Part 26 (1/2)
”Come now, my child; it is late, and you must be gone. Be careful. I know I need not remind you of the oath between us three.”
”Silence--and suicide, if necessary,” she murmured mechanically. She had taken the jewel from its case and was threading it on a chain round her throat, ”Death rather than betray the other two.”
”That's it,” said the other, with cheerful firmness. ”Now, good-night.”
He lowered the lights and opened the door of the room. She pa.s.sed into the dark pa.s.sage, and he returned to the table and pressed a b.u.t.ton which opened the front door. When he heard it softly close, he knew that she was out of the house and on her way home.
But her adventures were not yet over. Before she had gone very far she was aware of being followed. A mirror in a shop window reflected, afar off, the silhouette of the only other person besides herself in the now silent street--a tall man in a slouch hat. Apparently he had on shoes as light as her own, for his feet made no more noise than hers, though her fine ear detected the steady beat of them behind her. For the first time, she knew terror. Supposing it were a detective who had tracked her from Syke Ravenal's door, and was now waiting to arrest her as she entered her own home! She realized that her courage had lain in the knowledge of absolute security, for now, at the menace of discovery, her heart was paralyzed with fright and she could scarcely breathe. Instinct told her to run, but acquired self-control kept her from this madness, and, by a great effort, she continued walking quietly as before. Gradually her nerve returned. She determined, by feint, to discover whether the man were really following her or if his presence were due to accident. Having now arrived at the residential part of the town, where every house stood back from the road and was sheltered by a garden, she coolly opened a gate at random and walked boldly in. The man was still some way behind, and she had ample time to pa.s.s through the garden and reach the veranda before he drew near.
It was a house strange to her, and she had not the faintest idea who lived there. All the windows and doors were closed and shuttered, but light showed through a fanlight over the hall door. The veranda, blinded by heavy green mats, contained the usual array of chairs, and she sank down on one, her heart beating like a drum, her ears strained to hear her pursuer pa.s.s. Instead, to her horror, she heard the gate briskly unlatched and footsteps on the path. Terrified by this unexpected move, and sure, now, that the end had come, she sprang to her feet and stood waiting like a straight, grey ghost for the man to enter the veranda. The light above the hall door fell full on him, and it is hard to say whether dismay or horror were strongest in her when she recognized Harlenden.
”Denis!” she stammered.
”Why are you here, Rosanne?” he asked quietly. ”Do you need me?”
Astonishment kept her dumb for a moment, then, with a realization of the position, came anger.
”How dare you follow me?” she exclaimed, in a low, tense voice.
”I live in this house.”
”_You live here?_” she faltered, and sat down suddenly, trembling from head to foot.
”Yes; and I have just returned from the club.”
”Then it was _not_ you following me?”
At that she sprang up and threw herself into his arms in a frenzy of fear.
”Who was it, then? Oh, Denis, Denis, save me; take me into your house--hide me!”
”Hus.h.!.+” he said gently, and, keeping a supporting arm about her, guided her round the veranda, took a key out of his pocket, and let her and himself in by a side door. He closed and locked the door behind them, put her into a chair, then examined the window to make sure it was closed as well as shuttered. It was a man's sitting-room, full of the scent of leather and tobacco. Going to a spirit-stand on the table he poured out some brandy.
”Drink this,” he said, in the same firm tone he had used all along, and mechanically she obeyed him.
”Where are we?” she murmured. ”Whose house is this? I thought you lived at the club?”
”So I did until last week, when this house was lent me. Don't be afraid. The servants are all in bed, and there is no one about. You are much safer here than roaming about the streets at one in the morning.”
”Then you _were_ following me?”
”Certainly I was following you. I saw you come out of Syke Ravenal's shop and I walked behind you, but only because your way and mine happened to be in the same direction.”
She pa.s.sed her hand over her eyes with a hopeless gesture. It seemed as though this endless day of terrors and surprises would never be done, and she was weary, weary. He sat regarding her with grave eyes.
She looked like a little, tired, unhappy child, and his heart was sick with longing to gather her in his arms and comfort her and take her sorrows on himself. But he knew that there were things beyond his help here, unless she gave him her full confidence and cast her burdens into his hands.
”Rosanne,” he said, at last, ”I ask you to trust me.”
She looked at him with wretched eyes and a mouth tipped at the corners as though she would weep if she could. In truth, the enchantment of this man's love and her love for him was on her again, and the poignant torment of it was almost too exquisite to bear. His voice stole through her senses like the music of an old dream. His lean, strong frame, the stone-grey eyes, and close-lipped mouth all spoke of that power in a man which means safety to the woman he loves. Safety! Only such a storm-petrel as Rosanne Ozanne, weary, with wings beaten and torn by winds whose fateful forces she herself did not understand, could realize the full allure of that word. She felt like a sailor drowning in a wild sea, within sight of the fair land he never would reach. That fair land of safety was not for her feet, that had wandered down such dark and shameful paths. But, oh, how the birds sang on that sweet sh.o.r.e! How cool were the green pastures! Small wonder that her face wore the tortured misery of a little child. Denis Harlenden's heart turned to water at the sight of it, and the blood thrummed in his veins with the ache to crush her to his breast and keep her there against the world and against herself, spite of all the unfathomed things in her which estranged him. But he was strong enough to refrain from even touching her hands. Only his voice he could not stay from its caresses.
”Is not love enough for you, Rosanne?”