“Of course. You asked me last week, and said you would come for me.”
He was at a loss. This dainty little girl was talking like some practiced woman of the world, or was it sheer innocence?
Then he was swept away, and all moderation left him. He gathered her from the wall and seized her roughly in his arms.
“Daphne, my darling, come. We will fly together, over the blue seas, and love each other dearly, and no one shall come between us. It will be all Heaven, and you shall be my angel, my Love! My Queen!”
The hours sped by in the soft velvet night, and he took her by the hand, and led her to the town. His senses came to him, and his quick mind saw the danger. She would be missed, and a search made. He went to his hotel, but not to the front door. He had brought a young fellow from his estate to look after him, Southgate, son of a publican, who had some training as a valet. He had taken him with him before and knew his loyalty and discretion.
He roused him up from the servants’ quarters.
“Go to the King’s Head down the street, and hire a trap. Mention no name except a false one, and say it is an urgent case—an accident. Here is money. You can return the trap tomorrow evening. Bring it to the Cross by the London Road. Hurry, mind, and don’t arouse any suspicion.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the valet, who was used to his master’s vagaries.
Desmond led Carlotta down the silent street, and waited at the Cross. She was quiet, and filled with pure happiness and trust. She had yielded herself to this man absolutely, and for ever. The die was cast, and she was content.
They drove off into the night, and he held her in his arms where she slept like a tired child.