CHAPTER XXII

COUNT JEHAN IS NOT CONVINCED

Monsieur de Quernais was certainly in a hurry; so much so that he had lost his temper, and been in too great a haste to recover it again.

There had been reasons enough to disturb a less irritable nature.

To begin with, the failure of his mission had been bitter. Most bitter of all, seeing the trickery played on him by his own cousin, a Varenac and a traitor!

The English blood must be held accountable, of course, but even then he could not bear to think of it.

During that headlong journey from Langton Hall to the Manor of Varenac he had been brooding over it.

What would la Rouerie say? A last hope gone through the betrayal of one who should have been heart and soul on their side.

The collapse of a golden castle in the air had caused Monsieur le Comte to despair.

He was very young and very enthusiastic. Besides, his adoration of la Rouerie amounted almost to an absurdity. The Chouan leader had inspired such affection a score of times in man and woman.

And la Rouerie must be told, not only of failure on his follower's part, but the shame of a n.o.ble Breton name. It was terrible.

But Monsieur le Comte could not feel as murderous as he chose since Morice Conyers' sister had so n.o.bly stepped into the breach.

Here was a kindred spirit, here a true Varenac with Breton blood running unsullied in her veins.

Love for the sister almost counterbalanced hatred for the brother in the heart of Jehan de Quernais.

In such a turmoil of emotion he had ridden to Varenac and found that the new Marquis had failed to arrive.

The news inspired that hope which is twin comrade to youth.

He rode to Kernak building fresh castles, and reached his home to find that the man who had been so much in his thoughts had but now left it.

The story was told by Madame his mother, with Cecile standing by, a smile hovering around her pretty lips.

But, alas! the smile had died all too soon, frozen out of being by her brother's answering words.

A traitor, double-dyed in hue,--a traitor to his country, to his people, to his own kith and kin!

Liar and dishonoured he seemed to stand before her, as Jehan poured forth his tale in the first fury of his wrath.

What! Had the vaurien hound _dared_ shelter under his roof? _dared_ to tell his lying tale to them?

The young Count paced the hall to and fro in his anger.

He would have forgotten that Morice Conyers was Gabrielle's brother had he met him at that moment.

It ended by Cecile suddenly bursting into a tempest of tears, and running out of the room. This had been the last straw to an overfull cup.

Mother and son looked at each other for a full minute, and then Madame de Quernais held out trembling hands.

"Do nothing rash," she faltered. "Remember he is my sister's son."

Had he been less a gentleman Jehan would have thundered out an oath and ridden forth, hot-haste, in search of his enemy. As it was, a higher instinct prevailed. He bowed, with old-fashioned formality, over his mother's hand, though his lips were livid and his eyes ablaze.

"I will remember, Madame," he replied, and dared not trust himself to say more.

A sleepless night for those at Kernak, and now, with morning, Count Jehan had ridden over to Varenac.

But still Monsieur le Marquis was absent. It was inexplicable.

Was the fellow such a coward that he trumped up this excuse not to see him?

De Quernais felt his fingers itching at his sword-hilt; though what use to storm when one's foe is absent?

And if Morice were not here Gabrielle was. The door opened suddenly on the Count's meditations, and she stood there on the threshold.

"Oh, Jehan!" she cried, running to him eagerly, "I am so glad you have come, so glad."

And, at sight of her fair face, the young n.o.ble felt his bitterness vanish as the grey shadows must before the sunshine.

How he had learnt to love her, this brave little cousin, who was Breton to her finger-tips!

When the emotions are stirred in a hot, impetuous nature it is a quick leap from love to hate.

Yet he did not blind himself with the belief that love here was returned.

He had seen the light grow in hazel eyes on a day when Michael Berrington appeared suddenly in the morning-room at Langton Hall.

Since then he had known that Cousin Jehan meant brother Jehan to Gabrielle. And, being a man of honour as well as Breton n.o.ble, he accepted Fate's decree without murmur or strife. But it could not kill love, since that was of immortal birth, and so he hid his eyes from hers, lingering, as he bent over her hand, till he should regain the mastery over himself which he had been in danger of losing.

But Gabrielle had no thought for possible embarra.s.sment. From the first moment she had accepted the new cousin as brother, and never dreamt of shyness or diffidence.

"I am so glad you have come," she repeated. "You will help us to find Morice."

"To find Morice?"

The echo of her words reminded him of past anger, of la Rouerie, of Cecile; and his mouth hardened.

"He came hither this morning," Gabrielle continued,--and told her tale.

De Quernais listened, with knitted brow and incredulity in his eyes.

"And he has gone again?" he concluded, when Gabrielle had finished.

"Yes. We have searched everywhere."