Part 44 (1/2)

”A durn sight.”

Why had we been denied that perspicacity now?

So with a heavy burden, and heavier conscience (both of Mrs.

Goodwyn-Sandys' packing), he trudged forward, kicking up clouds of dust that sparkled in the moonlight. Presently the ascent grew more gradual, the hedges lower, and over their tops he could feel the upland air breathing coolly from the sea. And now the sign-post hove in sight, and the cross-roads stretching whitely into distance.

If we take the town of Troy as a base, lying north and south, this sign-post forms the apex of a triangle which has two high-roads for its remaining sides--the one road entering Troy from the north by the hill which Sam had just ascended, the other running southwards and ending with a steep declivity at no great distance from ”The Bower.”

It was by this southern road, of course, that Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys would come. Sam looked along it, but all as yet was silent.

He pulled out his watch again, and, finding that he had still twenty minutes to spare, set down his load at the foot of the signpost, and began to walk to and fro.

So gloomy were his reflections that, to soothe his nerves, he pulled out a cigar, lit it, and then, for lack of anything better to do, rekindled his lantern, and resumed his walk.

The cigar was barely half smoked when he heard a noise in the distance.

Yes, there was no doubt. It was the sound of horses. Sam caught up the portmanteau, and stared down the highway. For a full minute he listened to the advancing clatter, and presently, around an angle of the road, a chaise and pair broke into view, and came up at a gallop.

Sam advanced a step or two; a white handkerchief was thrust out at the window, and the driver pulled up suddenly. Then the face of Mrs.

Goodwyn-Sandys looked anxiously out.

”Ah! you are there,” she exclaimed with a little cry of relief.

”I have been so afraid. Have you got it?”

In the moonlight, and that pretty air of timidity on her face, she was more ravis.h.i.+ng than ever. Her voice called as a siren's; her eyes drew Sam irresistibly. In a second all his fears, doubts, scruples, were flung to the winds. He held up the portmanteau, and advanced to the carriage door.

”Here it is. Geraldine--”

”Oh! thanks, thanks. How can I show my thanks?”

The perfume of her hair floated out upon the night with the music of her tone until they both fairly intoxicated him.

He opened the door of the chaise.

”Where shall I stow it?” he asked.

”Here, opposite me; be very careful of it.”

In the darkness he saw a huge bundle of rugs piled by Geraldine's side.

”Where am I to sit?” he asked, as he bestowed the portmanteau carefully.

He looked up into her face. The loveliest smile rested on him, for one instant, from those incomparable eyes. She did not answer, but held out her hand with the grace of a maiden confessing her first pa.s.sion. He seized the ungloved fingers, and kissed them.

”Geraldine!”

At this moment a low chuckle issued from the bundle of rugs.

Sam dropped the hand, and started back as if stung. A hateful thought flashed upon him.