Half A Chance

by Frederic Stewart Isham

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE PRINCESS SUITE

  A House maid, some time later that night, moved noiselessly over theheavy rugs in the boudoir of the princess suite, next to armory hall onthe second story of Strathorn House. Glancing nervously about her fromtime to time, the woman trimmed a candle here and set another there;then lifted with ponderous brass tongs a few coals and placed them onthe smoldering bed in the delicately tinted fireplace. After which shestood before it in the attitude of one who is waiting though not withstolid and undisturbed patience.

  A clock ticked loudly on the mantel; she looked at it, around her at theshadows of two beautiful marbles on pedestals of malachite. Moving intothe bedroom beyond, she took from a wardrobe of old French workmanship arose dressing-gown; this, and a pair of slippers of like color shebrought out and placed near the fire. As she did so, she started,straightened suddenly; then her expression changed; the voice of LordRonsdale without was followed by that of Jocelyn Wray.

  "Never fear! They'll get the fellow yet," my lord had said.

  Jocelyn answered mechanically; the door opened; the maid caught aglimpse of Ronsdale's face, of the cold eyes that looked the least bitannoyed.

  "Although it was most bungling on their part to have permitted him toget away!" he went on. "I hope, however, this little unexpected episodewon't disturb your rest." An instant the steely eyes seemed tocontemplate her closer. "Many going away to-morrow?" he asked, as if todivert her thoughts from the exciting experience of the evening beforeleaving her.

  "Only Captain Forsythe and--Mr. Steele."

  Did he notice the slightest hesitation, on her part, before speaking thelast name? My lord's eyes fell; an odd expression appeared on his face.He murmured a few last perfunctory words; then--"They'll get him yet. Hecan't get away," he repeated. The words had a singular, a sibilantsound; he bowed deferentially and strode off, not toward his ownchamber, however, but toward the great stairway leading down to thefirst story.

  As the door closed behind her young mistress, the maid came quicklyforward. "Did you learn anything more, Miss Jocelyn, if I may be so boldas to ask, from the police agent? Who the criminal was, or--"

  "The police agent only said he was an ex-convict, no ordinary one, whohad escaped from London and was making for the sea. They got word he wasat the village and followed him there but he managed to elude them andthey traced him to Strathorn House park, where he had taken refuge. Thepolice did not acquaint Sir Charles, Lord Ronsdale or any one with theirpurpose, thinking not to alarm us needlessly beforehand. And--I believethat is all."

  A moment the woman waited. "I--shall I--"

  The girl looked before her; tiny flames from the grate heightened thesheen on her gown; they threw passing lights on the somewhat tired,proud face. "I shall not need you, Dobson," she said. "You may go. Amoment." The woman, who had half-turned, waited; Jocelyn's glance hadlowered to the fire; in its reflection her slim, delicate fingers wererosy. She unclasped them, smoothed the brocade absently with one hand."One or two are leaving early to-morrow. You will see--you will giveinstructions that everything is provided for their comfort."

  The maid responded and left the room; Jocelyn stood as if wrapped inreverie. At length she stirred suddenly and extinguishing all but onedim light, sank back into a chair. Her eyes half closed, then shutentirely. One might have thought her sleeping, except that her breathingwas not deep enough; the golden head remained motionless against thesoft pink of the dressing-gown; the hand that dropped limply from thewhite wrist over the arm of the chair did not stir. Around, all wasstillness; time passed; then a faint shout from somewhere in thegardens, far off, aroused her. The girl looked around; but immediatelysilence again reigned; she got up.

  Leaning against the shaft holding one of the marbles, she regardedwithout seeing a chaste, youthful Canova, and beyond, painted on boardsand set against satin, a Botticelli face, spiritual, sphinx-like. Herbrows were slightly drawn; she breathed deeply now, as if there weresomething in the place, its quiescence, the immobility of the lovely butghost-like semblance of faces with which it was peopled that oppressedher. She seemed to be thinking, or questioning herself, when suddenlyher attention was attracted again by a sound of a different kind, or wasit only fancy? She looked toward a large Flemish tapestry covering oneentire end of the room; behind the antique landscape in green threadsshe knew there was a disused door leading into armory hall. Drawing backthe heavy folds she stepped a little behind them; the door was lockedand bolted; moreover, several heavy nails had fastened it, completelyisolating her suite, as it were, from that spacious, general apartment.

