But Lord Linleigh, before this time to-morrow, had to hear something which startled even him, and he could boast of tolerably strong nerves.
CHAPTER XLVII.
THE DUKE'S PLAN.
That was surely the most silent and somber dinner-party ever held at the Castle. The four who sat down to the table owned to themselves that it was a terrible mistake—they ought to have had some stranger present, if only to break the ice. Even the servants wondered, as they looked from one grave face to another, what unusual cloud had fallen over their superiors. The duke looked as though years had passed over his head since morning, when he went riding away, the picture of a prosperous, genial, happy-hearted nobleman. His hair seemed to have grown grayer, the lines on his face deeper; the stately figure stooped as it had never done before; the star on his breast shone in mockery, and contrasted cruelly with the worn, haggard face above.
The duchess, in her superb dress of black velvet, with its point-lace and diamonds, looked unhappy. She had lost none of her dignity—women reserve that under the most trying circumstances—but there was a hesitation and faltering in her clear voice no one had ever heard before.
Lord Linleigh did his best to restore something like cheerfulness. The worst was over for him now; the story was told, and it was not given to men of his race to feel dull for long. They had the happy faculty of recovering from any blow, no matter how severe, in a marvelously short space of time. His confession was made, the story told, the worst known, and what had he to fear? Things would soon come right. He should take his beautiful wife to Linleigh, and their daughter would soon join them; the whole story would soon blow over, then who so happy as he? He was not troubled with any extra amount of conscience, with any keen sense of regret, so he told stories of his Indian life, and as far as possible tried to improve the general aspect of things.
Lady Estelle had, perhaps in all her life, never looked more beautiful. Her usual gentle languor had left her; there was a rich color on her fair face, a light in her eyes—she, too, was relieved. The ordeal she had dreaded for so many years was over at last—the punishment would follow. She read her father's face too accurately to doubt that; still, the worst was over.
Dinner was ended at last. The well-trained servants had quitted the dining-room, the door was closed, and then the duke, looking very grave, said:
"Her grace and myself have been talking over matters, and have decided upon a certain course of conduct. I shall be happy if it suits your views, if it does not, however deeply I may feel it, you must henceforth both be strangers to me."
Lady Estelle looked wistfully at him; but his face was stern, and she knew that just then all pleading would be vain.