Norine's Revenge, and, Sir Noel's Heir. May Agnes Fleming
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on Richard Gilbert in the twilight fields seemed to have fallen here, too.
Norine sat at the piano, her face turned away from the light, and played the melodies he asked for. From these she drifted gradually into music more in accordance with her mood, playing in a mournful, minor key, until Mr. Gilbert could endure the saddening sweetness no longer.
"Your music is very melancholy, my dear," he said quietly. "Will you not sing us something instead."
"Not to-night, I think. I find my headache has not altogether departed. If you will kindly excuse me, I will retire."
She got up as she spoke, lit a lamp, and with a brief good-night, was gone.
It was not yet ten o'clock, but there was little inducement to linger now. Mr. Gilbert owned to being rather fatigued, took his light, and departed. Before half-past ten all were in their rooms, the doors and windows secured for the night. By eleven all were asleep—all save one.
Norine sat at her window, her light shaded, her watch (one of Richard Gilbert's presents to his bride elect) open before her, gazing out into the gusty darkness, and waiting. Her hands were tightly clasped together, silent, tearless sobs shook her at times as remorse swept through her soul, and yet not for one minute did she think of withdrawing from her tryst. But she would not fly with Laurence Thorndyke—no, no! Every best impulse within her cried out she would not, she could not. She was a wretch for even thinking of it—a wretch for going to this meeting, but she would only go to say farewell forever. She loved him, but she belonged to another man; it would be better to die than to betray him. She would bid Laurence Thorndyke go to-night, and never see him more.
The threatening storm seemed drawing very near. The moon was half obscured in dense clouds; the wind tore around the gables; the trees tossed their long, green arms wildly aloft. Within the house profoundest silence reigned.
Half-past eleven! the hour of tryst; she seemed to count the moments by the dull beating of her heart. She rose up, extinguished her lamp, put on a waterproof, drawing the hood over her head, took her slippers in her hand, and opened the door. She paused and listened, half choked by the loud throbbing of her heart, by guilty, nameless dread. All was still—no sound but the surging of the trees without; no glimmer of light from any room. She stole on tiptoe along the passage, down the stairs, and into the lower hall. Noiselessly she unlocked the door, opened it, and was out in the windy dark, under the gloom of the trees. One second's pause, her breath coming in frightened gasps, then she was flitting away in the chill night wind to meet her lover. She reached the gate, leaned over it eagerly, straining her eyes through the gloom.
"Laurence!" she said, in a tremulous whisper. "Laurence, I have come."
"My own brave little girl!"
A tall figure stepped forward from beneath a tree, too warm hands clasped hers.
"Norry, you're a trump, by Jove! Come out at once. All is ready. You must fly with me to-night."
But she shrank back—shocked, terrified, yet longing with all her soul to obey.
"No, no!" she cried. "I can never go—never! never! never! O Lawrence! I have come here to bid you good-by forever!"
His answer was to laugh aloud. His face was flushed his blue eyes gleaming—Mr. Laurence Thorndyke, bold enough at all times, had primed himself with brandy for to-night's work, until he was ready to face and defy devils and men.
"Good-by forever!" he repeated. "Yes, that's so likely, my darling. Come out here, Norry—come out. I've no notion of talking with a five-barred gate between us. So old Gilbert came down to his wedding this afternoon didn't he? By Jupiter! what a row there will be to-morrow, when the cage is opened, and the bird found flown."
He laughed recklessly aloud, as he opened the gate and drew her out.
"Not if I know it, Norry. No dry-as-dust, grim, solemn owl of a lawyer for my little Canadian rosebud, old as the everlasting hills, and priggish as the devil. No, no! we'll change all that. Before morning dawns you and I will be safely in Boston, and before another night falls you'll be my blessed little wife—the loveliest bride from Maine to Florida, and I the most blissful of bridegrooms. All is ready—here are my horse and buggy—the sloop sails in an hour, and then—let them catch us who can!"
Either the excitement of his triumph, or the French brandy, had set Mr. Laurence Thorndyke half wild. He drew her with him, heedless of her struggles, her passionate protest.
"Can't go? Oh, that's all bosh, my darling! you've got to come. I love you, and you love me—(sounds like a child's valentine, don't it?)—and you don't care that for old Dick Gilbert. You won't go? If you don't I'll shoot myself before morning—I swear I will! You don't want me to shoot myself, do you? I can't live without you, Norry, and I don't mean to try. After we're married, and the honeymoon's over, I'll fetch you back to the old folks if you like, upon my sacred honor I will. Not a word now, my little angel, I won't listen. Of course you've scruples, and all that. I think the more of you for them, but you'll thank me for not listening one day. Here's the carriage—get in, get in, get in!"
He fairly lifted her in as he spoke.
Stunned, terrified, bewildered, she struggled in vain. He only laughed aloud, caught up the reins, and struck the horse with the whip. The horse, a spirited one, darted forward like a flash; there was a girl's faint, frightened scream.
"O Laurence! let me go!"
A wild laugh drowned it—they flew over the ground like the wind. Norine was gone! His exultant singing mingled with the crash of the wheels as they disappeared.
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