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The knot of urchins had grown to a considerable crowd when they emerged. Women and half-grown girls jostled each other for a glimpse of the bride. But the utmost that any saw was a slender figure wearing a thick veil that walked a little apart from the bridegroom, and entered the waiting motor unassisted.

XIV

Back once more in the room where the fire crackled, newly replenished, and electric light revealed a shining tea-table, Hone turned to the silent woman beside him.

“Can I write a message? I promised to send one to Teddy as soon as we were married.”

She pointed to the writing-table; and moved herself to the fire. There she stood for a few seconds quite motionless, seeming to listen to the scratching of his pen.

He ceased to write, and turned in his chair. For a moment his eyes rested upon her.

“Take off your hat!” he said.

She obeyed him in utter silence. Her hands were stiff and numb with cold. She stooped, the firelight shining on her hair, and held them to the blaze.

Hone rose quietly, and came to her side. He held his message for her to read, and she did so silently.

“Just married. All well. Love.–PAT.”

“Will it do?” he said.

She glanced up at him and shivered.

“Is all well?” she asked, in a tone that demanded no answer.

He made none, merely rang the bell and gave orders for the despatch of the message.

Then he came quietly back to her. They stood face to face. She was quite erect, but pale to the lips. She stood before him as a prisoner awaiting sentence, too proud to ask for mercy.

Hone paused a few moments, as if to give her time to speak, to challenge him, to make her defence, or to plead her weakness. Then, as she did none of these things, he suddenly laid steady hands upon her, drew her to him, and, bending, looked closely into her eyes.

“And is there any reason at all why I should not take what is my own?” he said.

She did not resist him, but a long shiver went through her.

“Are you sure it is worth the taking?” she said.

“Quite sure,” he answered quietly. “Shall I tell you how I know?”

Her eyes sank before his.

“You will do exactly as you choose.”

He was silent for an instant, still intently searching her white face. Then:

“Do you remember that night that you fainted in my arms?” he said. “Do you remember opening your eyes in the boat? Do you know–can you guess–what your eyes told me?”

She was silent; only again from head to foot she shivered.

He went on very quietly, as one absolutely sure of himself:

“I looked into your soul that night, and I saw your secret hidden away in its darkest corner. And I knew it had been there for a long, long time. I knew from that moment that, hate me as you might, you were mine, as I have been yours for so long as I have known you.”

She raised her eyes suddenly, stiffening in his grasp.

“And you expect me to believe that of you?” she said, a tremor that was not of fear, in her voice.

“You do believe it,” he answered with conviction.

She raised her hands with something of her old imperious grace, and laid them on his arms, freeing herself with a single gesture.

“And all those years ago,” she said, “when you made me believe you had been trifling with me–“

“I lied!” said Hone. “It was the hardest thing I ever did. But something had to be done. I did it to save you suffering.”

She turned abruptly from him, moving blindly, till groping, she found the mantelpiece, and leaned upon it. Then, her back to him, she spoke:

“And you succeeded in breaking my heart.”

A sudden silence fell. Hone stood motionless, his hands fallen to his sides. The dull roar of the streets beat up through the stillness like the roar of a distant sea, bringing to mind a night long, long ago when first he had met his little princess, when first the gay charm of her personality had been cast upon him.