CHAPTER XXI RUPERT DEVEREUX

If any one had told me that evening, as Marian and Holdern and I drew near to the great entrance of Devereux Court, that I was entering it for the last time for many years, I should probably have thought them mad. And yet so it was, for that night was a fateful one to me. Into foreign lands and far-away places I carried with me the memory of the stately greystone front, the majestic towers, the half-ruined battlements, the ivy-covered, ruined chapel, with its stained-glass windows, and the vast hall towering up to the vaulted roof. Of Devereux Court, of all these, I have said but little, for my story is rather a chronicle of events than a descriptive one. But they had made a great impression upon me, as was only natural; for would they not some day, if I chose to claim them, be mine?

We arrived rather early, and leaving Marian and Mr. Holdern in the drawing-room with a few of the other guests who had already assembled, I made use of my knowledge of the house to go and look for Maud, and I found her—alone, in the conservatory, leading out of her little morning-room.

Surely God's earth had never held a more lovely woman. I stood looking at her for a full minute without speaking. A rich ivory satin dress hung in simple but perfectly graceful folds about her slim, exquisite figure, and bands of wide, creamy old point lace filled in her square bodice right up to her white throat. She wore no ornaments, no flowers, save a single sprig of heliotrope nearly buried amongst the lace. Her deep blue, almost violet, eyes had lost their cold, disdainful gleam, and looked into mine kindly; but there was still the half-mocking smile playing around her slightly parted lips.

"And, pray, what right have you to come into my sanctum without knocking, sir?" she asked, with a soft laugh, which did not seem to me to speak of much anger; "and now that you are here, why do you stand staring at me like a great stupid?"

I drew a long breath, and took a step forward.

"I came to beg for a flower, and——"

"Well, there are plenty in the conservatory," she said, pointing to it. "You may help yourself."

I stood close to her, so close that the faint perfume from the morsel of lace which she was holding in her hand reached me.

"Only one flower will satisfy me," I said. "That sprig of heliotrope. May I have it?"

She laughed again, a low musical laugh, and the tinge of pink in her cheeks grew deeper.

"If nothing else will satisfy you I suppose you must."

She unfastened it from the bosom of her dress, and her little white fingers busied themselves for a moment with my buttonhole. So close was her head, with its many coils of dazzlingly fair hair, to mine, that, irresistibly tempted, I let my fingers rest upon it for a second with a caressing touch. She looked up at me with a mock frown, which her eyes contradicted.

She did not speak, neither did I. But a sweet subtle intoxication seemed to be creeping over my senses, and slowly, scarce knowing what I did, I drew her into my arms, and her head rested upon my shoulder. Then my lips touched hers in one long quivering kiss, which she not only suffered, but faintly returned, and it seemed to me that life could hold nothing sweeter than this.

Only for a moment she lingered in my arms. Then, as though suddenly galvanised into life and recollection, she gently disengaged herself, and stood apart from me.

Maud blushing—my princess blushing! I had pictured her to myself often with a thousand different expressions dwelling in her cold, fair face, but never thus! Yet how could she have looked more lovely!

"Now I wonder what my father would have said if he had come in just then!" she exclaimed, holding her fan in front of her face, and looking at me with laughingly reproachful eyes over the top of its wavy feathers. "Mind, you must be on your very best behaviour this evening, and not attempt to talk to me too much. He hasn't seen me for five years, and I don't want him to think me frivolous."

"Your father! My God! is he here?" I gasped, leaning back against the table, and clutching hold of it with nervous fingers. The room seemed swimming round with me, and Maud's face alone remained distinct.

"He's coming to-night," she said, looking at me in amazement. "What difference can it make to you? Why, Mr. Ar—— Hugh, you are ill!" she exclaimed, shutting up her fan and moving to my side.

I held out my hand to keep her away. God forbid that Rupert Devereux's daughter should rest in my arms again.

"Coming here!" I muttered. "Coming here to-night!" The idea seemed almost too much for me to realise. How could I sit at the same table with him? How breathe the same air without letting him know of my hate? And this was his daughter Maud—my Maud, my princess. The idea seemed almost to choke me.

The second dinner gong boomed out, and I raised myself at once.

"I'm afraid I frightened you, M—— Miss Devereux. I won't stop to explain now. They will be wanting you in the drawing-room."

I opened the door for her, and she swept out and across the polished oak and rug-strewn floor of the hall, lifting her eyes to mine for one moment as she passed, full of a strange, sweet light. For a brief while I lingered behind; then, with a great efforts regaining my calmness, I followed her.