If Sinners Entice Thee Part 20

"Marvellous!" cried Zertho, as they moved away together across the polished floor. "What a run you've had! Surely Liane can't be angry now. Let's go into the gardens; she's certain to be awaiting us there."

And together they went to the cloakroom for their hats; then pa.s.sed out down the broad carpeted steps into the pretty place, where the shadows were lengthening. The Monegasques and visitors were promenading in the gardens; the orchestra before the crowded Cafe de Paris, with its striped sun-blinds, was playing an overture of Mascagni's; and the cool, bright, flower-scented air was refreshing after the heat and excitement of the crowded rooms.

"At last!" Brooker exclaimed, as they descended the steps to seek Liane. "At last my luck has changed!"

CHAPTER TWELVE.

LIANE'S SECRET.

When Liane had left the two men she first obtained her sunshade, then, descending the steps, walked slowly beneath the shadows round to the front of the Casino and out upon the beautiful broad terrace, flanked by palms, aloes and flowers, which faced the sea. There were but few promenaders, for the sun was still warm, and most of the people were inside tempting Fortune.

With her white sunshade above her head she leaned upon the stone bal.u.s.trade, her clear eyes fixed in deep thought upon the wide expanse of blue sky and bluer sea. On the terrace below, where a pigeon-shooting match was in progress, the crack of a gun was heard at intervals, while pacing the gravelled walk near her was one of the Casino attendants with the curious closely-fitting coat and conspicuous broad striped belt of red and blue. The duty of these men is somewhat unique. They watch the loungers narrowly, and if they appear plunged in despair they eject them from the gardens lest they should commit suicide.

The soft breeze from the sea fanned her face refreshingly after the closeness of those crowded rooms, where the sun's brightness was excluded, and the light of the glorious day subdued. She was annoyed at Zertho's action in inciting her father by winning the paltry couple of louis, more than at the Captain for his want of self-control. She stood there thinking, a tall lithe figure in white girdled with violet, refined, exquisite, dainty from the gilt ferrule of her sunshade to the tip of her tiny white kid shoe. She reflected what terrible fascination the tables possessed for her father, and was half inclined to forgive him, knowing how irresistible was the temptation to play amid that acc.u.mulation of all the caprices, of all the fantasies, of all the eccentricities, of all the idleness, of all the ambitious and all the indiscretions. But Zertho's contemptuous smile had added to her vexation and displeasure.

Her father had commenced playing, and she dreaded the consequences, knowing with what dogged persistency he would stake his last louis on the chance of regaining his losses, heedless of the fact that for each coin lost they would be deprived of the comforts of life to that amount.

She reproached herself for consenting to accompany them, but as she pondered her anger soon turned to poignant sorrow. She had believed that her father, hard hit as he had been, had relinquished all thought of play. Time after time he had a.s.sured her that he had renounced roulette for ever, yet now on the first occasion he had revisited the scene of his old triumphs and defeats, all his good resolutions had crumbled away, and he had tossed his money into the insatiable maw of the bank as recklessly as he had ever done. She sighed as she thought of it, and bitter tears dimmed her vision. By her own influence she could have taken him away; it was, she knew, the fear of Zertho's derision that caused him to fling those notes so defiantly upon the table.

With that picturesque, well-remembered landscape of rugged mountain heights, olive-clad slopes, and calm sea, memories sad and bitter continued to crowd upon her. This place, among the fairest on earth, was to her the most hateful and loathsome. With it were a.s.sociated all the evil days which had pa.s.sed so drearily; all the poverty which had kept her and her dead companion shabby and heavy-hearted; all the months of anxiety and weariness in days when their rooms were poorly furnished and the next meal had been an event of uncertainty. A few months of life at a good hotel, amid congenial society, would always be followed by many months of residence high up in some back street, where the noise was eternal, where the screaming of loud-voiced Frenchwomen sounded above and below, where clothes were hung upon the drab jalousies to air in the sun, and where the smell of garlic came in at the windows. In such a life the quiet English homeliness of Stratfield Mortimer had come as a welcome rest. She had loved their quaint old ivied cottage, and had fondly believed they would remain there always, happy and contented.

But, alas! Nelly's tragic end had changed it all.

Zertho, her reckless but animated companion of the old days, was back again with them, and once more they were upon the very spot that she had vowed so often she would never again revisit.

