"Perhaps," said the captain, with a smile. "And now you may go to bed."
Jem, without further parley, slipped off the rope and the stockings, and, still in a maze of fear, cunning, and admiration, departed.
The captain lit another cigar, and sat smiling at his paper until the dawn crept up from the east.
"When rogues lie awake," says an old proverb, "let honest men beware!"
CHAPTER XIV.
A SUMMER STORM.
"Yes," said Leicester, staring at himself in his shaving-glass the morning after the dinner at Coombe Lodge. "That is the question. Do I love her? If not, why when I am awake do I think over every little trivial word she has spoken, recall every expression of her face that accompanied it; and also when I am asleep do I dream of her, see her face, with its deep, pure eyes, all through the night? If I asked Bertie he would say that I do love her, and yet to myself I distrust myself. I cannot bring myself to acknowledge that I, the selfish, egotistical Leicester, truly and madly love a girl, sweet faced, violet-eyed angel though she be. Madly I said; and madly it must be. It is not in me to do or feel anything by halves. I must be hot and eager in action, thought and emotion, notwithstanding my seeming frigidity. Now," and his handsome face frowned, candidly, "I hate Captain Howard Murpoint. It's wicked, I know it is, but I hate him in despite of my principles."
Just then came a knock at the door.