CHAPTER LIII.
For a single instant Bernardine felt her terror mastering her; it was certainly not an idle fear conjured up by her own excited brain.
The clock from an adjacent tower struck the hour of midnight as she stood there by the brookside, peering, with beating heart, among the dense shadow of the trees.
She gazed with dilated eyes. Surely it was her fancy. One of the shadows, which she had supposed to be a stunted tree, moved, crept nearer and nearer, until it took the form of a man moving stealthily toward her.
Bernardine's first impulse was to turn and fly; but her limbs seemed powerless to move.
Yes, it was a man. She saw that he was moving more quickly forward now, and in a moment of time he had reached her side, and halted directly before her.
"Ah!" he cried in a voice that had a very Frenchy accent. "I am delighted to see you, my dear lady. Fate has certainly favored me, or, perhaps, my note reached you and you are come in search of me. Very kind—very considerate. They are having a fine time up at the mansion yonder in your honor, of course. Knowing your penchant for lights, music, laughter, and admiration, I confess I am very much surprised to see that you have stolen a few minutes to devote to—me."
Bernardine realized at once that this stranger mistook her for some one else—some one who had expected to see him. She tried to wrench herself free from the steel-like grasp of his fingers, that had closed like a vise about her slender wrist; but not a muscle responded to her will, nor could she find voice to utter a single sound.
"Let us come to an understanding, my dear Mrs. Gardiner. I do not like this new move on your part."
It was then, and not till then, that Bernardine found her voice.