"Amy, I must tell you what I think. There--was--murder--in that look!"
Pearl's eyes grew round with fear. She hurt Amy's arm as she whispered these words.
"I felt it--I knew it," she added, "and it was the suddenness, Amy, of this overwhelming, positive knowledge that made me faint away."
"Hush, dear, hush!" replied Amy, putting both arms round her. "You are excited and nervous. Your nerves are unstrung. You know they never have been quite normal since your illness. You are apt, darling, to fancy and exaggerate things. You are thoroughly upset, Pearl. He simply looked angry and surprised, dear, as well he might, for, of course, he is ignorant of your engagement to Stanislas. Seeing you together in the hut--and--and--so affectionate--must have been his first inkling of anything out of the common."
"Amy," exclaimed Pearl, unlocking the girl's arms from about her waist, "you are not speaking the truth, and you know it. Don't you understand that I, who have known Lord Martinworth for so many years, have learnt by heart every look of his eyes, every expression of his features. And do you for a moment suppose that I have ever seen that look, or anything like it, on his face before? Never! And I pray God I may never see it again. If I do, I know there can be no possible escape for me. For as surely as I am standing in this room, Dick Martinworth will kill me!"
At these tragic words Amy gave a little cry and her lips grew pale. Both women lapsed into gloomy silence, while Amy--once more placing her arms tenderly round her cousin, drew her out on to the verandah. They watched the moon in all her glory, lighting up with mystic glow mountains and woods and silent lake. The soft, mild light seemed to have a soothing effect upon Pearl's storm-tossed mind, for after a time she spoke more calmly.
"Of course," she said, with a long-drawn sigh, "it was very, very wrong of me, just because I was upset--half mad with fear--to behave as I did to poor innocent Stanislas. I cannot now understand how I could have called him--Stanislas--of all men--a coward. How I could have said those wicked things about his--killing--killing the other one. I did not know, Amy, I had it in me to be so hard, so unjust, so--so cruel. But lately I have discovered more than one detestable trait in my character unguessed before. Oh, dear, if you only knew how I hate and scorn myself, how cordially sometimes I wish I were dead!"
"If," replied Amy, alarmed at this fresh outburst, and speaking in her most calm and composed manner, "if you do not intend that Monsieur de Güldenfeldt should carry out your wish of killing Lord Martinworth, you had better perhaps, let him know without further delay that you have changed your mind. I believe people even in these enlightened days, still sometimes fight duels."
Pearl looked startled, then she sighed wearily, but made no reply. As the evening wore on she grew calmer and more collected. But she did not again refer to the subject, and by the time Amy left her, all traces of excitement and tears had vanished.
Stanislas de Güldenfeldt had returned home feeling thoroughly upset and distressed. Making every allowance that he reasonably could for the temporary excitement of an hysterical woman, he still found it difficult not to feel wounded at Pearl's behaviour, so uncalled-for and inconsiderate. Of late, he had more than once noticed an irritability and fractiousness of disposition, which before her illness had certainly been unknown to him. But this was the first time he had been treated to such an outburst as that which followed the unfortunate meeting with Lord Martinworth. Even that, considering the circumstances, he would have freely forgiven, for he knew that women suffered from a malady called nerves, and at such times they were apt to do and say strange things. What however, he found it difficult to pardon and indeed to comprehend, was not only her air of chilly reserve, but the persistent ill-temper that Pearl had exhibited in the boat and even up to the actual moment of their parting on the shore.