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Page 23
"Dear Sir Adrian, how can we be thankful enough for your escape?" she
says sweetly, tears standing in her bright blue eyes. She presses his
hand warmly, and even raises it to her lips in a transport of emotion.
Standing there in the pretty pink dressing-gown that shows off her
complexion to perfection, Dora Talbot looks lovely.
"You are very good--very kind," returns Sir Adrian, really touched
by her concern, but still with eyes only for the white vision in the
door-way; "but you make too much of nothing. I am only sorry I have been
the unhappy cause of rousing you from your rosy dreams; you will not
thank me to-morrow when there will be only lilies in your cheeks."
The word lily brings back to him his last interview with Florence. He
glances hurriedly at her right hand; yes, the same lily is clasped in
her fingers. Has she sat ever since with his gift before her, in her
silent chamber? Alone--in grief perhaps. But why has she kept his
flower? What can it all mean?
"We shall mind nothing, now you are safe," Dora assures him tremulously.
"I think I might be shown some consideration," puts in Arthur, trying by
a violent effort to assert himself, and to speak lightly. "Had anything
happened, surely I should have been the one to be pitied. It would have
been my fault, and, Mrs. Talbot, I think you might show some pity for
me." He holds out his hand, and mechanically Dora lays her own in it.
But it is only for an instant, and she shudders violently as his touch
meets hers. Her eyes are on the ground, and she can not bring herself
to look at him. Drawing her fingers hurriedly from his, she goes to the
door and disappears from view.
In the meantime, Sir Adrian, having made his way to Florence, points to
the lily.
"You have held it ever since?" he asks, in a low tone. "I hardly hoped
for so much. But you have not congratulated me, you alone have said
nothing."
"Why need I speak? I have seen you with my own eyes. You are safe.
Believe me, Sir Adrian, I congratulate you most sincerely upon your
escape."
Her words are cold, her eyes downcast. She is deeply annoyed with
herself for having carried the lily into his presence here. The very
fact of his having noticed it and spoken to her about it has shown her
how much importance he has attached to her doing so. What will he think
of her. He will doubtless picture her to himself sitting weeping and
brooding over a flower given to her by a man who loves her not, and to
whom she has given her love unsolicited.
Her marked coldness so oppresses him that he steps back, and does not
venture to address her again. It occurs to him that she is reserved
because of Arthur's presence.
Presently, Lady FitzAlmont, marshaling her forces anew, carries them all
away to their rooms, soundly rating the sobbing Lady Gertrude for her
want of self-control.
The men too, shortly afterward disperse, and one by one drift away to
their rooms. Captain Ringwood and Maitland the surgeon being the last to
go.
"Who is the next heir to the castle?" asks the latter musingly, drumming
his fingers idly on a table near him.
"Dynecourt, the fellow who nearly did for Sir Adrian this evening!"
replies Ringwood quietly.
"Ah!"
"It would have meant a very good thing for Arthur if the shot had taken
effect," says Ringwood, eying his companion curiously.
"It would have meant murder, sir!" rejoins the surgeon shortly.
CHAPTER VI.
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