"We've had such an awfully jolly ride. But the others came along so slowly that Connie and I scorched home all the way from Monkton. How stifling it is to-night!" And she drew the pins from her hat, and, sinking into a chair, began fanning herself, while, at the same moment, her companion, Connie Knowles, a rather smart girl who was one of the party, also entered.

Hence our conversation was interrupted--a fact which for several reasons I much regretted. Yet from her words, it seemed plain that she did not know that I was actually her cousin's husband. She knew Beryl's secret, that she was married, but to whom she was unaware.

There is an old saying among the _contadinelli_ of the Tuscan mountains, "Le donne dicono semure i vero; ma non lo dicono tutto intero." Alas, that it is so true!

That same evening when, after dressing, I descended for dinner, I found Beryl in the study, scribbling a note which, having finished, she gave to the servant.

"Is he waiting?" she inquired.

"Yes, miss."

"Then give it to him--with this;" and she handed the girl a shilling.

When, however, she noticed me standing in the doorway she seemed just a trifle confused. In this message I scented something suspicious; but, affecting to take no notice, walked at her side down the corridor into the hall to await the others. She wore a toilette that night which bore the cut of a first-cla.s.s _couturier_. It was a handsome heliotrope gown with a collar of seed pearls. After dining we danced together, and, in so doing, I glanced down at her white, heaving chest, for her corsage was a trifle lower than others she had hitherto worn. I found that for which my eyes were searching--a tiny dark mark low down, and only just visible above the lace edging of the gown--the tattoo mark which I had discovered on that fateful day, the mark of the three hearts entwined.

What, I wondered, did that indelible device denote?

That it had some significance was certain. I had been waltzing with her for perhaps five minutes, when suddenly I withdrew my hand from her waist, and halting, reeled and almost fell.

"Why, Doctor," she cried, "what's the matter? How pale you are?"

"Nothing," I gasped, endeavouring to rea.s.sure her. "A little faintness, that is all. I'll go out into the night." And, unnoticed by the others, I staggered out upon the broad, gravelled terrace which ran the whole length of the house.

She had walked beside me in alarm, and, when we were alone, suggested that she should obtain a.s.sistance.

"No," I said; "I shall be better in a moment."

"How do you feel?" she inquired, greatly concerned.

"As though I had suddenly become frozen," I answered. "It is the same sensation as when I entered that room at Gloucester Square."

"Impossible!" she cried in alarm.

"Yes," I said; "it is unaccountable--quite unaccountable."

The circ.u.mstance was absolutely beyond credence. I stood there, for a few minutes, leaning upon her arm, which she offered me, and slowly the curious sensation died away, until a quarter of an hour afterwards I found myself quite as vigorous as I had been before. Neither of us, however, danced again, but lighting a cigar, I spent some time strolling with her up and down the terrace, enjoying the calm, warm, starlit night.

We discussed my mysterious seizure a good deal, but could arrive at no conclusion.

After some hesitation I broached the subject which was very near my heart.

"I have heard nothing of late of Chetwode," I said. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," she responded. "His regiment has left Hounslow for York, you know."

"And he is in York?"

"I suppose so."

"Suppose! And yet you are to be his wife!" I exclaimed.

"Who told you that?" she asked quickly, halting and looking straight at me.

"Every one discusses it," I answered. "They say he is to be your husband very shortly. What would he say, I wonder, if he knew that you and I frivol so much together?"

"What right has he to say anything regarding my actions? I am quite free."

"Then he is not your lover?" I inquired in deep earnestness. "Tell me the truth."

"Of course not. We have danced together and walked together, just as you and I have done; but as for love--why, the thing is absurd."

"You do not love him?" I asked.

"Certainly not," she laughed. Then she added, "I never love. That is why I am not like other women."

"Every woman denies the tender pa.s.sion," I said, smiling.

"Well, I only tell you the truth," she responded, with a slight sigh.

"If every woman must love at one time in her life, there must of course be some exceptions. I am one of them."

"Ah, you do yourself an injustice?" I declared. "Every woman has a heart."

She was silent. Then, in a hard strained voice, she answered--

"True; but mine is like stone."

"Why? What has hardened it?"

"Ah, no!" she cried quickly. "You are always, trying to learn my secret, but I can never tell you--never! Let us go in." And, without another word, she pa.s.sed through the French windows into the billiard-room, where the usual game of pool was in progress and the merry chatter was general.

Like that of her cousin, her nature was a complex one. The more I strove to understand her the more utterly hopeless the a.n.a.lysis became.

I loved her--nay, in all the world there was but one woman for my eyes.

Superb in beauty and in grace, she was incomparable--perfect.

That night, when the household was at rest, I still sat smoking in my room, puzzled over the curious recurrence of the sensation which seized all who entered the lethal chamber in London. The turret-clock over the stables had chimed half-past one, yet I felt in no mood to turn in. The writing of that hasty note by Beryl was an incident which I had forgotten, but which now came back to me. What if I could discover its nature? She had written it upon the blotting-pad in Sir Henry's study, and the thought occurred to me that I might, perhaps, discover the impression there.

With that object I placed a box of matches in my pocket, switched off my light, and crept in the darkness noiselessly along the corridor. The carpeting was thick, and, being without slippers, I stole along without a sound past the door of Beryl's room, and down the great oaken staircase into the hall.

I had crossed the latter, and had my hand upon the green baize door which kept out the draught of the corridors, and was about to open it, when of a sudden my quick ear caught a sound. In an instant I halted, straining my ears to listen. In the stillness of the night, and especially in the darkness, every sound becomes exaggerated and distorted. I stood there not daring to breathe.

Through the great high windows of the hall, filled with diamond panes like the windows of an ancient church, the faint starlight struggled so that the opposite side of the place was quite light. I glanced around at the shining armour standing weird in the half-light, with visors down and pikes in hand--a row of steel-clad warriors of the days gone by when Atworth was a stronghold. They looked a ghostly lot, and quite unnerved me.

But, as I listened, the suspicious sound again greeted my quick ear, and I heard in the door on the opposite side of the hall, straight before me, a key slowly turn. Even in that dead silence it made but little noise; the lock had evidently been well oiled.

Then cautiously the door gradually opened, and I was no longer alone.

The dark figure of a woman advanced, treading so silently that she seemed to walk on air. She came straight towards the spot where I stood watching in the darkness, and I saw that she was dressed in black.

As she reached the centre of the hall the pale light fell upon her face, and, although uncertain, it was sufficient to reveal to me the truth; I was face to face with the woman who had been described by Beryl--the mysterious La Gioia!