As I let my eyes rest upon the Countess, she slipped an arm under my head and raised it, taking at the same time a cup of cordial, which Clemence Durette held ready. ’Twas of a very potent description, and filled me with a great sense of comfort. Ilga moved her arm as though to withdraw it. “No,” I murmured to her, and she smiled and let it remain.
“Come, Morrice,” said Elmscott. “You have but to walk downstairs. A carriage is waiting.”
He moved towards the couch. I tried to raise my arm to warn him off, but found that it had been bandaged afresh, and was fastened in a sling. For a moment I could not remember how I had come by the hurt; then the history of it came back to me and with that the promise I had made to my dying antagonist. For while I believed that Lady Tracy could have no grounds for her apprehensions, seeing that the Countess must needs be ignorant of her relations with the Count, whatever they might have been, I felt that the circumstances under which the request was uttered gave to it a special authority, and laid upon me a strict compulsion to obey it to the letter. The request, moreover, fitted exactly with my own intention. Ilga believed now that I had never seen Lady Tracy until that morning when she fainted, and so by merely confessing that the death of Count Lukstein lay at my door, and at my door alone, I should divert all possibilities of suspicion from approaching Lady Tracy; so I whispered to Ilga,—“Send every one away!”
“Nay,” she replied; “your cousin has told me.”
“It is not that,” said I. “There is something else—something my cousin could not know.”
“Does it follow,” she answered, lowering her eyes, “that I could not know it? Or do you think me blind?”
The gentle, hesitating words nearly drove my purpose from my mind. It would have been so easy to say just. “I love you, and you know it.” It became so difficult to say, “I killed your husband, and have deceived you.” However, the confession pressed urgently for utterance, and I said again: “Send them away!”
“No,” she replied, “you have no time for that now. You must leave London to-night. Everything is ready; your cousin’s carriage waits to take you to the coast. To-morrow you must cross to France. But if you still—still wish to unburden your mind—”
“Heart,” I could not refrain from whispering; and, indeed, my heart leaped as she faltered and blushed crimson.
“Then,” she continued, “come to Lukstein! You will be welcome,” and with a quiet gravity she repeated the phrase: “You will be very welcome!”
Every word she spoke made my task the harder. I trust that the weakness of my body, the pain of the wound, and my great fatigue, had something to do with the sapping of my resolution. But whatever the cause, an overwhelming desire to cease from effort to let the whole world go, rushed in upon me. The one real thing for me was this woman who knelt beside the couch; the one real need was to tell her of my love. I felt as though, that once told, I could rest without compunction, without a scruple of regret, just like a tired child.
“Come to Lukstein!” she repeated.
“Hear me now!” I replied with a last struggle, and got to my feet. I was still so weak, however, that the violence of the movement made me sick and dizzy, and I tottered into Elmscott’s arms.
“Come, Morrice!” he urged. “A little courage; ’tis only a few steps to descend.”
I steadied myself against his shoulder. In a corner of the room, rigid and impassive, was the tall figure of Otto Krax. How could I speak before him?
“I shall expect you then,” said the Countess, “and soon. I leave England to-morrow myself, and return straight home.”
“You leave England tomorrow?” I asked eagerly.
“To-morrow!” she replied.
I drew a deep breath of relief. All danger to Lady Tracy, all her fears of danger, would vanish with the departure of the Countess; and as for my confession—it could wait.
“At Castle Lukstein, then,” said I, and it seemed to me that she also drew a breath of relief.
From Pall Mall we drove to my lodging, where I found my trunks packed, and Udal fully dressed to accompany me in my flight; for Elmscott, who had started from the “Half-way House” some two hours later than myself, had ridden straight thither. On learning that my people had no news of me, he had immediately guessed where I should be discovered, and, instructing them to prepare instantly for a journey, had himself hastened to the apartment of the Countess.
My baggage was speedily placed in the boot, Udal mounted on the box, I directed my other servants to pay the bill and return to Cumberland, and we drove off quickly to the coast, just twenty-four hours after we had set out upon the Great West Road on our desperate adventure.
As we rolled peacefully through the moonlit gardens of Kent, I had time to think over and apportion the hurried events of the day, and I recalled the half-spoken sentence which was on Marston’s lips at the moment of his death. I conjectured that he intended some expression of remorse for the use to which he had put the likeness of his sister, and I began again to wonder at the strange inconsistency of the man. I had been bewildered by it before in respect of this very miniature, when I first observed his genuine devotion to his sister. To-day he had afforded me a second and corroborating instance, for no sooner had he knowledge of his sister’s fears than he used the knowledge straightway as a weapon against me leaving it to his antagonist to secure her the safe guarding which she implored. And yet that his anxiety on her account was very real it was impossible for me to doubt for I had looked upon his face when he bound me by a promise to protect her.
At Dover we found a packet on the point of sailing for Calais. Elmscott bade me good-bye upon the quay and declared that if I would keep him informed of my movements he would send me word when the affair had blown over and I might safely return. Then he asked—“Morrice, did you tell Countess Lukstein of your duel?”
“I had not the time.” I replied. “But she said you told her.”
“Ay, I told the story though I gave not the reason for the encounter. But did you say nothing to her, give her no hint by which she might guess it?”
“Nay” said I; “I swooned or ever I got a word of it out. I spoke but two words to her: “Lady Tracy.” She could have guessed little enough from that.”
“Strange!” said he in a tone of some perplexity. “And yet, some way or another, she must needs have known. For when I came to seek you, Otto denied you were there. I was positive, however, and ran past him up the stairs. The parlour door was locked, and they only gave me entrance when I bawled my name through the keyhole and declared that I knew you were within, and for your own sake must have immediate speech with you. I fancied that the Countess was aware of the duel and meant to conceal you.”
I thought no more of his words at the time, and went presently aboard. A fair wind filled the sheets and hummed through the cordage of the rigging. The cliffs lessened and lessened until they shone in the sunlight like a silver rim about the bowl of the sea; the gulls swooped and circled in our wake; and thus I sailed out upon my strange pilgrimage, which was to last so many weary months and set me amid such perilous surroundings.