Burgo's Romance

by T. W. Speight

Marchment had sprung to his feet, and his eyes had followed the direction of Burgo's when the latter's speech stopped suddenly short. At sight of that white-robed figure coming down he flung his cigarette away, and drew somewhat aside.

Dacia was always pale, but to-night, in her white peignoir, and by the dim light of the solitary lamp, she looked more like a phantom than a creature of flesh and blood.

"Oh, Mr. Brabazon," she cried with a sort of breathless eagerness, "I am so glad you are here--so glad to have an opportunity of telling you I won't stop now to ask you how it is I find you here; you can tell me that another time. What I want to say is, that in the course of yesterday afternoon (for this is Wednesday morning) Signor Sperani received a telegram, which I am nearly sure, although not able to speak positively, was sent by Lady Clinton. In any case, he has taken the landau and driven to the junction, a dozen miles away--the night mail does not stop at Oakbarrow--and although he has not yet returned, he may be here at any moment. My intention was to have sent you a message by Mrs. Sprowle, but I found that Sperani had taken the key of the underground passage with him."

"Then we may yet be in time to get clear away before his return," said Burgo. "For my uncle's sake I would fain avoid a scene, if it be possible to do so. I shall have much to tell you, Miss Roylance, later on. This is my friend, Mr. Marchment, to whose good offices I owe it that I am here. I was wondering how I could best find, the means of communicating with you, when you appeared. Fortune sometimes does one a good turn unexpectedly. Miss Roylance, my uncle will quit this roof within ten minutes from now, under the charge of Mr. Marchment and myself, and it is his most earnest wish that you should accompany him."

"I! Oh, Mr. Brabazon!" It was as though she had been suddenly transformed from some dim crepuscular phantom into a rosy young goddess of the dawn.

"Consider--think what it will be for you to stay on here alone, with Sperani and her ladyship, after my uncle is gone! He would plead with you himself were he not so feeble and our minutes here so few. But he has sent me to plead for him--would that I could do it with more eloquence, more fervour!" He paused, and drew a deep breath. His eyes were luminous with a love unconfessed in words. "You must go with us, indeed you must! I ask it for his sake--and my own."

She was trembling a little, but her eyes met his bravely; to Burgo it seemed as if they were searching his very soul. There was a pause long enough for half a dozen heart-beats, then Dacia said very gently: "Tell dear Sir Everard, please, that, since it is his wish, I will go with him. Five minutes at the most will see me ready to start."

As she turned to go back upstairs she had a glimpse of her lover's face--for that he was her lover now it would have been folly to deny. It was as the face of one transfigured. Her equable pulses were stirred as they had never been stirred before; the blood in her veins seemed to have been changed into wine--the wine of youth and love and happiness. She felt how good a thing it was to be alive.

Five minutes later everything was in readiness for a start. Marchment had been introduced to Sir Everard, and warmly greeted by him. Dacia had reappeared, habited in blue serge, and with no other luggage than a handbag, a waterproof, and an umbrella; and the baronet, with one of her hands clasped in his tenuous fingers, had said, with a tremulous smile: "My child, you have made me very happy by consenting to keep me company in my exile." Burgo and Marchment had drawn aside to consult as to the best mode of transporting Sir Everard from the house to the boat, for that he would have to be carried was a matter of course. Marchment had just said, with a smile: "There will be nothing for it but for Sir Everard to put his dignity in his pocket, and allow my fellows to carry him pick-a-back, turn and turn about. They are as strong as bulls, and will think nothing of it," when all there were startled into vivid life by a burst of deep hoarse-mouthed baying, intermixed with short, sharp barks and savage growls. It was the Italian's dogs, on guard in the courtyard, who had suddenly given tongue. But the clamour died down almost as quickly as it had arisen, as if the brutes had discovered that they had made a mistake. Then the sound of wheels was audible on the pebbled sweep, followed by the sudden pulling-up of some vehicle at the front door.

The eyes of Burgo and Dacia met. "It is Signor Sperani come back," said the girl in a low voice. Upon all present there was a sense as if something unforeseen were about to happen.