Leslie's Loyalty. Garvice Charles

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СКАЧАТЬ stops suddenly, for a woman's laugh has risen from the green slope beneath them. It is not an unmusical laugh, but it is unpleasantly loud and bold, and the others start slightly.

      "That is the other party," says Leslie.

      "It is to be hoped that they are not coming up here. If they should, you will have an opportunity of seeing how I look when I scowl, Miss Lisle," he says.

      Leslie gets up and goes to the battlements.

      "No; they are going round the other side," she says.

      "Heaven be thanked!"

      "Too soon!" she rejoins, with a laugh; "they are coming back. What a handsome girl!"

      Standing talking and laughing beneath her are two men and a girl. The latter is handsome, as Leslie says, but there is something in the face which, like the laugh, jars upon one. She is dark, of a complexion that is almost Spanish, has dark eyes that sparkle and glitter in the sunlight, and raven hair; and if the face is not perfect in its beauty, her figure nearly approaches the acme of grace. It is lithe, slim, mobile; but it is clad too fashionably, and there is a little too much color about it.

      She stands laughing loudly, unconscious of the silent spectator above her, for a moment or two; then, perhaps made aware by that mysterious sense which all of us have experienced, that she is being looked at she looks up, and the two girls' eyes meet. She turns to say something to her companions, and at that moment Yorke joins Leslie.

      He looks down at the group below.

      "That's the party, evidently," he begins. Then he stops suddenly; something like an oath starts from his lips, and he puts his hand none too gently on Leslie's arm.

      "Come away," he says, sharply, and yet with a touch of hoarseness, or can it be fear, in his voice. "Come away, Miss Lisle!"

      And Leslie, as she draws back in instant obedience, sees that his face has become white to the lips.

      At the same moment, a voice – it must be that of the girl beneath, floats up to them, a lively "rollicking" voice, singing this refined and charming ditty:

      "Yes, after dark is the time to lark,

      Although we sleep all day;

      To pass the wine, and don't repine,

      For we're up to the time of day, dear boys,

      We're up to the time of day!"

      CHAPTER IX.

      THE PICNIC

      As the words of the music-hall song rise on the clear air, Leslie turns away. No respectable woman could have sung such a song, and she is not surprised that her companion, and host, has bidden her "come away."

      She steps down from the battlement in silence, and as she does so glances at him. His face is no longer pale, but there is a cloud upon it, which he is evidently trying to dispel. She thinks, not unreasonably, that it is caused by annoyance that she should have heard the song, and she is grateful to him.

      The cloud vanishes, and his face resumes something of its usual frank light-heartedness, but not quite all.

      "We'll give those folks time to get clear away before we begin our exploration, Miss Lisle," he says, casually, but with the faintest tone of uneasiness in his voice. "That is the worst of these show places, one is never sure of one's company. 'Arriet and 'Arry are everywhere, nowadays."

      "Why should they not be?" says Leslie, with a smile. "The world is not entirely made for nice people."

      "No, I suppose not," he assents; "and I suppose you are going to say that they had better be here than in some other places, and that it might do 'em good; that's the sort of thing that's talked now. I'm not much of a philanthropist, but that's the kind of thing that good people always say."

      "They seemed very happy," says Leslie.

      "Who?" he asks, almost sharply. "Oh, those people? Yes; Mr. Lisle ought to get a good sketch somewhere hereabouts," and he leads her back to the duke and Mr. Lisle.

      The duke looks up. Grey has made a "back" for him with the cushions and the hampers, and he's smoking in most unwonted contentment.

      "Back already!" he says. "I thought you had gone to prospect?"

      "So we had," responds Yorke, "but we were alarmed by savages from a neighboring island." He lights a cigar as he speaks. "We are going to give them time to get away in their canoes, as Robinson Crusoe did, you know. By the way, Miss Lisle, if you will sit down, I will reconnoiter and report."

      Leslie sinks down beside her father, and Yorke strolls leisurely to the steps leading from the tower.

      He pauses there a moment or two, listening, then goes down. At the foot of the steps on the grassy slope he stops again, and the cloud comes on his face darker than before.

      "It must be a mistake," he mutters. "It couldn't be she, and yet – ."

      He walks on a few paces, and at the foot of the tower comes upon traces of the "savages" – a champagne bottle, empty, of course, and a newspaper.

      He takes the latter up mechanically, then unfolds it and turns to the column of theatrical advertisements, and sees the following:

      "Diadem Theater Royal. Notice. In consequence of serious indisposition, Miss Finetta will not play this evening."

      With an exclamation which is very near an oath, he flings the paper from him and walks on, and as he goes round the base of the tower he is almost run into by one of the gentlemen whom Leslie saw with the dark young lady of the song.

      They both stop short and start, then the new-comer exclaims, with a laugh:

      "Hello, Auchester! Well, I'm – ."

      "Hush! Be quiet!" says Yorke, almost sternly, and with an upward glance.

      "Eh?" says the other, "what's the matter? Who the duse would have expected to see you here?"

      "I might say the same," retorts Yorke, with about as mirthless a smile as it is possible to imagine.

      "How did you come here?"

      "Why, by boat," responds the other. "Didn't I tell you so? What have you done with my nags?"

      "They are all right," says Yorke. "Come this way, will you? Keep close to the tower, if you don't mind."

      The young fellow follows him, with a half-amused, half-puzzled air.

      "What's it all mean? Why this mystery, my dear boy?" he asks.

      Yorke, having got him out of sight and hearing of the three on the tower, faces him, and instead of replying to his question, asks another.

      "Was that Finetta with you just now, Vinson?"

      "Yes," says Lord Vinson, at once; "of course it was. Didn't you see her, know her?"

      Yorke nods curtly.

      "Yes. What is she doing here? How did she come here with you?"

      "The simplest thing in the world," replies Lord Vinson. "After you'd left me this morning, I was wondering who I should hunt up to come for a sail, when СКАЧАТЬ