“I’m glad you know them!” he said, musingly. “They occurred to me just now—when——”
He broke off abruptly.
“Come!” he repeated. “We shall not see this place again for a couple of months—perhaps longer. And—the sooner we get away the better!”
“Why?” asked Diana, surprised.
“Why?” and a curious half-frowning expression darkened his brows. “You must wait to know why! You will not have to wait long!”
He signed to her to keep close behind him; and together they moved like phantom figures through the rosy mist that enveloped them, till, at the touch of his wizard hand, the door swung upwards to give them egress and descended again noiselessly as they passed out. The corridor, previously dark, was now dimly lit, but it was more a matter of groping than seeing, and Diana was glad when they reached the pleasantly warm and well-illumined hall of the house. There he turned and faced her.
“Now, not a word!” he said, with imperative sharpness. “Not a word of what you have seen, or—dreamed—to my mother! Say good-night to her, and go!”
She lifted her eyes to his in something of wonder and protest,—but obeyed his gesture and went straight into the drawing-room where Madame Dimitrius sat as usual, quietly knitting.
“I am to bid you good-night!” she said, smiling, as she knelt down for a moment by the old lady’s chair. “Dear, your son is very cross!—and I’m going to bed!”
Madame Dimitrius gazed upon her in utter amazement and something of fear. The face uplifted to hers was so radiant and fair that for a moment she was speechless, and the old hands that held the knitting trembled. Remembering her son’s command in good time, she made a strong effort to control herself, and forced a smile.