Part 33 (2/2)
He looked at her. She had seemingly forgotten all about the packet, and stood now, with a smile on her face, before one of the finest pictures in the gallery, wrapt in a dream of delight. There could not be anything in the letter affecting her. Still, as Philippa had written so pointedly, it would be better perhaps for him to heed her words.
”Madaline, my darling,” he said, sinking on to an ottoman, ”you have taken no tea. You would like some. Leave me here alone for half an hour.
I want to think.”
She did what she had never done voluntarily before. She went up to him, and clasped her arms round his neck. She bent her blus.h.i.+ng face over his, and the caress surprised as much as it delighted him--she was so shyly demonstrative.
”What are you going to think about, Norman? Will it be of me?”
”Of whom else should I think on my wedding-day, if not of my wife?” he asked.
”I should be jealous if your thoughts went anywhere else,” replied Madaline. ”There is a daring speech, Norman. I never thought I should make such a one.”
”Your daring is very delightful, Madaline; let me hear more of it.”
She laughed the low, happy, contented laugh that sounded like sweetest music in his ears.
”I will dare to say something else, Norman, if you will promise not to think it uncalled for. I am very happy, my darling husband--I love you very much, and I thank you for your love.”
”Still better,” he said, kissing the beautiful, blus.h.i.+ng face. ”Now go, Madaline. I understand the feminine liking for a cup of tea.”
”Shall I send one to you?” she asked.
”No,” he replied, laughingly. ”You may teach me to care about tea in time. I do not yet.”
He was still holding the letter in his hand, and the faint perfume was like a message from Philippa, reminding him that the missive was still unread.
”I shall not be long,” said Madaline. She saw that for some reason or other he wanted to be alone.
”You will find me here,” he returned. ”This is a favorite Book of mine.
I shall not leave it until you return.”
The nook was a deep bay window from which there was a magnificent view of the famous beeches. Soft Turkish cus.h.i.+ons and velvet lounges filled it, and near it hung one of t.i.tian's most gorgeous pictures--a dark-eyed woman with a ruby necklace. The sun's declining rays falling on the rubies, made them appear like drops of blood. It was a grand picture, one that had been bought by the lords of Beechgrove, and the present Lord Arleigh took great delight in it.
He watched the long folds of Madaline's white dress, as she pa.s.sed along the gallery, and then the hangings fell behind her. Once more he held up the packet.
”A wedding present from Philippa, d.u.c.h.ess of Hazlewood, to Lord Arleigh.”
Whatever mystery it contained should be solved at once. He broke the seal; the envelope contained a closely-written epistle. He looked at it in wonder. What could Philippa have to write to him about? The letter began as follows:
”A wedding present from Philippa, d.u.c.h.ess of Hazlewood, to Norman, Lord Arleigh. You will ask what it is? My answer is, my revenge--well planned, patiently awaited.
”You have read the lines:
”'Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor h.e.l.l a fury like a woman scorned.'
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