“Well, I only tell you the truth,” she responded, with a slight sigh. “If every woman must love at one time in her life, there must of course be some exceptions. I am one of them.”
“Ah, you do yourself an injustice?” I declared. “Every woman has a heart.”
She was silent. Then, in a hard strained voice, she answered—
“True; but mine is like stone.”
“Why? What has hardened it?”
“Ah, no!” she cried quickly. “You are always, trying to learn my secret, but I can never tell you—never! Let us go in.” And, without another word, she passed through the French windows into the billiard-room, where the usual game of pool was in progress and the merry chatter was general.
Like that of her cousin, her nature was a complex one. The more I strove to understand her the more utterly hopeless the analysis became. I loved her—nay, in all the world there was but one woman for my eyes. Superb in beauty and in grace, she was incomparable—perfect.
That night, when the household was at rest, I still sat smoking in my room, puzzled over the curious recurrence of the sensation which seized all who entered the lethal chamber in London. The turret-clock over the stables had chimed half-past one, yet I felt in no mood to turn in. The writing of that hasty note by Beryl was an incident which I had forgotten, but which now came back to me. What if I could discover its nature? She had written it upon the blotting-pad in Sir Henry’s study, and the thought occurred to me that I might, perhaps, discover the impression there.
With that object I placed a box of matches in my pocket, switched off my light, and crept in the darkness noiselessly along the corridor. The carpeting was thick, and, being without slippers, I stole along without a sound past the door of Beryl’s room, and down the great oaken staircase into the hall.
I had crossed the latter, and had my hand upon the green baize door which kept out the draught of the corridors, and was about to open it, when of a sudden my quick ear caught a sound. In an instant I halted, straining my ears to listen. In the stillness of the night, and especially in the darkness, every sound becomes exaggerated and distorted. I stood there not daring to breathe.