The Sign of the Stranger

by William Le Queux

treated me on an equality with herself and during the meal laughedand chatted merrily about the people she and her niece had recently met.

  At last, however, dinner was over, and we all three retired to theprivate sitting-room, where Lolita at my desire played Tito Mattei's"White Moon" serenade and the "Cavatine" from _Faust_.

  "Won't you sing us something?" I urged presently when she was about toturn from the piano. At first she tried to excuse herself, but seeingthat I was anxious to hear her voice she turned again, and in her clearcontralto sang an old French serenade:--

  "Une reine est maitresse de mon coeur; Elle reigne part tout. Car ses beaux yeux. Sont les deux sceptres de l'amour; Et quand vers moi ils tournent leurs brillantes flammes. Le feu d'amour s'empare de tout mon ame.

  "Heureux si j'etois souverain. De tout le ciel Peut etre elle, Ne voudras pas que j'aime en vain; Mais comme je suis en silence je soupire; J'ose bien aimer, mais je n'ose pas le dire."

  Her gaze fell upon me as she sang, and surely she addressed those finalwords to me--

  "But as I am, in silence I must feel Love's sacred flame, and yet that flame conceal."

  I sat gazing upon her beauty entranced. In that sweet clear voice was atouch of pathos such as I have never before heard, and I knew that shewas suffering, like myself. In those moments I had wandered in themazes of ecstatic bliss. All the world save her was lost to me. By thelook in her beautiful eyes I was again launched on the wide sea ofbliss; love was the pilot of my soul and the bright beam of herlove-look illuminated my track, as the soft zephyrs of love filled mywarm fancy, leading me to the shores of matchless beauty.

  The song had ended, and with it my vision vanished. She closed thepiano, rose and crossed the room to look out of the window upon the longline of lights in Princes Street with the castle frowning opposite inthe starless gloom.

  Her action was a natural one, yet it was succeeded by one which causedme some surprise. She had been standing for a moment at the openwindow, as though enjoying the cool air, then suddenly she removed agreat bowl of bright dahlias that gave a welcome touch of colour to theroom from a sideboard, and placed them upon the small table in thewindow.

  Afterwards she returned to us without, however, drawing down the blind.

  Had she placed those flowers there merely to give them air because theroom was warm? Or had she put them in the window as signal to some onein the street below?

  Her hand trembled, she grew uneasy, and then I knew that I had guessedthe truth.

  Those flowers were placed there to warn some one of my presence!

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

  CONTAINS A DISCLOSURE.

  When the old lady had at last retired and I stood alone with my love, Imoved across to draw the blind.

  "Oh! do let us have some air," she urged with a sigh. "It was so hotdownstairs to-night. I feel stifled."

  This could not be, for the night air in Scotland is chilly in September.Therefore I felt convinced that she wished the bowl of flowers toremain in view of some one outside, a suspicion confirmed by her quickglance at the clock upon the mantelshelf.

  For whom could that signal be intended? That it was to warn some oneagainst calling upon her was apparent, and in an instant a greatuncontrollable jealousy sprang up within me. The goddess of myadmiration stood there before me calmly, her eyes fixed upon my woe-worncountenance in silence. Her lips moved at last.

  "Well?" she asked. "And why have you come here, to me?"

  "Because I am seeking to serve you, Lolita," was my answer. "AtSibberton matters have assumed a very grave aspect. Richard Keene isstaying there as George's guest."

  "What?" she gasped, her face white in an instant. "Impossible! Keeneas George's friend!--never?"

  "He is guest at Sibberton under the name of Smeeton. George apparentlymet him when hunting in Africa," I said.

  She stood regarding me, utterly bewildered, as I explained to herfurther the cunning manner in which the stranger Keene had introducedhimself into the house.

  "Then for me the future is utterly hopeless," she exclaimed blankly, herbeautiful face pale as death. "It is just as I have feared. My enemieshave triumphed--and I am their victim."

  "How?"

