|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 22
Old Lady FitzAlmont, with Lady Gertrude sobbing on her arm, seconds
this proposal, and, being a veteran of much distinction, takes the lead.
Those following close behind, are glad of this, and hopeful because
of it, her appearance being calculated to rout any enemy. The awful
character of her dressing-gown and the severity of the nightcap that
crowns her martial head would strike terror to the hearts of any
midnight marauders. They all move off in a body, and, guided
unconsciously by Florence, approach the smoking-room.
Voices loud in conversation can be heard as they draw near; the door is
slightly ajar. Florence drawing back as they come quite up to it, the
old lady waves her aside, and advances boldly to the front. Flinging
wide open the door, she bursts upon the astonished company within.
"Where is he?" she asks, with a dignity that only heightens the
attractions of the cap and gown. "Have you secured him? Sir Adrian,
where is the constable? Have you sent for him?"
Sir Adrian, whose gaze is fixed upon the fair vision in the trailing
white gown standing timidly in the door-way, forgets to answer his
interrogator, and the others, taken by surprise, maintain a solemn
silence.
"Why this mystery?" demands Lady FitzAlmont sternly. "Where is the
miscreant? Where is the man that fired that murderous shot?"
"Here, madame," replies the surgeon dryly, indicating Arthur Dynecourt
by a motion of the hand.
"He--who? Mr. Dynecourt?" ejaculates her ladyship in a disappointed
tone. "It was all a mistake, then? I must say, Mr. Dynecourt," continues
the old lady in an indignant tone, "that I think you might find a more
suitable time in which to play off your jokes, or to practice
target-shooting, than in the middle of the night, when every respectable
household ought to be wrapped in slumber."
"I assure you," begins Arthur Dynecourt, who is strangely pale and
discomposed, "it was all an accident--an--"
"Accident! Nonsense, sir; I don't believe there was any accident
whatsoever!"
As these words pass the lips of the irascible old lady, several men in
the room exchange significant glances. Is it that old Lady FitzAlmont
has just put their own thoughts into words?
"Let me explain to your ladyship," says Sir Adrian courteously. "We were
just talking about that unfortunate affair of the Stewarts, and Maitland
was showing us how it might have occurred. I had the revolver in my
hand so"--pointing the weapon toward himself.
"Put down that abominable weapon at once, sir!" commands Lady FitzAlmont,
in a menacing tone, largely mingled with abject fear. As she speaks she
retreats precipitately behind Florence, thus pushing that young lady to
the fore.
"When my cousin unhappily stumbled against me, and the revolver went
off," goes on Sir Adrian. "I'm deeply grieved, Lady FitzAlmont, that
this should have occurred to disturb the household; but, really, it was
a pure accident."
"A pure accident," repeats Arthur, from between his colorless lips.
He looks far more distressed by this occurrence than Sir Adrian, who
had narrowly escaped being wounded. This only showed his tenderness and
proper feeling, as almost all the women present mutually agreed. Almost
all, but not quite. Dora Talbot, for example, grows deadly pale as she
listens to the explanation and watches Arthur's ghastly face. What is it
like? The face of a murderer?
"Oh, no, no," she gasps inwardly; "surely not that!"
"It was the purest accident, I assure you," protests Arthur again, as
though anxious to impress this conviction upon his own mind.
"It might have been a very serious one," says the surgeon gravely,
regarding him with a keen glance. "It might have meant death to Sir
Adrian!"
Florence changes color and glances at her host with parted lips. Dora
Talbot, pressing her way through the group in the door-way, goes
straight up to him as if impulsively, and takes his hand in both hers.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|