though the stars were out, the night was black as pitch and the courtyard of the inn was only lighted by the broad bands of red that flared across it from the gaping doors of hall and kitchen, serving to make the surrounding darkness more palpable. so it was that lady betty and alice—cloaked and hooded—nearly stumbled against young mackie, and would not have known him but for his exclamation of impatience. he took them for kitchen wenches, and when lady betty cried out his name, he stopped short with a gasp of sheer amazement.
“oh, sir edward, ’twas you—of all men—i wanted to see!” she cried.
poor mackie, if he could have taken her at her word! but, alas, her tone belied her words and his heart sank drearily.
“you here, my lady!” he exclaimed, “what has happened? i am at your service; i pray you—”
[pg 181]but she cut him short.
“where is he?” she whispered.
she mentioned no name, but the young man understood.
“his servant removed him two hours ago, lady clancarty,” he replied quietly, “whither, i know not. the man, a wild irish clown, would not trust me, though, ’pon my honor, i meant to serve—mr. trevor,” his voice faltered so at the name that she was again assured that he had divined their secret and a weight slipped from her heart.
“was he dying?” she asked very low, but the tremor in her voice thrilled her listener.
“i do not know,” he stammered, “i pray not, my lady, for he is a brave man.”
she laid her hand on his arm.
“thank you,” she said simply, “he is my husband.”
young mackie bent his head and kissed her fingers reverently.
“he also trusted me, madam,” he said, and she did not see the pain in the boy’s eyes; “i shall endeavor to deserve it.”
but betty was not thinking of him.
“i must find him,” she said shivering, “i must find him!” and a sob choked her voice.
young mackie was silent. from the kitchen[pg 182] came the hubbub of voices, the clatter of dishes; while, looking over betty’s shoulder, he saw spencer and savile cross the main hall, arm in arm, their heads together. sir edward knew well enough that savile had tried to kill clancarty and he set his teeth, for he saw her cloaked figure sway and quiver in the passion of emotion that shook her. he was a generous fellow and he forgot himself.
“i will try to find him, my lady,” he said in a low tone, glancing cautiously at the hall door, “he can’t be very far away, he could not travel; that man has hidden him somewhere because of the stir made by the duel—i think his identity was very near discovery.”
“i know it,” she said, “but how to find him—oh, sir edward, i must do it! he—he may be in need of a surgeon—of care—of everything!” she broke off wildly, and then, “come, alice, we must go on.”
but he detained her. “whither, madam?” he asked gravely, “not in a vain search—at night—for—for him?”
she drew herself up proudly. “do you think i will let my husband die thus?—and stir no finger to help him?” she asked bitterly.
“then you will let me go with you,” he said quietly, taking his place beside her.
[pg 183]she hesitated and quickly assented. “if you will,” she replied, “since it is late and we are only two women—but we must make haste,” and she ran down the old stone steps into the garden, taking the very path she had walked with clancarty. mackie and alice followed her silently, though both were convinced of the fruitlessness of such an errand at such an hour.
but the night had worn on many hours more and the moon had risen before betty acknowledged that her quest was vain. meanwhile, young mackie had patiently searched in every tavern and inn in newmarket; he had invaded all the alleys and byways, all the nooks and corners, and inquired of grooms and porters and stable-men—but to no purpose. denis had covered his retreat with more skill than sir edward had looked for. if the truth be told, the irishman was no new hand at the business and he understood it well, having followed lord clancarty in his adventurous life, from dublin, and later in a wild career on the continent when the gay young nobleman had kept pace with his fellow exiles of high birth and slim purses, but unlimited daring. it was not the first duel nor the first cause for flight, and denis had spirited the wounded man away[pg 184] and left no sign. even betty, determined and vigilant as she was, was forced to acknowledge herself defeated, and she walked drearily back to the lion’s head with an aching heart. he believed her indifferent to him—would he ever send her a message or a token again? never; she was sure of it, and she bowed her head in dejection—lady betty, who was never crestfallen. she and alice crept in, at last, by the garden way and fled to her apartments in no little trepidation, but they fancied themselves safe when they found that lady sunderland had gone to bed, to get her beauty sleep, and the woman, melissa, slept in her room that night, in the absence of the countess’ own attendant.
lady betty did not sleep nor did she open her heart to the faithful girl who was nearly as grieved as she was to see her trouble. she knelt for hours by the window looking out over the moonlit garden where the shadows were black between the hedgerows. it was a night of agony; to know that he might be dying—dying with hard thoughts of her indifference—almost within reach of her and yet so far. she was his wife, she thought with sharp pain, and yet he could not send her word—and she did not deserve it. he was[pg 185] dying, because savile had been determined to kill him: he had divined the secret, he was resolved to remove her husband. betty saw it all; she had wrung some admissions from mackie, the rest she knew by intuition.
she had a high spirit—all her life she had had her way at last, in spite of her heartless, frivolous mother and her selfish, brilliant father, and this was a trial hard to bear. clancarty was the first man who had not done her homage, who met her on her own ground and demanded that she should love him. perhaps it was that which won her; howbeit, her eyes were dim with tears as she looked out of the window and looked, indeed, until the sun rose on another day.