  Again the sound! This time she placed it--the creaking of the giantbranch of ivy that ran up and around her own balcony. The girl pausedirresolutely, her hand on the heavy ancient hanging. Leaning forward shewaited; but the noise stopped; she heard nothing more, told herself itwas nothing and was about to move out again when her gaze was suddenlyheld by something that passed like a shadow--a man's arm?--on the otherside of the nearest window, between the modern French curtains, notquite drawn together.

  In that inconsiderable space between the silk fringes she was sure shehad seen it, and anything suggestive of _dolce far niente_ disappearedfrom the girl's blue eyes. The window opened wider, noiselessly butquickly; then a hand, strong, shapely, pushed the curtains aside. Hadthe intruder first satisfied himself that the room was vacant? He actedas one certain of his ground; now drawing the window draperies quicklytogether behind him as if seeking to escape observation from any onebelow, he stepped out into the room.

  Something he saw seemed to surprise him; a low exclamation fell from hislips; his eyes, searching in the dim light his surroundings, swiftlypassed from the rich furnishings, the artistic decorations, to thebright-colored robe, the little slippers before the fire. Here theylingered, but only for a moment! Did the intruder hear a sound, a quickbreath? His gaze swerved to the opposite end of the room where it saw aliving presence. For a moment they looked at each other; the man's faceturned very pale; his hand touched the back of a chair; he steadiedhimself.

  "I thought--to enter armory hall--did not know your rooms were here," hemanaged to say in a low tone, "at this corner of Strathorn House."

  She did not answer; so they stood, silently, absurdly. Her face was likepaper; her hair, in contrast, most bright; her eyes expressed onlyincomprehension. The man had to speak first; he pulled himself together.The bad fortune that had dogged him so long, that he had fought againstso hard, now found its culmination: it had cast him, of all places,hither, at her feet.

  So be it; well, destiny now could harm him little more! His eyesgleamed; a reckless light shone out, a daredevil luster. He continued tolook at her, then threw back his head.

  "I had hoped you would never know; but the gods, it seems," he couldeven laugh, "have ordained otherwise. '_Fata obstant_.'" Still thatstartled, uncomprehending look on the girl's white face! He went on morequickly, like a man driven to bay. "You do not understand; you arecredulous; take people for what they seem,--not for what they are; orhave been."

  He stopped; a suggestion of pain creeping into her expression, as if,behind wonderment, she was conscious of something being rudely torn,wrenched in her inmost being, held him. His face grew set; the nails ofhis closed fingers cut his palms. But the laugh returned to his lips,the luster to his eyes.

  "Or have been!" he repeated. "A good many people have their pasts. Canyou imagine what mine may have been?"

  But she scarcely followed his words; she did not think, she could not;she seemed to stand in a hateful dream! Looking at him--the torn eveningclothes!--his face, pale, different! Listening to him!--to what--?

  "A convict!" said the man. "Yes; that's what I was. Had been in jails,jails! And was sent out of the country, years ago, transported. But timewent by and the convict thought he might safely come back--boldly--withimpunity. The years and--circumstances had altered him--wrought greatchanges. He felt compelled to return--why, is of no moment!--believedhimself se
cure in so doing--and was--until chance led him out of hisaccustomed way--to new walks--new faces--where lay the danger--theambush, into which he, who thought himself strong, like a weak fool,walked--or was led--blindly." He caught himself up with a laugh. "Butwhat is this to you? Enough, the convict found himself recognized, hisidentity thoroughly established."

  He waited; still she was silent; the little hands clasped tightly theheavy drapery that moved as if she were putting part of her weight onit. Her expression showed still that she had not yet had time tocomprehend; that for her what he said remained, even now, but words,confused, inexplicable. A strange sequel to a strange night, a nightthat had begun with such gaiety and blitheness; that had beeninterrupted, after he had left her, by the shouting and rough voicesfrom the garden! She seemed to hear them anew, and afterward, theexplanation of that odd little person, the police agent, his apologiesfor breaking in upon the cotillion. But he had said--?

  The blue eyes bent like stars now on this man in her room, standingbefore her with bold, mocking face, as if his dark eyes read, understoodevery thought that passed through her brain.

  "You!--then it was you--John Steele--that they--"

  "The convict they tried to arrest? Yes."

  "You? I don't--" Her voice was almost childlike.

