Part 10 (2/2)
He leaned forward till his face was near hers, and she could see his grey eyes, now black in the dim light, almost next her own. He took her hand and held it; then he whispered pa.s.sionately: ”Because I love you.”
”For the sake of both of us, don't say that,” she said hoa.r.s.ely, drawing back her hand.
”For the sake of both of us I will,” he replied. ”What is there to prevent our loving?”
”My husband,” she said, and the words brought back fear to her heart.
”I thought you were a woman of the world,” he replied scornfully. ”Do you mean to tell me that you are afraid?”
”Yes,” said Marion resolutely.
”Then you must drown your fear in love,” he answered, drawing his arm about her shoulders.
”You must leave me,” she pleaded, trying to release herself.
”Not until you say you love me,” was his answer.
”That I do not hate you ought to tell you that; O, I can't say any more.
Leave me, I entreat you.”
”I will not leave you, my Marion,” he replied impetuously. ”I must have your love.” And he leaned forward and kissed her. A dress rustled behind the palms. Duncan heard it and quickly released Marion, who darted away and ran toward the ball-room; and Duncan, glancing anxiously through the foliage, saw a crimson gown hurrying through the other door. ”Confound my luck!” he muttered. ”I thought I knew something about this sort of thing, but I was a fool to take such chances.”
Inside the ball-room Marion found her husband, standing among a group of men, watching the dancing. ”I am going home, Roswell,” she said, taking his arm and drawing him away. ”Find Florence, won't you?”
”Yes, dear,” he replied. ”Are you ill?” he added, thinking it unusual for his wife to leave so early.
”I feel tired, that is all. Tell Florence she can go home with Mrs.
Smythe if she chooses.”
Roswell Sanderson went in search of Florence and soon returned with her.
He had given her Marion's message, but Florence did not care to remain, so she excused herself to her partner in the cotillon and hurried away with Roswell. ”What is the matter?” she anxiously asked Marion.
”I feel a little faint and I think I will go home,” was the answer.
Florence thought Marion seemed agitated rather than faint. She wondered what had happened, but thinking it unwise to pursue the matter further, she walked on quietly beside Marion and her husband. On the stairs they met Duncan; Marion tried to avoid him, but he came toward her and said calmly: ”I have been looking everywhere for you, Mrs. Sanderson. Have you forgotten you have a partner in the cotillon?”
”No;” Marion replied. ”But you must excuse me as I feel quite tired; I am going home.”
”I feel cheated,” answered Duncan; ”the more so as I leave to-morrow and must say good-by, now.” He put out his hand and Marion took it. She tried not to look at him, but an indefinable attraction compelled her to raise her eyes. ”Good-by,” he said, softly pressing her hand.
”Good-by,” she answered. Then she quickly drew back her hand and turned away. As she descended the stairs she felt that he was still looking at her. She wanted to look back, but she closed her eyes and pressed closely to her husband's arm till they reached the cloak-room door.
While she and Florence were putting on their wraps, she could hear the distant strains of music coming from the ball-room; they seemed to her like the last echo of the love which had flamed so brilliantly for a moment in her heart, and now must die and become a memory. The music stopped. ”It is all over,” she thought; then she hurried away with Florence and her husband down the great stairway to the street door.
”Mrs. Sanderson's carriage,” called a servant on the stairs. ”Mrs.
Sanderson's carriage,” was echoed from the street. She heard a rumbling noise of wheels; then the street door opened, and she felt a blast of cold, refres.h.i.+ng air. ”The carriage is here, ma'am,” called her footman, and they pa.s.sed out into the darkness. At the end of the awning-covered pa.s.sage the carriage lamps burned dimly, and she could hear the restless champing of bits. They reached the carriage and took their places; the door was closed; the servant mounted the box, the carriage rolled away crunching the crisp snow under its wheels. Marion sank into a corner and tried to think. ”I did my best,” she said to herself again and again. ”I did my best, but it was so hard.” Over the snow-m.u.f.fled stones the carriage rolled past ma.s.sive structures, black and silent in the darkness. Huge, scowling ogres, they seemed to Marion, coldly frowning their displeasure. On through the darkened streets they went and over the river bridge; she could see the flickering street lamps faintly glistening on the ice, and she thought they were feeble hope rays s.h.i.+ning through the darkness. Marion closed her eyes and listened to the wheels creaking through the snow. How long it was she did not know, but after a time she felt a sense of stillness. She opened her eyes. They were home.
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