A bland and courtly smile was upon his face, and he handed the occupants of the carriage up the steps, with the air of a sovereign prince, graciously condescending to an act of rare and unexampled courtesy.
From the moment that he had appeared, Ada had never taken her eyes from off his face; she seemed like one fascinated by the basilisk eyes of a serpent, and, with a wild rush of mingled feelings, which she could neither define nor understand, she watched each varying expression of that cold, pale, haughty countenance that wore upon its surface so hollow and so artificial a smile.
Learmont was one step below the Honourable Lady he was handing by the extreme tips of her fingers, into his house, when the officer, in what he thought a whisper, said to Ada,—
“That’s him.”
The guilty heart of Learmont throbbed even at this trifling remark, for it did reach his ears, and he turned suddenly to see who had uttered it, when his eyes met Ada’s, and for the space of about one moment they looked full at each other.
The look on Ada’s part was one of intense and indescribable interest and curiosity, but on Learmont’s, it was that concentrated soul-stricken glare, with which a person might be supposed to regard for about a breathing space, some awful blasting spectre, ere nature gathers strength to scream.
A wild unearthly cry burst from his lips, and he stretched out his hands towards her as he ascended the steps backwards, crying, or rather shrieking,—
“Off—off—off—”
Then as he reached the top he reeled into the hall of his house, and was caught by his servants as he fell insensible from the overwrought agony of his mind.