Lady Rose's Daughter Part 49

He was not allowed much time or scope, however, for observation.

Warkworth took a turn round the room, chatted a little with this person and that, then, on the plea that he was off to Paris early on the following morning, approached his hostess again to take his leave.

"Ah, yes, you start to-morrow," said Montresor, rising. "Well, good luck to you--good luck to you."

General Fergus, too, advanced. The whole room, indeed, awoke to the situation, and all the remaining guests grouped themselves round the young soldier. Even the d.u.c.h.ess was thawed a little by this actual moment of departure. After all, the man was going on his country's service.

"No child's play, this mission, I can a.s.sure you," General McGill had said to her. "Warkworth will want all the powers he has--of mind or body."

The slim, young fellow, so boyishly elegant in his well-cut evening-dress, received the ovation offered to him with an evident pleasure which tried to hide itself in the usual English ways. He had been very pale when he came in. But his cheek reddened as Montresor grasped him by the hand, as the two generals bade him a cordial G.o.dspeed, as Sir Wilfrid gave him a jesting message for the British representative in Egypt, and as the ladies present accorded him those flattering and admiring looks that woman keeps for valor.

Julie counted for little in these farewells. She stood _apart_ and rather silent. "_They_ have had their good-bye," thought the d.u.c.h.ess, with a thrill she could not help.

"Three days in Paris?" said Sir Wilfrid. "A fortnight to Denga--and then how long before you start for the interior?"

"Oh, three weeks for collecting porters and supplies. They're drilling the escort already. We should be off by the middle of May."

"A bad month," said General Fergus, shrugging his shoulders.

"Unfortunately, affairs won't wait. But I am already stiff with quinine," laughed Warkworth--"or I shall be by the time I get to Denga.

Good-bye--good-bye."

And in another moment he was gone. Miss Le Breton had given him her hand and wished him "Bon voyage," like everybody else.

The party broke up. The d.u.c.h.ess kissed her Julie with peculiar tenderness; Delafield pressed her hand, and his deep, kind eyes gave her a lingering look, of which, however, she was quite unconscious; Meredith renewed his half-irritable, half-affectionate counsels of rest and recreation; Mrs. Montresor was conventionally effusive; Montresor alone bade the mistress of the house a somewhat cold and perfunctory farewell.

Even Sir Wilfrid was a little touched, he knew not why; he vowed to himself that his report to Lady Henry on the morrow should contain no food for malice, and inwardly he forgave Mademoiselle Julie the old romancings.

XVIII

It was twenty minutes since the last carriage had driven away. Julie was still waiting in the little hall, pacing its squares of black-and-white marble, slowly, backward and forward.

There was a low knock on the door.

She opened it. Warkworth appeared on the threshold, and the high moon behind him threw a bright ray into the dim hall, where all but one faint light had been extinguished. She pointed to the drawing-room.

"I will come directly. Let me just go and ask Leonie to sit up."

Warkworth went into the drawing-room. Julie opened the dining-room door.

Madame Bornier was engaged in washing and putting away the china and gla.s.s which had been used for Julie's modest refreshments.

"Leonie, you won't go to bed? Major Warkworth is here."

Madame Bornier did not raise her head.

"How long will he be?"

"Perhaps half an hour."

"It is already past midnight."

"Leonie, he goes to-morrow."

"Tres bien. Mais--sais-tu, ma chere, ce n'est pas convenable, ce que tu fais la!"

And the older woman, straightening herself, looked her foster-sister full in the face. A kind of watch-dog anxiety, a sulky, protesting affection breathed from her rugged features.

Julie went up to her, not angrily, but rather with a pleading humility.

The two women held a rapid colloquy in low tones--Madame Bornier remonstrating, Julie softly getting her way.

Then Madame Bornier returned to her work, and Julie went to the drawing-room.

Warkworth sprang up as she entered. Both paused and wavered. Then he went up to her, and roughly, irresistibly, drew her into his arms. She held back a moment, but finally yielded, and clasping her hands round his neck she buried her face on his breast.

They stood so for some minutes, absolutely silent, save for her hurried breathing, his head bowed upon hers.

"Julie, how can we say good-bye?" he whispered, at last.

She disengaged herself, and, seeing his face, she tried for composure.

"Come and sit down."

She led him to the window, which he had thrown open as he entered the room, and they sat beside it, hand in hand. A mild April night shone outside. Gusts of moist air floated in upon them. There were dim lights and shadows in the garden and on the shuttered facade of the great house.

"Is it forever?" said Julie, in a low, stifled voice.

"Good-bye--forever?"

She felt his hand tremble, but she did not look at him. She seemed to be reciting words long since spoken in the mind.

"You will be away--perhaps a year? Then you go back to India, and then--"

She paused.

Warkworth was physically conscious, as it were, of a letter he carried in his coat-pocket--a letter from Lady Blanche Moffatt which had reached him that morning, the letter of a _grande dame_, reduced to undignified remonstrance by sheer maternal terror--terror for the health and life of a child as fragile and ethereal as a wild rose in May. Reports had reached her; but no--they could not be true! She bade him be thankful that not a breath of suspicion had yet touched Aileen. As for herself, let him write and rea.s.sure her at once. Otherwise--

And the latter part of the letter conveyed a veiled menace that Warkworth perfectly understood.

No--in that direction, no escape; his own past actions closed him in.

And henceforth, it was clear, he must walk more warily.

But how blame himself for these feelings of which he was now conscious towards Julie Le Breton--the strongest, probably, that a man not built for pa.s.sion would ever know. His relation towards her had grown upon him unawares, and now their own hands were about to cut it at the root. What blame to either of them? Fate had been at work; and he felt himself glorified by a situation so tragically sincere, and by emotions of which a month before he would have secretly held himself incapable.

Resolutely, in this last meeting with Julie, he gave these emotions play. He possessed himself of her cold hands as she put her desolate question--"And then?"--and kissed them fervently.

"Julie, if you and I had met a year ago, what happened in India would never have happened. You know that!"

"Do I? But it only hurts me to _think it away_ like that. There it is--it has happened."