  "I will help you to--understand!" An ashen shade came over his face, butit passed quickly; his voice sounded brusk. "For months, since a fatalevening all light, brilliancy, beauty!--the convict has been trying tohold back the inevitable; but the net whose first meshes were thenwoven, has since been drawing closer--closer. In the world two forcesare ever at work, the pursuers and the pursued. In this instance theformer," harshly, "were unusually clever. He struggled hard to keep upthe deception until he could complete a defense worthy of the name. Butto no avail! He felt the end near; did not expect it so soon, however,this night!--this very night--!"

  The man paused; there was a strange gleam in the dark eyes that lingeredon her; its light was succeeded by another, a fiercer expression. Forthe first time she moved, shrank back slightly. "I'm afraid I used a fewof them roughly," he said with look derisory. "There was no time forsoft talk; it was cut and run--give 'leg bail,' as the thieves say." Didhe purposely relapse into coarser words to clench home the wholedamning, detestable truth? Her fine soft lips quivered; it may be shefelt herself awakening--slowly; one hand pressed now at her breast. Inthe grate the fire sank, although a few licking flames still thrusttheir fiery tongues between black lumps of coal.

  "But it was a close call, out there in the garden! They were before theconvict in the woods; he must needs double back to the shadow of thehouse! At the bottom of a moat he looked up to a balcony overhead, smallas Juliet's---though I swear he thought it led to armory hall, not here;had he known the truth, he would have stayed there first, and--But, asit was, he heard voices around the corner; afar, men approaching. Theivy at Strathorn House is almost as old as the house itself, the mainbranches larger than a man's arm. It was not difficult to get here,though I wish now--" he dared smile bitterly--"they had come on mefirst."

  The breeze at the window slightly shook the curtain; it waved in andout; the tassels struck faint taps on the sill.

  "But why--?" she began at length, then stopped, as if the question weregone almost as soon as it suggested itself.

  "--did I return here,--reenter Strathorn House?" he completed it forher. "Because there seemed nothing else to do; it was probably onlytemporizing with the inevitable--but one always temporizes."

  She moved slowly out into the room; his face was half-averted; all thelight that came from the grate, rested now on hers. At that instant sheseemed like a shadow, beautiful, but a shadow, going toward him asthrough no volition of her own. The thick texture on the floor drownedthe sound of her steps; she paused with her fingers on the gilded frameof a settee. He did not turn, although he must have known she was near;with his back toward her he gazed down at the soft, bright hues of therug, and on it a white thing, a tiny bit of lace, a handkerchief thatsome time before had fluttered to the floor and had been left lyingthere.

  "But--" she spoke now--"you--you who seemed all that was--I can'tbelieve--it is impossible--inconceivable--"

  His features twitched, the nerves seemed moving beneath the skin; but heanswered in a hard tone. "I have told you the truth; because," the wordsbroke from him, "I had to! Must I," despite himself there was an accentof acutest pain in his voice, "repeat it?"

  "No!" said the girl. "Oh, no."

  "You guessed I was going away. I was going so that you might never learnwhat you know now."

  "I--guessed you were going? Ah, to-night--on the balcony!"

  Did he divine what her words recalled, could not but bring to mind? Atint sprang to her white face; it spread even to the white throat. Theblue eyes grew hard, very hard; the little hand he had so short a whilebefore held in his, closed; the slender figure which had then seemed towaver, straightened. He read the thought his words had evoked, did notmeet her eyes now.

  "You tell me what you have--And yet you have come--dared to comehere--under this roof--?"

  It may be she also recalled his look when first he had entered thisroom, and, turning, had seen her; that her mind retained the impress ofa bearing, bold, mocking.

  "Oh," she said, "it was infamous!"

  The word struck him like a whip, lashed his face to a dull red; thesilence grew.

  "I would not presume to dispute or to contradict any conclusion you mayhave reached," he spoke at length in a low, even voice. "I had not, as Isaid, intended this last, this most inexcusable intrusion. You have nowonly one course to pursue--" His gaze turned to the long silkenbell-rope on the wall. "And I promise not to resist."

  Her glance followed his, returned to his face, to his eyes, quietlychallenging. She took a step.

  "Well?" he said.

  She had suddenly stopped; in the hall voices were heard approaching; hetoo caught them.

  "That simplifies matters," he remarked.

  Her breast stirred; she stood listening; they came nearer--now were atthe door. A measured knocking broke the stillness.

  "Jocelyn!" The voice was that of Sir Charles. "Are you there?" She didnot answer. "Kindly unlock the door."

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