Kate Danton, or, Captain Danton's Daughters Part 32

Now Rose, maliciously asking the question, knew in her heart the man was Mr. Richards. She did not comprehend, of course, but she knew it must be all right; for Kate walked with him there under her father's sanction.

Mr. Stanford made no reply; he was staring like one who cannot believe his eyes.

Kate's face shown in profile was plainly visible as they drew nearer.

The man's, shrouded by coat-collar and peaked cap, was all hidden, save a well-shaped nose.

"It is Kate," repeated Mr. Stanford, blankly. "And what does it mean?"

"Hush-s.h.!.+" whispered Rose; "they will hear you."

She drew him back softly. The two advancing figures were so very near now that their words could be heard. It was Kate's soft voice that was speaking.

"Patience, dear," she was saying; "patience a little longer yet."

"Patience!" cried the man, pa.s.sionately. "Haven't I been patient?

Haven't I waited and waited, eating my heart out in solitude, and loneliness, and misery? But for your love, Kate, your undying love and faith in me--I should long ago have gone mad!"

They pa.s.sed out of hearing with the last words. Reginald Stanford stood petrified; even Rose was desperately startled by the desperate words.

"Take me away, Reginald," she said trembling. "Oh, let us go before they come back."

Her voice aroused him, and he looked down at her with a face as white as the frozen snow.

"You heard him?" he said. "You heard her? What does it mean?"

"I don't know. I am frightened. Oh, let us go!"

Too late! Kate and her companion had reached the end of the tamarack walk, and were returning. As they drew near, she was speaking; again the two listeners in the darkness heard her words.

"Don't despair," she said earnestly. "Oh, my darling, never despair!

Come what will, I shall always love you--always trust you--always--"

They pa.s.sed out of hearing again--out of the dark into the lighted end of the walk, and did not return.

Reginald and Rose waited for a quarter of an hour, but they had disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared.

"Take me in," reiterated Rose, s.h.i.+vering. "I am nearly frozen."

He turned with her up the walk, never speaking a word, very pale in the light of the stars. No one was visible as they left the walk; all around the house and grounds was hushed and still. The house door was locked, but not bolted. Mr. Stanford opened it with a night-key, and they entered, and went upstairs, still in silence. Rose reached her room first, and paused with her hand on the handle of the door.

"Good-night," she said shyly and wistfully.

"Good-night," he answered, briefly, and was gone.

CHAPTER XI.

ONE MYSTERY CLEARED UP.

The fire burned low in Rose's pretty room, and the lamp was dim on the table. The window-curtains were closed, and the sheets of the little low, white bed turned down, the easy chair was before the hearth, and everything was the picture of comfort. She flung off her wrappings on the carpet, and sat down in the easy chair, and looked into the glowing cinders, lost in perplexed thought.

What would be the result of that night's adventure? Reginald Stanford, good-natured and nonchalant, was yet proud. She had seen his face change in the starlight, as once she had hardly thought it possible that ever-laughing face could change; she had seen it cold and fixed as stone. How would he act towards a lady, plighted to be his wife, and yet who took midnight rambles with another man? Would the engagement be broken off, and would he leave Canada forever in disgust? Or would he, forsaking Kate, turn to Kate's younger sister for love and consolation?

Rose's heart throbbed, and her face grew hot in the solitude of her chamber, at the thought. He would demand an explanation, of course; would it be haughtily refused by that haughty sister, or would the mystery of Mr. Richards be opened for him?

A clock down-stairs struck two. Rose remembered that late watching involved pale cheeks and dull eyes, and got up, said her prayers with sleepy devotion, and went to bed.

The sunlight of another bright March day flooded her room when she awoke from a troubled dream of Mr. Richards. It was only seven o'clock, but she arose, dressed rapidly, and, before eight, opened the dining-room door.

Early as the hour was, the apartment was occupied. Grace sat at one of the windows, braiding elaborately an ap.r.o.n, and Captain Danton stood beside her, looking on. Grace glanced up, her colour heightening at Rose's entrance.

"Good morning, Miss Rose," said her father. "Early to bed and early to rise, eh? When did you take to getting up betimes?"

"Good morning, papa. I didn't feel sleepy, and so thought I would come down."

"What time did you get home last night?"

"I left a little after twelve."

"Did you enjoy yourself, my dear?"

"Yes, papa."

"Reginald was with you?"

"Yes, papa."

"It's all right, I suppose," said her father, pinching her blooming cheek; "but if I were Kate, I wouldn't allow it. Young man are changeable as chameleons, and these pink cheeks are tempting."

The pink cheeks turned guiltily scarlet at the words. Grace, looking up from her work, saw the tell-tale flush; but Captain Danton, going over to the fire to read the morning paper, said nothing.

Rose stood listlessly in her father's place, looking out of the window.

The wintry landscape, all glittering in the glorious suns.h.i.+ne, was very bright; but the dreamy, hazel eyes were not looking at it.

"Rose!" said Grace suddenly, "when did you hear from Ottawa?"

Rose turned to her, roused from her dreaming.

"What did you say?"

"When did you hear from Ottawa--from M. Jules La Touche?"

Again the colour deepened in Rose's face, and an angry light shone in her eyes.

"What do you want to know for?"