She had carried her coquetry cruelly far, for she had won his whole heart, and had left him only just sense enough to suffer and regret.
So false and yet so fair. Oh! why had he not been warned in time? He could have given her up easily in the first days. Now, although he knew all her perfidy, and believed her to have neither conscience nor feeling, he could not drag his love up by the roots, although it must needs be his sorrow and shame. When she passed her arm through the man’s, with a few soft words he could not catch, and they moved away together, Colonel Dacre did not follow.
He was too honorable to seek to surprise their confidence, and, moreover, he was afraid of himself. If he met this man face to face he should kill him like a dog, for the old Cain was rampant in him at the moment, and he felt that his only chance was flight.
With a few bounds he reached the open space in front of the house, dashed through the gate, and hurried back to the Sun. He ordered something to be cooked for his supper, in order that he might not be disturbed just yet and then he shut himself in his own room—out of temptation’s way—thank Heaven for that! for it made him tremble to think how near he had been that night to committing a terrible crime.
When the fowl was ready, it was necessary to go down, and make a pretense of eating—of course. The landlord waited on him himself, and as he removed the cover, with a flourish, he said:
“You were asking if her ladyship was at the Grange, sir, this afternoon——”
“Well?” exclaimed Colonel Dacre, turning sharply round in his eagerness.
“I have ascertained that she arrived to-day.”
Colonel Dacre could not answer for a minute, he felt as if he were choking. He began to carve the fowl to gain time; and, having divided every joint, and distributed the pieces over the dish for mine host to hand round to some imaginary guest, he managed to say at last, with well-feigned indifference:
“Indeed; I suppose she came alone?”