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

Her hand trembled, she grew uneasy, and then I knew that I had guessed the 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, I moved across to draw the blind.

"Oh! do let us have some air," she urged with a sigh. "It was so hot downstairs 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 to remain in view of some one outside, a suspicion confirmed by her quick glance at the clock upon the mantelshelf.

For whom could that signal be intended? That it was to warn some one against calling upon her was apparent, and in an instant a great uncontrollable jealousy sprang up within me. The G.o.ddess of my admiration stood there before me calmly, her eyes fixed upon my woe-worn countenance 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. "At Sibberton matters have a.s.sumed a very grave aspect. Richard Keene is staying there as George's guest."

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

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

She stood regarding me, utterly bewildered, as I explained to her further the cunning manner in which the stranger Keene had introduced himself into the house.

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

"How?"

"Richard Keene will not spare me--that I know," she cried in desperation. "Ah! Willoughby! I cannot bear it longer. I have either to endure and be accursed here, or seek my fate and still exist the creature of the wrath hereafter. Cowardice some will call my death!

But can it be coward-like to spurn the certainty I have and fly to regions unexplored? Where hope exists, life would become a stake too dear to hazard, but all with me is dreariness; and if I live existence pictures to my mind one cheerless blank; a life of condemnation and despair." And she stood staring straight before her.

"But, Lolita!" I cried, taking her hand tenderly and gazing into her beautiful face, "you surely don't know what you are saying. You are my love--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 labyrinth that surrounded her?

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

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

"Ah!" she sighed, her eyes fixed before her. "As I look back upon life's stormy sea my resolution stands appalled, and I more wonder that I am than that I should be thus. Were ever woman's trials such as mine?--or if they were, then show me that creature. Soon the busy tongue of scandal will be unfettered, and the ears of greedy calumny opened wide to swallow every breath of defamation and still add falsehood 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 a.s.sist you in arming against these enemies of yours and against Marigold especially?" I urged after those desperate 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 bitterest enemy. She knows the truth of this strange allegation against you, and she 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 only laughed, 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 your downfall."

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

Ah! how crooked are the paths of life; how few the sweets; how bitter the gall! the wretched, like the daisy of the field, neglected live, nor feel the withering blast of wavering fortune. The great alone are noted, and though they weather long the pitiless storm, are struck at length and down hurled to destruction. Greatness is a dream! This world's a dream--we wander and we know not whither.

"Are you sure that Marigold's friendship is only a.s.sumed?" she inquired at length.

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

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

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

"And the woman Lejeune? Tell me, is there any reason why he should be antagonistic towards her?" I asked, recollecting that strange incident at the farmhouse.

"Not that I'm aware of. He would be her friend, most probably. Ah! if that woman would only tell me the truth. But she will not. I know that she 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; the world to me was darkness, and the contemplation of futurity a dream.

And yet it was resolved; Kings reigned on earth, but I owned no other sway but love's, no other hope but Lolita.

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

The effect upon her of that name was electrical. She started, her blue eyes fixed themselves upon me with a hard, terrified look, and her lips half parted in fear were white and trembling.

"You know his name?" she gasped.

"Yes, I know the name of the dead man, the poor fellow who was so foully done to death."

"No, no, Willoughby!" she shrieked aloud, covering her face with her hands. "Spare me, spare me that!" she sobbed.

And I saw that I had acted wrongly in recalling that fatal night. Yet if she were not guilty, why did the mere mention of the dead man's name produce such an effect upon her?