You have been very kind and
gentle. You have a fair, true face. Never break a man's heart
for pastime, or because the long sunny hours hang heavy upon your
hands."
"I wish I could say something to comfort you," she said. He held
out his hand and she could not refuse hers.
"Goodbye, Miss Lillian! Heaven bless you for your sympathy."
"Goodbye," she returned, looking at the dark, passionate face she
was never more to see.
The moon was hidden behind a dense mass of thick clouds. Hugh
Fernely walked quickly down the path. Lillian, taking the folded
paper, hastened across the gardens. But neither of them saw a
tall, erect figure, or a pale, stricken face; neither of them
heard Lionel Dacre utter a low cry as the shawl fell from
Lillian's golden head.
He had tried over the trio, but it did not please him; he did not
want music--he wanted Lillian. Beatrice played badly, too, as
though she did not know what she was doing. Plainly enough Lord
Airlie wanted him out of the way.
"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, as he placed the music on
the piano.
"To look for a good cigar," he replied.
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