to him with all the true pa.s.sion in her, which she no longer tried to keep in check.

”No, Luke,” she murmured in quick, jerky tones, ”it is not too late--not at all too late. You stay in here quietly and I'll ask father to go and speak to them. He'll tell them that you haven't come home yet, and that he is waiting here for you himself. Father is well known; they won't suspect him of s.h.i.+elding you; and in the meanwhile you can slip out easily; we'll send your luggage on. You can write and let us know where you are--it is quite easy--and not too late----”

Whilst she spoke, she was gradually edging toward the door. Her voice had sunk to a hoa.r.s.e whisper, for maddening terror almost deprived her of speech. With insistent strength she would not allow him to detain her, and he, whilst trying to hold her back, was afraid of hurting her. But at the last when she had almost reached the door, he contrived to forestall her, and before she could guess his purpose he had pressed a finger on the b.u.t.ton of the electric bell.

She heard the distant tinkle of the bell, and this made her pause.

”What is it, Luke?” she asked. ”Why did you ring?”

”For your father, dear,” he replied simply.

”Then you will do what I want you to?” she rejoined eagerly, ”you will go away?”

He gave no immediate answer, for already the maid's footstep was heard along the pa.s.sage. The next moment she was knocking at the door. Luke went up to it, gently forcing Louisa back into the shadow behind him.

”Mary,” he said, with his hand on the latch of the door, holding it slightly ajar, ”just ask Colonel Harris to come here, will you?”

”Yes, sir.”

The girl was heard turning away, and walking back briskly along the pa.s.sage. Then Luke faced Louisa once again.

He went up to her and without a word took her in his arms. It was a supreme farewell and she knew it. She felt it in the quiver of agony which went right through him as he pressed her so close--so close that her breath nearly left her body and her heart seemed to stand still.

She felt it in the sweet, sad pain of the burning kisses with which he covered her face, her eyes, her hair, her mouth. It was the final pa.s.sionate embrace, the irrevocable linking of soul and heart and mind, the parting of earthly bodies, the union of immortal souls. It was the end of all things earthly, the beginning of things eternal.