Thursday evening, and the hand of the ormolu clock pointed to a quarter to ten. Lord Earle sat reading, Lady Helena had left Lillian asleep, and had taken up a book near him. Lord Airlie had been sketching for Beatrice a plan of a new wing at Lynnton.
Looking up suddenly she saw the time. At ten Hugh Fernely would be at the shrubbery gate. She had not a moment to lose. Saying she was feeling tired, she rose and went to bid Lord Earle goodnight.
He remembered afterward how he had raised the beautiful face in his hands and gazed at it in loving admiration, whispering something the while about "Lady Airlie of Lynnton." He remembered how she, so little given to caressing, had laid her hand upon his shoulder, clasping her arms around his neck, kissing his face, and calling him, "her own dear papa." He remembered the soft, wistful light in her beautiful eyes, the sweet voice that lingered in his ears. Yet no warning came to him, nothing told him the fair child he loved so dearly stood in the shadow of deadly peril.
If he had known, how those strong arms would have been raised to shield her--how the stout, brave heart would have sheltered her!
As it was, she left him with jesting words on his lips, and he did not even gaze after her as she quitted the room. If he had only known where and how he should see that face again!
Beatrice went up to Lady Helena, who smiled without raising her eyes from her book. Beatrice bent down and touched the kind, stately face with her lips.
"Good night, grandmamma," she said. "How studious you are!"
"Good night--bless you, my child," returned Lady Helena; and the fair face turned from her with a smile.
"You have left me until last," said Lord Airlie; "goodnight, my Beatrice. Never mind papa--he is not looking at us, give me one kiss."
She raised her face to his, and he kissed the proud, sweet lips.
He touched the golden locket.
"You will never part with it," he said; and he smiled as she answered:
"No, never!"
Then she passed out of his sight, and he who would have laid down his life for her saw her leave him without the faintest suspicion of the shadow that hung over her.
The smile still lingered on her as she stood in her own room. A few hours more--one more trial--she said to herself; then she would be free, and might enjoy her happiness to its full extent.
How dearly Hubert loved her--how unutterably happy she would be when Hugh released her! And he would--she never doubted it.
"I shall not want you again," she said to her maid. "And do not call me in the morning. I am tired."
The door of Lillian's room was not closed; she went in. The night lamp was shaded, and the blinds closely drawn, so that the bright moonlight could not intrude. She went gently to the side of the bed where her sister lay. Poor, gentle, loving Lillian!
The pale, sad face, with its wistful wearied expression, was turned to the wall. There were some traces of tears, and even in sleep deep sighs passed the quivering lips. Sorrow and woe were impressed on the fair face. Yet, as Beatrice kissed the clear, calm brow, she would gladly have changed places with her.
"I will soon make it up to her," she said, gazing long and earnestly on the sleeping face. "In a few weeks she shall be happier than she has ever been. I will make Master Lionel go on his knees to her."
She left the room, and Lillian never knew who had bent so lovingly over her.
Beatrice took from her wardrobe, a thick, warm shawl. She drew it over her head, and so half hid her face. Then she went noiselessly down the staircase that led from her suite of rooms to the garden.
How fair and beautiful the night was--not cold, although it was September, and the moon shining as she had rarely seen it shine before.
It seemed to sail triumphantly in the dark-blue sky. It poured a flood of silvery light on the sleeping flowers and trees.
She had not lingered to look round the pretty dressing room as she left it. Her eyes had not dwelt on the luxurious chamber and the white bed, wherein she ought to have been sleeping, but, now that she stood outside the Hall, she looked up at the windows with a sense of loneliness and fear. There was a light in Lady Helena's room and one in Lord Airlie's. She shrank back. What would he think if he saw her now?
Deeply she felt the humiliation of leaving her father's house at that hour of the night; she felt the whole shame of what she was going to do; but the thought of Lord Airlie nerved her. Let this one night pass, and a life time of happiness lay before her.
The night wind moaned fitfully among the trees; the branches of the tall lime trees swayed over her head; the fallen leaves twirled round her feet. She crossed the gardens; the moon cast strange shadows upon the broad paths. At length she saw the shrubbery gate, and, by it, erect and motionless, gazing on the bending trees in the park, was Hugh Fernely. He did not hear her light footsteps--the wind among the lime trees drowned them.
She went up to him and touched his arm gently.
"Hugh," she said, "I am here."
Before she could prevent him, he was kneeling at her feet. He had clasped her hands in his own, and was covering them with hot kisses and burning tears.
"My darling," he said, "my own Beatrice, I knew you would come!"
He rose then, and, before she could stop him, he took the shawl from her head and raised the beautiful face so that the moonlight fell clearly upon it.
"I have hungered and thirsted," he said, "for another look at that face. I shall see it always now--its light will ever leave me more. Look at me, Beatrice," he cried, "let me see those dark eyes again."
But the glance she gave him had nothing in it but coldness and dread. In the excitement of his joy he did not notice it.
"Words are so weak," he said, "I can not tell you how I have longed for this hour. I have gone over it in fancy a thousand times; yet no dream was ever so bright and sweet as this reality.
No man in the wide world ever loved any one as I love you, Beatrice."
