Part 16 (1/2)
”Oh, Monsieur Loris, one moment! I want the black and white sketch of your Kora. Pray have it bid in for me.”
It was the first time she had ever called him Loris, except in her own home, and as a partial echo of the dowager. His eyes thanked her, and Kenneth McVeigh received the benefit both of her words and the look.
”But, my dear Marquise, it will give me pleasure to make you something finer of the same subject.”
”No, no; only the sketch. I will value it as a souvenir of--well--do not let any one else have it.”
Then she bowed, flashed a rare smile at him, and they wheeled away with McVeigh facing her and noting with his careless smile every expression of her coquetry. He had gone away a boy--so she had called him; but he had come back man enough to hide the hurts she gave him, and willing to let her know it.
Someway he appeared more as he had when she met him first under the beeches; then he had seemed so big, so strong, so masterful, that she had never thought of his years. But she knew now he was younger than he looked.
She had plenty of time to think of this, and of many other things, during the drive.
The Countess monopolized the young officer with her questions. He endeavored to make the replies she invited, and neither of them appeared to note that the share of the Marquise was limited to an interested expression, and an occasional smile.
She studied his well-formed, strong hands, and thought of the night they had held her own--thought of all the impetuous, pa.s.sionate words; try as she would to drive them away they came back with a rush as his cool, widely different tones fell on her ear. What a dissembler the fellow was! All that evil nature which she knew about was hidden under an exterior so engaging! ”_If one only loved where it was wise to love, all the sorrows of the world would be ended,_” those words of the pretty figureante haunted her, with all their meaning beating through her brain. What a farce seemed the careless, empty chatter beside her! It grew unbearable, to feel his careless glance sweep across her face, to hear him laugh carelessly, to be conscious of the fact that after all he was the stronger; he could face her easily, graciously, and she did not dare even meet his eyes lest he should, after all, see; the thought of her weakness frightened her; suppose he should compel her to the truth. Suppose--
She felt half hysterical; the drive had never before been so long. She feared she must scream--do something to break through this horrible chain of circ.u.mstances, linking them for even so short a s.p.a.ce within touch of each other. And he was the man she had promised herself to hate, to make suffer, to--
Some one did scream; but it was the Countess. Out of a side street came a runaway team, a shouting man heralding their approach. At that point street repairs had left only a narrow carriage-way, and a wall of loose stone; there was no time to get out of the way; no room to turn. There was a collision, a cras.h.!.+ The horses of the Countess leaped aside, the right front wheel struck the heap of stone, flinging the driver from his seat. He fell, and did not move again.
At that sight the Countess uttered a gasp and sank to the bottom of the carriage. The Marquise stooped over her only for an instant, while the carriage righted itself and all four wheels were on a level once more; the horses alone had been struck, and were maddened with fear, and in that madness lay their only danger now.
She lifted her head, and the man opposite, in her instant of shrinking, had leaped over the back of the seat to secure the lines of the now thoroughly wild animals.
One line was dragging between them on the ground. Someway he maintained his footing on the carriage pole long enough to secure the dragging line, and when he gained the driver's seat the Marquise was beside him.
She knew what lay before them, and he did not--a dangerous curve, a steep embankment--and they had pa.s.sed the last street where they could have turned into a less dangerous thoroughfare.
People ran out and threw up their hands and shouted. She heard him fling an oath at them for adding fury to the maddened animals.
”It is no use,” she said, and laid her hand on his. He turned and met her eyes. No veil of indifference was between them now, no coquetry; all pretense was swept aside and the look they exchanged was as a kiss.
”You love me--now?” he demanded, half fiercely.
”Now, and always, from the first hour you looked at me!” she said, with her hand on his wrist. His grip tightened on the lines, and the blood leaped into his face.
”My love, my love!” he whispered; and she slipped on her knees beside him that she might not see the danger to be faced.
”It is no use, Kenneth, Kenneth! There is the bank ahead--they cannot stop--it will kill us! It is just ahead!”
She was muttering disjointed sentences, her face averted, her arms clasping him.
”Kill us? Don't you believe it!” And he laughed a trifle nervously.
”Look up, sweetheart; the danger is over. I knew it when you first spoke. See! They are going steady now.”
They were. He had gained control of them in time to make the dangerous curve in safety. They were a quarter of the way along the embankment.
Workmen there stared at the lady and gentleman on the coachman's seat, and at the rather rapid gait; but the real danger was over.
They halted at a little cafe, which was thrown into consternation at sight of a lady insensible in the bottom of the carriage; but a little wine and the administrations of the Marquise aided her recovery, and in a short time enabled her to hear the account of the wild race.