"Lady Lysson," he said, in an under tone to the speaker, "you should not accuse me, for here have I been taking care of one of your strayed lambs, which has singularly intrigued me! I fail to discover my fair friend; pray, present me to her." He had risen to Lady Lysson as she spoke; when he turned round again, the place beside him was vacant! The domino had glided away, like a phantom. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed, "where is she?"
"That lady beside you when we came up? She rose, and walked hurriedly away when I spoke to you."
"But she is one of your party! She had a rose on her breast!" he cried in amazement.
"Pardon me, this is some error. All my party is safe here," (she looked round on the two behind her, Lady Dora and Lord Randolph, who were conversing together,) "or up in the box. Your eyes have deceived you."
"Nay, I will not admit that; for though she persisted in speaking French, her accent was English, though evidently disguised, and she knew you all, and inquired about you, by name!"
"Oh!" laughed the lady, "I dare say it was one of our attendants, who, with the true spirit of intrigue, has borrowed our disguise to amuse herself at your expense."
"It was no servant," he emphatically said. And his wonder increased, the more he thought of it.
"Come, leave off puzzling about your incognita. I should have deemed you trop Français to be scared by an intrigue de bal masqué. Come, Mr. Tremenhere," she lowered her voice, "I have a favour to ask—something to command," she added, smiling. "I made this party to-night, knowing that my nephew would be here, and knowing also, that the laws of these balls forbid serious acts—I mean angry ones——In good honest truth, you must shake hands. He declares, that whatever you may have against him, he is as ever kindly disposed towards you, and whatever your quarrel, of the cause of which I am innocent, let me beg of you, for my friendship sake towards both, to shake hands, forget, and forgive."
"Tremenhere," cried Lord Randolph, coming forward with a hand out, and candour unmistakable on his brow, "I see my aunt is urging you; come, give me your hand, and a grasp in friendship. On my soul you wronged me, and from my soul I pity you!" He glanced upwards at the black band on Miles's hat. This latter fixed his deep eyes on him, and in that glance he read the other's inmost soul; no, guilt could never wear that look! Lord Randolph he had thought led away by passion to commit an unworthy act, for he knew he was no cold-blooded villain. A still, small voice had been some time whispering to him, that look—the calm, unblenching, feeling expression on the other's face brought a cold, grey light of despair to his heart, like that of early winter's dawn, when, for the first time by day, we look upon a loved face, whose spirit had fled by torch-light.
"I believe you!" he uttered, in a husky voice, grasping his hand. "Let us forget it." There was something so broken-hearted in the tone, that Lord Randolph felt his bosom swell—something choked him; for he was a man, as we have seen, of feeling.