upon him, he possessed himself of one of her resisting hands and, caressing it, said seriously: "Dorian, I have told you that there has never been any harmony of sentiment between Lady Hortense and myself. She is so prosaic, so cold, so austere, that to see her unfossilized before me for an instant I resolved to use a little stratagem, I confess." "And you found the issue of your labor amusing?" asked Dorian with an undertone of cynicism creeping into her badinage. Sir Philip made some half-laughing rejoinder, after which they were both silent for a moment. Dorian was the first to speak again. “What, then of this late-awakened passion of Lady Camden's. Is it reciprocated?" 66 No, it is reported that young Volney is in love with Alice Meredith, and will marry her. Lady Hortense's pride is unimpeachable. She will not go into society this winter for fear of meeting Volney. This is a fatal decision with her, and one that will soon snap the frail bond of her life asunder." As Sir Philip spoke, there came subtly floating into them Signor M's notes, blended with those of a familiar contralto voice. They were singing a measure from some Italian opera, and the strains now throbbing with passion, now wailing forth in melancholy supplication, silenced them to listen. Mrs. Rossmore, with her hand lying coldly in that of her companion's, felt creeping over her a stronger aversion of him than she had ever yet known. She longed to flee from his presence for some undefinable reason, and when the song ceased and its cadence had died away, she suggested that they return to the parlors. 66 Nonsense," said Sir Philip, as he slipped one arm about her waist. "We have not said one word about ourselves as yet. I have not even told you how happy you have made me by wearing my talisman !" As he spoke, he turned the hoop of diamonds about on her finger. "Did you notice that I had abandoned all my rings to the preference of yours?" asked Dorian, suavely. "Yes," whispered Sir Philip; then after lifting the hand to his lips and kissing it repeatedly, he added: "You are kinder to me than I ever dreamed you would be, Dorian." "Ah, do not be so conceited, mon ami !" laughed Dorian, "I wear it to the exclusion of all other ornaments because they look commonplace beside it. It is the cunningest type of art I have ever Tell me you certainly did not buy it in seen. America?" "No," Sir Philip answered shortly "Where then?" persisted Dorian. "In Italy," still laconically. "Oh, what makes you so impervious?" she asked impatiently. "One would think there was some dark mystery attached to the ring!" Sir Philip coughed. "Do you think the single emerald particularly symbolical?" he asked, pretending not to have heard her. "Green is venom-the best authorities have granted that nothing of that color is without its poisonous ingredients," insidiously replied Dorian. "Then let me exchange the stone for some other; the emerald may prove disastrous to our love!" exclaimed Sir Philip with a sudden intonation of anxiety in his voice. It was now Dorian's turn to laugh. "Nonsense!" said she. "Whatever sentiments exist between us cannot be influenced by a chip of precious stone, be it red or green, blue or white. Do not be superstitious, mon ami. There is nothing in omens !" she ended, deprecatingly. "I wish to believe in nothing save my beautiful Peeress-my Idol!" whispered her companion, passionately lifting her hand to his lips. "Do you forget the first commandment?" Dorian asked, crossing herself as she spoke like a saint. Her beauty and her mockery maddened him. Suddenly he threw himself upon his knees at her feet. "I know no commandment, no God but thee, Dorian!" he cried. "Thou art my sole religion! Let me believe only in you and your love; it is all I ask!" He could see that she was now laughing silently to herself, and he closed his eyes to shut out the sight of her beautiful, mocking image. Thus he did not see the expression of her face swiftly change from laughter to dire aversion. He did not see the wreathed lips, the glittering eyes, in which lurked subtile design and insidious hatred. "Come, Monsieur, Sir Philip. Let us go back to my guests," he heard her voice saying, at length, and rising, they quitted the close, perfume-laden atmosphere without exchanging another word. As Dorian re-entered the brilliant drawing rooms a few moments later, Sir Philip hurried, without a word of farewell or apology, from her house out into the stormy night, every feeling within him dead save the strong new passion which he felt for Dorian Rossmore. As he walked fast and fiercely through the rain toward his club, he heeded not the wondering glances that were directed by passers-by at the extraordinary picture he presented, with his pale, distorted face, and despoiled attire. CHAPTER XXV THE PRISONER ** Know ye not Who would be free, themselves must -Byron A ND monsieur, the prisoner? When, after hours of unconsciousness, the Frenchman roused himself sufficiently to think, it was with overwhelming horror that he realized himself a prisoner, surrounded by a darkness whose intensity was that of a charnel house, and with nothing but the hard floor for his bed. Upon this he lashed himself, hissing volley after volley of curses upon the head of him whose Mephistophelean art had so foiled and victimized him. This crazed paroxysm ceased, and he relapsed into a stupor, which was not so much of the body as the mind a state of lethargy which, upon the fall of some great and unexpected calamity, is almost certain to attack one addicted to the use of strong drink or narcotics. When he returned again to consciousness it was noon. |