Nedra Part 19

"I thought I heard her talking to you here a few moments ago--in fact, I saw you."

"Where were you?"

"I pa.s.sed within a dozen feet of you. Neither of you saw me, I am sure.

You would not have cut me intentionally, would you?"

"I should say not. You walked past here?"

"Yes, you were tying her shoe-string."

"What!" exclaimed he, starting to his feet, "tying Grace's shoe-string?"

The first thought that rushed to his mind was that Veath had knelt to plead his love to Grace Vernon.

"Lady Huntingford, let us walk," he exclaimed. It was a fierce, impatient command instead of a polite invitation. The pretty young woman calmly lay back in her chair and laughed. "If you won't come, then please excuse me. I must go."

"Why are you so eager to walk, Mr. Ridgeway?" she asked.

"Because I want--what was that you called me?" he gasped, his heart almost turning upside down.

"Ridgeway. That's your name, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, a great many things," she said with a serious face.

Hugh was visibly annoyed. There was to be more trouble from the n.o.bleman; evidently he did not intend to keep his promise.

"In the first place," she continued, "I must acknowledge that I forced from my husband an account of last night's affair; he also told me your name. But, believe me, it will go no further. I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Ridgeway," the color stealing into her cheeks.

Ridgeway bowed.

"In the next place," she went on playfully, "you are very jealous of Mr.

Veath. Tut, tut, yes you are," with a gesture of protest. "He thinks Miss Ridge is your sister, and she is not your sister. And lastly, n.o.body on board knows these facts but the very bright woman who is talking to you at this moment."

"But you are mistaken, madam," with a last attempt at a.s.sumption of dignity.

"Would I say this to you if I were not positive? You think you are very clever; I'll admit that you are. Your secrets came to me through an accident. Do not think that I have pried into your affairs. They really forced themselves upon me."

"Tell me what you know, for Heaven's sake," cried the dismayed Ridgeway.

"I was in your sister's room earlier in the day. Her trunk was open and I saw a portfolio with Vernon in silver lettering; and I was more mystified than ever when I observed that the initials on her trunk were 'G.V.' All day yesterday I tried to solve the problem, taking into consideration the utter absence of family resemblance between you, and I was almost sick with curiosity. To-day I was convinced that her name is not Ridge. She inadvertently signed her name to the purser's slip in my presence, and she did not sign the--yours. She scratched it out quickly and asked him to make out another one. Now, what is this mystery?" She bent her gaze upon his face and he could not meet it.

"Do you want to know the reason why I did not see you yesterday?" she continued.

"Yes," he murmured, mopping his brow.

"Because I was so distressed that I feared I could not face either of you, knowing what I do."

"What do you mean?"

"I know you are running away." Not a word was spoken for a full minute.

He could scarcely breathe. "You do not deny it?" she questioned gently.

"Please do not fear me."

"I do not fear you," he half whispered, sinking his chin in his hands.

Another long silence.

"There are some circ.u.mstances and conditions under which a woman should not be condemned for running away," she said in a strained, faraway voice. "Has--has she children?"

"Good Heaven!" cried Hugh, leaping to his feet, horror-struck.

CHAPTER XII

THE HARLEQUIN'S ERRAND

Lady Huntingford, alarmed by his manner, arose and steadied herself against the deck-house. His exclamation rang in her ears, filling them with its horror. At length he roughly grasped her arm, thrusting his face close to hers, fairly grated out the words:

"You think she is a wife?"

"I feared so."

"She is not! Do you hear me? She is not!" he cried so fiercely that there was no room for doubt. "She is the purest, dearest girl in the world, and she has done all this for me. For G.o.d's sake, do not expose us." He dropped back in the chair. "It's not for my sake that I ask it, but for hers," he went on quickly.

"I'm sure I have wronged her and I have wronged you. Will you believe me?"

He did not answer at once. His turbulent brain was endeavoring to find words with which to convince her of the innocence of the escapade.

Looking up into her eyes, he was struck by their tender staunchness.

Like a flash came to him the decision to tell her the true story, from beginning to end.

"Lady Huntingford, I will tell you everything there is to tell. It is not a long tale, and you may say it is a very foolish one. I am sure, however, that it will interest you."

"You shall not tell me a word if you do so in order to appease my curiosity," she began earnestly.

"I think it is best that you should know," he interrupted. "One favor first. You will earn my eternal grat.i.tude if you do not allow Grace to feel that you have discovered our secret."

"You have my promise. I have kept many secrets, Mr. Ridge." He drew his chair quite close to hers. Then he told her the full story of the adventure, from first to last. She scarcely breathed, so deeply was her interest centred in this little history of an impulse. He spoke hurriedly, excitedly. Not once did she take her eyes from his earnest face, almost indistinguishable in the darkness; nor could he remove his from hers.

"And here we are approaching Aden, your Ladyship," he concluded. Her big dark eyes had held him enthralled, inspiring him to paint in glorious colors every detail of the remarkable journey. As he drew to a close, her hand fell involuntarily on his knee. A tremor dashed through his veins, and his heart throbbed fiercely.

"How glorious it must be to love like that," she almost whispered. There was a catch in her voice, as she uttered that soft, dreamy sentence, almost a sigh. She turned her face away suddenly and then arose, crying in tones so low and despairing that he could hardly believe they came from the usually merry lips: "Oh, how I envy her this life and love!

How wonderful it all is!"

"It has its drawbacks," he lamented. "As a brother I am a nonent.i.ty, Lady Huntingford; it's not altogether relishable, you know. It's a sort of pantomime, for me, by Jove. I'm the fool, and this seems to be the fool's errand."

"If you will play a part in the pantomime, Mr. Ridge, let an Englishwoman suggest that you be the harlequin. How I loved the harlequin in the Drury Lane pantomimes at Christmas time! He was always the ideal lover to me, for there was no trick, no prank this bespangled hero could not play to success. He always went incognito, for he wore his narrow mask of black. He performed the most marvellous things for his Columbine,--and was she not a worthy sweetheart? No, no, Mr.

Ridge:--not the fool, I pray. Please be the harlequin," she cried in rare good humor.