Calvert of Strathore

by Abbe Carter Goodloe

But she only shook her head. "I have no hope that he loves me still."

"Shall I tell him of this strange plan, of the cruel position you find yourself in? I can prepare him——"

"No," she said, in a low tone, "I—I will see him myself and at once."

She sat quiet and thoughtful for the rest of the drive until the coach drew up before the Legation. After the first fear and despair had passed, a wave of happiness swept over her that made her blush and then pale as it ebbed. Perhaps, after all, his love for her might not be dead; at all events a curious fate had brought it about that she should see him again and hear him speak and learn for herself if he loved her. She remembered, with a sudden shock, the words she had spoken at Azay-le-Roi—that should she change her mind it would be she who would ask him to marry her. She could have laughed aloud with joy to think that fate had played her such a trick. She remembered with a sort of shamed wonder the proud condescension with which she had treated him. She felt now as if she could fling herself before him on her knees and beg him to give her back his love. But did he still love her? At the thought an icy pang of apprehension and fear seized her, and her heart almost stopped beating. It was not alone her own happiness that was at stake, but a life that she held dear, too, was in the hands of one whom she had misprized, to whom she had shown no pity or tenderness.

"I will go up with you to the library, where I think we shall find Calvert, and then I will leave you," said Mr. Morris as the coach stopped.

They went up the broad stairway together and Mr. Morris knocked at the library door. A voice answered "Come," and he entered, leaving Adrienne in the shadow of the archway. A bright fire was burning on the open hearth and before it sat Calvert. He looked ill, and his left arm and shoulder were bandaged and held in a sling. He wore no coat—indeed, he could get none over the bandages—and the whiteness of his linen and the bright flame of the fire made him look very pale. At Mr. Morris's entrance he glanced up smiling and made an effort to go toward him.

"Don't move, my boy," said Mr. Morris, hastily—"I have brought someone to see you. She—she is here," and motioning Adrienne to enter, he went out, softly closing the door behind him.

For an instant Calvert could not see who his visitor was, for, though the firelight was bright, the room was much in shadow from the grayness of the afternoon and the heavy hangings at the long windows. As the young girl came forward, however, he recognized her in spite of her extreme pallor and the change which two years and a half had wrought. Concealing, as best he could, the shock of surprise and the sudden faintness which attacked him at her unexpected presence (for he was still very weak and ill), he bowed low and placed a chair for her. But she shook her head and remained standing beside a little table in the centre of the room, one hand resting upon it for support. She was so agitated, and so fearful lest Calvert should notice it and guess its true cause, that she summoned all her pride and old imperiousness to her aid. Looking at her so, he wondered how it was that Mr. Morris had found her so softened. Looking at him so, weak and ill and hurt for one she loved, she could have thrown herself at his feet and kissed his wounded arm. It was with difficulty she commanded her voice sufficiently to speak.

"I am come, Mr. Calvert," she said, at length, hurriedly, and in so constrained a tone that he could scarcely hear her, "I am come on an errand for which the sole excuse is your own nobility. Had you not already risked your life for my brother, I could not dare to ask this still greater sacrifice. Indeed, I think I cannot, as it is," she said, clasping her hands and suddenly turning away.

Calvert was inexpressibly surprised by this exhibition of deep emotion in her. He had never seen her so moved before. "There is nothing I would not do for d'Azay, believe me," he said, earnestly. "I had hoped to avert this danger from him, but, unfortunately, I fear I have only postponed it. Is there anything I can do? If so, tell me what it is."