“Then if you wish me success,” he replied, “you must send me out with some guerdon of your favor.” And this time she did not resist. He drew her to him and kissed her thrice. Then she escaped from him and took refuge on the other side of the fireplace.
“You must not do that again,” she said, biting her lip and trying to look at him reproachfully. “At any rate, you have had your guerdon now. When you come back a victor I will crown you. But until then we are friends only. You understand, sir?”
And, though he demurred, he presently said he understood.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE LETTERS IN THE CUPBOARD.
When Stephen Clode left the Town House after his interview with Laura, he was in a state of exaltation—lifted completely out of his ordinary cool and calculating self by what had happened. It was raining, but he had gone some distance before he remarked it, and even then he did not at once put up his umbrella, but strode along through the darkness, his thoughts in a whirl of triumph and excitement. The crisis had come suddenly, but he had not been found unequal to it. He had gone in through the gates despondent, and come out in joy. He had pitted himself against his rival, and had had the best of it. He had wooed, and, almost in spite of his mistress, had won!
He did not for the first few moments consider whether his altercation with the rector was likely to have unpleasant consequences, nor did he trouble himself about the manner in which he was to do Laura’s bidding. Such considerations would come later—with the reaction. For the present they did not occur to him. It was enough that Laura might be his—that she never could be the rector’s.
He felt the need, in his present excited mood, of some one to speak to, and instead of turning into his own lodgings he passed on to the reading-room, a large, barely furnished room, looking upon the top of the town, and used as a club by the leading townsfolk and a few of the local magnates who lived near. He entered it, and, to his surprise, found the archdeacon seated under the naked gas-burners, interested in the “Times.” The sight filled him with astonishment, for it was seldom the county members used the room after sunset.
“Why, Mr. Archdeacon,” he said—his tongue naturally hung loose at the moment, and a bonhomie, difficult to assume at another time, came easily to him now—“what in the world brings you here at this hour?”
The archdeacon laid down his paper. “Upon my word I think I was half asleep,” he said. “I am in for the ‘Free Foresters’’ supper. I thought the hour was half-past six, and came into town accordingly, whereas I find it is half-past seven. I have been here the best part of three-quarters of an hour killing time.”
“But I thought that the rector always said grace for the ‘Free Foresters,’ the curate answered in some surprise.