“I have told Mrs. Gordon that I must see you alone. You have avoided me all the evening–all the day–ever since Mr. Hume insulted me by denying that I had found the casket. And now that I have my opportunity it shall not escape me.”
“If my aunt has given you permission to detain me here against my will, she has gone beyond her right. That she is not waiting for me makes it still more necessary to descend.”
“You must not go. You will not be so cruel. You shall not go. You shall not go, by heaven until you have told mo why you refuse to listen to me!”
“Do you think that my regard for you will grow stronger because you detain me here against my will?” Jacqueline asked indignantly.
“My glorious one, you are beautiful when you are angry,” he cried passionately. “I do not forget that you are only a nun for the hour. Beneath those funereal robes beats a heart of passion and fire like mine. Like mine, do you hear? It is time you were wooed and won.”
“I hardly understand you, Duke da Sestos.”
Even now there was no fear in her voice.
“Oh, you understand, my white dove,” he continued in a tone that made my blood boil. “You understand perfectly. Even in America, I suppose, young girls do not climb towers alone at night without first of all counting the cost.”
I had heard quite enough. St. Hilary and his casket might go to the devil. I gathered up my cumbersome robes. St. Hilary, his black eyes glowing into mine a few feet away, made a fierce but cautious gesture to lie still If I did so it was not because of St. Hilary, but consideration for my own dignity. Jacqueline would never forgive me if I appeared now, I thought. And by his next words the duke seemed to have come to his senses at last.
“Heavens,” he cried despairingly, “I am mad! I have angered you. Forgive me. Say that you forgive me. You shall go when you have said that.”