These reflections brought with them thoughts of Nelly. She recollected how, often and often, they would stroll together along that terrace while Zertho and her father sat hour after hour at the tables, regardless of meal-times, and how sometimes, hungry and having no money, they would go in and obtain from one or other of the men a ten-franc piece with which to get their dinner at the cheap little restaurant they knew of down in La Condamine. It was upon that very gravelled walk, with its inviting seats, high palms, and banks of flowers, that they had one afternoon pa.s.sed a tall, good-looking young Englishman not much older than themselves. He had smiled at them, and they, always delighted at the chance of an innocent flirtation, had laughed in return. He had then raised his hat, spoken to them, and strolled along at Nellie's side. His name was Charles Holroyde, and it was he who, a few weeks later, had given Nelly the costly brooch which had been stolen from her throat by her a.s.sa.s.sin.

She glanced at the seat beside which she was standing. It was the one on which they had sat that sunny afternoon when they chatted merrily, and he had first given the two girls his card. She sighed. Those days were pa.s.sed, and even Nelly, her companion and confidante, was no more.

She was, she reflected gloomily, without a single real friend.

At that moment, however, she felt a light hand upon her shoulder behind her, and a voice exclaimed,--

"Liane! At last!"

She turned quickly with a start, and next instant found herself face to face with George Stratfield.

"You, George!" she gasped, her face blanching.

"Yes, darling," he answered. "I called at your address at Nice, but they told me you had come over here, so I followed. But what's the matter?" he asked, in consternation. "You are not well. How white you look! Tell me what is worrying you?"

"Nothing," she answered, with a forced laugh. "Nothing whatever, I a.s.sure you. I--I wasn't aware that I looked at all pale. Your sudden appearance startled me."

But George regarded her with suspicion. He knew from the look of intense anxiety upon her fair countenance that she was concealing the truth.

"Is the Captain with you?" he inquired after an awkward pause.

"Yes, he is inside," she answered. "But why have you come here?"

"To see you, Liane," he said, earnestly. "I could no longer bear to be parted from you, so one night I resolved to run out and spend a week or so in Nice, and here I am."

Her face had a.s.sumed a strange, perplexed look. He knew nothing of Zertho's existence, for loving him so well she had hesitated day by day to write and tell him the hideous truth. She saw that he must now know all.

She raised her clear, wonderful eyes to his as she stammered a question, asking if that was his first visit to the Riviera.

"Yes," he answered, gazing around at the Casino, the mountains, and the sea. "How charming it is here. I don't wonder that you are so fond of it."

"I'm not fond of it?" she protested, with a sigh. "I would rather be in England--much rather."

"Yet you are half-French yourself! Surely this is gayer and much more pleasant than Stratfield Mortimer," he exclaimed, leaning with his back to the bal.u.s.trade, glancing at her elegant dress, and noticing how well it suited her.

"The surroundings are perhaps more picturesque," she replied, turning her gaze sea-ward. "But I was far happier there than here," She sighed and the little gloved hand holding her sunshade trembled.

"Why?" he inquired surprised.

For an instant she raised her eyes to his, then lowering her gaze, answered,--

"Why do you ask? Did I not then have you?"

"But I am here now," he said quickly. "I must, however, admit that your welcome was scarcely as cordial as I expected."

Her lips tightened, and she swallowed the lump rising in her throat.

"I--I cannot kiss you here, in a public place," she said, with a little gesture of regret.

The strange coldness about her voice caused him dismay. It proved that the apparent apathy of her letters actually arose from indifference.

His suspicions were correct. Her love had grown cold.

A heavy look of disappointment crossed his face, as pausing a moment, he glanced at her, and saw that she shivered.

"Come," he exclaimed. "You have, I believe, stood here too long. The breeze is perhaps chilly. Let us walk."

"I'm not cold at all," she a.s.sured him, without moving.

"Except towards me," he observed, gloomily.

"I wasn't aware that my att.i.tude was one of indifference," she said, endeavouring to smile.

"There is a change in you, Liane," the young man declared, gazing seriously into her eyes. "Tell me, darling, what has occurred."

She held her breath for a moment. She loved him dearer than life, yet she feared to speak the truth lest he should turn from her and renounce her as an enchantress false and unworthy. Her countenance was almost pale as the dress she wore, and her breast rose and fell convulsively.

"Nothing," she answered at last. "Nothing has occurred."

"But you are not bright and happy as you used to be," he declared sympathetically. "Something troubles you. Confide in me, darling."

She turned her face from him and tears slowly coursed down her cheeks.

But she made no response. Together they walked several times the whole length of the terrace, and their conversation drifted to other topics.

He told her of his bachelor life in London, his lonely, dreary chambers, of his desperate struggle to secure a foothold in his already overcrowded profession, and of his good fortune in obtaining a little book-reviewing for a weekly paper.

"Now, what distresses you, Liane?" he asked at last, when again they were standing against the parapet gazing over the sea. "Surely I may know?"