CHAPTER XVI. THE CLOVEN HOOF
Sir Ralph Westleigh was in the storehouse, Maggie Stone was gossiping with Dame Trigget, and Beatrix was alone by the fire when Captain d'Antons rapped on the cabin door, and entered without waiting for a summons. He was dressed in his bravest suit and finest boots. After closing the door behind him, he bowed low to the girl at the farther end of the room. She instantly stood up and curtseyed with a deal of grace, but no warmth whatever.
"My father is not in, Captain d'Antons," she said.
He smiled and approached her with every show of deference.
"Ah, mademoiselle," he murmured, "I have not come to see the good baronet. I have come to learn my fate from the dearest lips in the world."
The girl blushed crimson, with a tumult of emotions that almost forced the tears past her lids. Fear, hate, and a reckless joy at the thought that she was done with pretence struggled in her heart. She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat, and accomplished nothing but a dry sob.
D'Antons' eyes shone with ardour. The hope which had been somewhat clouded of late flashed clear again. "Beatrix," he cried, softly, "I have wooed you long. Is it not that I have won at last beyond peradventure? Do not deny it, my sweet." He caught her to him, and attempted to kiss her bright lips; but, with a low cry and a quite unexpected display of strength, she wrenched herself from his embrace. She did not try to leave the room. She did not call for help. She faced him, with flashing eyes and angry cheeks and clinched hands.
The fellow stood uncertain for a moment, showing his chagrin and amazement like any country clown. But his recovery was quick. His mouth took on a thin smile; his eyes darkened with sinister shadows. He looked the girl coolly up and down. He laughed softly.