  "Richard Keene will not spare me--that I know," she cried indesperation. "Ah! Willoughby! I cannot bear it longer. I have eitherto endure and be accursed here, or seek my fate and still exist thecreature of the wrath hereafter. Cowardice some will call my death!But can it be coward-like to spurn the certainty I have and fly toregions unexplored? Where hope exists, life would become a stake toodear to hazard, but all with me is dreariness; and if I live existencepictures to my mind one cheerless blank; a life of condemnation anddespair." And she stood staring straight before her.

  "But, Lolita!" I cried, taking her hand tenderly and gazing into herbeautiful face, "you surely don't know what you are saying. You are mylove--my all in all."

  "Ah! yes," she responded bitterly, glancing quickly at me. "Until--until they tell you the truth--only until then!"

  How could I determine her meaning? How could I explore the labyrinththat surrounded her?

  My brain still conjured up excuse upon excuse and warred against mybetter reason.

  "But I don't understand?" I said. "Why not speak more plainly--tell meeverything?"

  "Ah!" she sighed, her eyes fixed before her. "As I look back uponlife's stormy sea my resolution stands appalled, and I more wonder thatI am than that I should be thus. Were ever woman's trials such asmine?--or if they were, then show me that creature. Soon the busytongue of scandal will be unfettered, and the ears of greedy calumnyopened wide to swallow every breath of defamation and still addfalsehood upon falsehood to blacken and condemn a helpless woman! Ah!I know," she added. "I know what the future holds for me."

  "Then if so, why not allow me to assist you in arming against theseenemies of yours and against Marigold especially?" I urged after thosedesperate words of hers had fallen upon me.

  "Marigold! Why against her? She is my friend."

  "No, Lolita," I responded in a low earnest tone. "She is your bitterestenemy. She knows the truth of this strange allegation against you, andshe can clear you if she wishes--only she refuses."

  "Refuses! Whom has she refused?"

  "Richard Keene."

  "How do you know?"

  "I was present when he begged of her to tell the truth. But she onlylaughed, declaring her disinclination to implicate herself by so doing.That woman will let you sacrifice your life rather than tell the truth."

  "Are you certain of this? Are you positive there is no mistake,Willoughby?"

  "None. I heard her with my own ears. She is awaiting eagerly yourdownfall."

  Lolita's hands clenched themselves, her pale lips moved but no soundcame from them. The small clock chimed ten, and as it did so shecrossed the room and drew down the blind. There was, I supposed, nofurther necessity for the signal of the bowl of dahlias.

  Ah! how crooked are the paths of life; how few the sweets; how bitterthe gall! the wretched, like the daisy of the field, neglected live, norfeel the withering blast of wavering fortune. The great alone arenoted, and though they weather long the pitiless storm, are struck atlength and down hurled to destruction. Greatness is a dream! Thisworld's a dream--we wander and we know not whither.

  "Are you sure that Marigold's friendship is only assumed?" she inquiredat length.

  "Quite. You told me that Keene was your enemy, yet from what I haveseen I believe him to be rather your friend."

  "Friend! No," she said, shaking her head. "That's impossible. Hecannot be my friend. You do not know all the past."

  "How long ago did you know him?" I inquired. "In the days beforeGeorge's marriage. We were acquainted then," was her faint answer.

  "And the woman Lejeune? Tell me, is there any reason why he should beantagonistic towards her?" I asked, re
collecting that strange incidentat the farmhouse.

  "Not that I'm aware of. He would be her friend, most probably. Ah! ifthat woman would only tell me the truth. But she will not. I know thatshe fears to speak lest by the truth she may herself be condemned."

  A silence fell between us. A heavy gloom had fallen over my heart; theworld to me was darkness, and the contemplation of futurity a dream.And yet it was resolved; Kings reigned on earth, but I owned no othersway but love's, no other hope but Lolita.

  "And the truth," I said very slowly and in deep earnestness. "The truthyou refer to concerns Hugh Wingfield?"

  The effect upon her