Norine's Revenge, and, Sir Noel's Heir. May Agnes Fleming

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СКАЧАТЬ – no. It would be wrong, dishonorable. And I dare not, we would be discovered."

      "Not if you do as I direct. What time do you all retire? Half-past ten?"

      "Mostly."

      "Then at eleven, or half-past, the coast is sure to be clear. At eleven to-morrow night I will be here just without the gate, and you must steal out and meet me."

      "Laurence!"

      "You must – you will, if you love me. Are you not my wife, or going to be in a few days, which amounts to the same thing. Will Gilbert stop here?"

      "I don't know. Yes, I suppose so."

      "Well, even if he does it will not matter. You can steal out unheard and unobserved, can you not?"

      "Yes – no. I don't know. Laurence! Laurence! I am afraid."

      "Of what? Of whom? not of me, Norine?"

      She shivered a little, and shrank from his side.

      "It seems so strange, so bold, so wrong. I ought not, it is wicked – I don't know what to do."

      "Then you don't care for me at all, Norine?"

      He knew how to move her. The reproachful words went to her heart. Care for him! He doubted that.

      "You will come," he said, that exultant gleam in his eyes again, "my loyal little girl! I have a thousand things to say to you, and we can talk uninterruptedly then. When was your wedding to be?"

      "Next Thursday."

      "And this is Sunday night. To-morrow afternoon Gilbert will be here. You see how little time we have to spare, Norine. You must meet me, for on Thursday you shall be my wife – not his!"

      "Norry! Norry!" more loudly this time, called the voice of Aunt Hetty, still in the doorway, "where on earth is the child?"

      "Let me go – let me go!" Norine cried in terror, "she will be here directly."

      "You will meet me to-morrow night, promise first?"

      "Yes – yes – yes! Only let me go."

      He obeyed. Retreating into the shadow of the trees, he watched her glide out in the moonlit path, and up to the gate. He heard her ascend the steps, and then Aunt Hetty's voice came to him again.

      "Goodness gracious, child! where have you been? Do you want to get your death, out in your bare head and the dew falling like rain?"

      He could not catch Norine's faint reply. A second more, and again Miss Hester Kent was shrilly to be heard.

      "Land of hope! whatever ails you. Norry? You are whiter than the dead. Oh, I know how it will be after to-night – you'll be laid up for a week."

      He heard the house door close. Then he was alone with the rustling trees, and the bright, countless stars. As he stepped out into the crystal radiance, his face shone with exultant delight – alas! for Norine! not with happy love.

      "I knew it!" he thought to himself in his triumph; "I knew I could take her from him at the very church door. Now, Richard Gilbert! whose turn is it at last – who holds the winning trump in the game? You have baffled, and foiled, and watched me many a time, notably in the case of Lucy West – when it came to old Darcy's ears through you, and he was within a hair's breadth of disinheriting me. Every dog has his day. Yours is over – mine has come. The wheel has revolved, and Laurence Thorndyke, gambler, trickster, libertine, as you paint him, is at the top. You have not spared me in the past, my good Gilbert, look to yourself now, for by all the gods I'll not spare you!"

      While Mr. Thorndyke, with his hat pulled low over his brows, walked home to the obscure hotel at which he chose to stop, Norine was up in her room alone with her tumultuous heart. She had complained of a headache and gone at once. The plea was not altogether false – her brain was whirling, her heart throbbing in a wild tumult, half terror, half delight. He had come back to her, he loved her, she was going to be his wife! For over an hour she sat, hiding even in the dusk her happy face in her hands, with only this one thought pulsing through all her being – she was to be his wife!

      By and by she grew calm and able to think. No thought of going to bed, or doing anything so commonplace as sleeping occurred to her. She wrapped herself in a shawl, seated herself by the window, and so for hours and hours sat motionless.

      After all was love worth what she was about to give up for it – home, friends, a good man's trust, her soul's truth and honor? Was Laurence Thorndyke worth more to her than all the world beside, more than the peace of her own conscience. Richard Gilbert loved her, honored her, trusted her, she had taken his gifts, she had pledged herself to be his wife. This very day, dawning yonder over the hills of Maine, would see him here to claim her as his own forever. Was one sight of Laurence Thorndyke's face, one touch of his hand, one seductive tone of his voice sufficient to make her fling honor and truth to the winds, desert her best, her only friends, break her plighted husband's heart, and make her memory a shame and pain to them all forever? Oh, what a wretch she was, what cruel, selfish passion this love she felt must be!

      The sun rose up between the fleecy clouds, filling the world with jubilant brightness, the sweet scents of sunrise in the country perfumed the warm air. Norine threw up her window and leaned out, worn and fevered with her night's vigil. That meeting under the trees seemed a long way off now, it was as if she had lived years in a few brief hours. Presently there was a rap at the door, and Aunt Hetty's voice outside spoke.

      "Are you up, Norry? is your headache better, dear?"

      "Much better, aunty – I'll be down directly."

      "Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes," said aunty, and Norine got wearily up, and bathed her face, brushed out her tangled curls, shrinking guiltily from her own pallid face in the glass.

      "How wretchedly haggard I look," she thought, drearily; "surely every one who looks at me will read my guilt in my face."

      She went down stairs. Aunt Hetty nearly dropped the sweet, smelling plate of hot muffins at sight of her.

      "You're whiter than a ghost, child!" she cried. "You told me you were better."

      "I am better, aunty. Oh, pray don't mind my looks. Last night's headache has made me pale – I will be as well as ever after breakfast."

      But breakfast was only a pretence as far she was concerned, and the day wore on and the fair, young face kept its pallid, startled look. She could do nothing, neither read or sew, she wandered about the house like a restless spirit, only shrinking from that Bluebeard's chamber, where all the wedding finery was spread. How was she to meet Mr. Gilbert, and the fleeting hours were hurrying after one another, as hours never had hurried before.

      The afternoon sun dropped low, the noises in the fields grew more and more subdued, the cool evening wind swept up from the distant sea. Norine sat in the wicker chair in the garden under the old apple-tree and waited – waited as a doomed prisoner might the coming of the executioner. A book lay idle an her lap, she could not read, she sat there waiting – waiting – waiting, and schooling herself for the ordeal.

      Presently, far off on the white road, rose up a cloud of dust, there came the rolling of wheels, she caught a glimpse of a carriage. She clasped her hands together and strove to steady herself. At last he was here. Out of the dusty cloud came a buggy, whirling rapidly up to the gate – out of the buggy came Richard Gilbert, his eager face turned towards her. His СКАЧАТЬ