The girl brought a second cup of tea, which Ida drank eagerly.
"Now, leave me, Nora," she said, "and do not come again until I ring for you."
With trembling hands, Ida placed the money in her bosom, drew the black cloak over her shoulders, and hurried into the grounds.
Trembling with a vague apprehension, she sped by a path that was seldom used down to the brook-side.
"True to your tryst!" said a well-known voice. "Fairest, cleverest of women, how can I thank you enough for your promptness?"
She stood still, cold as marble, her face ghastly white in the flickering light of the stars.
"Have you no word for me?" he cried, with a harsh, derisive laugh. "Have you no smile, no kiss, no kind word? Have you nothing to say to me? You have no love, no light of welcome in your eyes, and yet you loved me so dearly once, my sweet Ida? Do you remember? And now——"
"You mocking demon!" she panted, "how dare you utter such words to me? I wonder you are not afraid that Heaven will strike you dead where you stand!"
"Heaven strike me dead?" he repeated. "What a horrible idea! Afraid? Oh, no, my dear. You are the first charming creature I ever saw who flew into such a rage because her husband was pleased to be sentimental to her."