"George, and nothing but George! I forbid you to speak so of this Winterfeld in my presence. You will never be his wife--never, I tell you--at least, while I live."
The young girl drew herself erect. She was indignant at, rather than daunted by, his extreme vehemence. "Uncle Arno, you are horribly, cruelly unjust. You----"
Suddenly she stopped. Her eyes met his, and the ardent consuming fire in them seemed to scorch her with its intense glow. It was not the blaze of hatred, nor of anger. There was suffering in that look, fierce, wild pain stimulated almost to madness. Gabrielle pressed both hands on her bosom. She felt as though breath and consciousness were forsaking her; then, vivid as lightning, with a blinding, stupefying shock, the truth flashed upon her. She grew deadly pale, and caught at the back of the chair as though for support.
This movement of hers in some measure restored the Baron to himself. He saw the great paleness which overspread her features, and attributed it in some measure to fear aroused by his violence. This man, accustomed to the severest self-control, had, probably for the first time in his life, allowed himself to be carried beyond bounds. He felt this, and by a supreme effort of his will endeavoured to master his agitation. A deep and painful silence followed; a silence which weighed on both, but which neither ventured to break. Raven had gone up to the window, and, with his fevered brow pressed against the panes, remained gazing out into the misty landscape. Gabrielle still stood motionless in her place.
"I have alarmed you with my vehemence," said the Baron at last, without turning round. "Such matters require to be discussed quietly, and we are neither of us in a fitting frame of mind just now. To-morrow, later on, perhaps----Leave me, Gabrielle."
She obeyed, walking with bowed head to the door, but there she paused. Again, as on the preceding evening, she felt, without seeing it, the look which rested on her; and again, as then, she was constrained by some mysterious attraction to meet that look. Raven had, indeed, turned, and was following her with his eyes.
"One thing more," he said--his voice was completely under control now, but it had a dull unnatural sound--"not a word, not a line to him. I will speak to him myself."
Gabrielle left the room, and returned to her mother's apartments. The Baroness, who was a late riser, had but just completed her morning toilet. On going into the breakfast-room, she missed her daughter, who was generally there before her, and was about to inquire of the servants as to the reason of her absence when the young girl herself appeared.
"Why, child, where have you been all this time? Not out of doors, I hope, in such miserable weather. You would take a dreadful cold, wandering about in that light morning dress. But you look quite pale and disturbed! Has anything happened?"
"No, mamma," said her daughter, in a low, half-stifled voice.