Chapter XXXIX
Thursday evening, and the hand of the ormolu clock pointed to a
quarter to ten. Lord Earle sat reading, Lady Helena had left
Lillian asleep, and had taken up a book near him. Lord Airlie
had been sketching for Beatrice a plan of a new wing at Lynnton.
Looking up suddenly she saw the time. At ten Hugh Fernely would
be at the shrubbery gate. She had not a moment to lose. Saying
she was feeling tired, she rose and went to bid Lord Earle
goodnight.
He remembered afterward how he had raised the beautiful face in
his hands and gazed at it in loving admiration, whispering
something the while about "Lady Airlie of Lynnton." He
remembered how she, so little given to caressing, had laid her
hand upon his shoulder, clasping her arms around his neck,
kissing his face, and calling him, "her own dear papa." He
remembered the soft, wistful light in her beautiful eyes, the
sweet voice that lingered in his ears. Yet no warning came to
him, nothing told him the fair child he loved so dearly stood in
the shadow of deadly peril.
If he had known, how those strong arms would have been raised to
shield her--how the stout, brave heart would have sheltered her!
As it was, she left him with jesting words on his lips, and he
did not even gaze after her as she quitted the room.
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