“You are going, Jacqueline? There is no more to be said?”
“I told my aunt that I was going to church. I think I had better go. But afterward, if you will walk to the hotel with me, you may stay to luncheon, and in the afternoon you may take me out on the lagoon again. Then you shall tell me everything–just what you have done, and just what you have failed to do. And perhaps–perhaps, I may recall you from the task that you have undertaken for me.”
“Jacqueline,” I stammered with joy, “you mean–you mean that you may marry me without regard to this foolish promise of yours to the duke?”
“I mean,” she answered slowly, “that I must know everything–everything. Then I may be better able to judge just what I ought to do, what I wish to do.”
“I shall wait for you at the church door. I must first go to my rooms to make myself presentable. Heavens, Jacqueline, if you could know the relief I feel at abandoning this mad search. It has been a nightmare; but now we shall go out into the blessed sunshine again.”
“But, Dick,” she said wistfully, “you will need to plead very eloquently this afternoon to convince me that I may withdraw my word to Duke da Sestos. If only it had been possible to find that wretched casket! I shall look for you after church.”
I watched her disappear within the doorway. In half an hour I had been to my rooms and returned. I slipped into a pew at the rear of the church. I wished to think–to dream. It seemed incredible that the search was ended. What would St. Hilary say when he knew that I had abandoned it? And, strange as it may seem, already I was vaguely sorry. Could I watch St. Hilary steadily going on with the search and be quite indifferent as to his success or failure? Should I never have regrets that I had not kept at it a little longer? Then I looked at Jacqueline, kneeling devoutly a few pews in front of me, and I smiled joyfully. No, with Jacqueline as my wife, I had no need of the excitement of a fool’s errand.
Out of the stillness of my thoughts, as if from afar off, the text of the preacher fell on my ears, unheeding and yet strangely receptive. The text was twice repeated. It was sufficiently fantastic in itself, but to me it was the finger of fate.
It was pointing to the hiding-place of the da Sestos casket.