She answered with a low, throbbing whinny. She could not understand why he desired her to gallop on, braving unknown terrors in the dark; all she could know was that it was his wish. It seemed also that he was pleased with her. She would have cantered on again, but he made her walk for, perhaps, another five minutes, until they were come to a stretch of common he knew well. It was getting late, and he pressed her with his knee, adjuring her to do her best, and urging her to a gallop, leaning right forward, the better to pierce the darkness ahead. A gorse bush loomed before them, and Jenny shied at it, redoubling her pace.
With hand and voice he soothed her, and on they sped. He judged the time to be now about half-past eight, and knew that they must make the remaining miles in an hour. Even now the coach might have arrived, and beyond that he dared not think.
Another half-hour crept by, and he could feel the mare’s breath coming short and fast, and reined in again, this time to a canter. He was off the moor now, on a road he remembered well, and knew himself to be not ten miles from Wyncham. Five more miles as the crow flies. … He knew he must give Jenny another rest, and pulled up, dismounting and going to her head.
Her legs were trembling, and the sweat rolled off her satin skin. She dropped her nose into his hand, sobbingly. He rubbed her ears and patted her, and she lipped his cheek lovingly, breathing more easily.
Up again then, and forward once more, skimming over the ground.
Leaving Wyncham on his right, Carstares cut west and then northwest, on the highroad now, leading to Andover. Only two more miles to go. …
Jenny stumbled again and broke into a walk. Her master tapped her shoulder, and she picked up her stride again.
She was almost winded, and he knew it, but he had to force her onwards. She responded gallantly to his hand, although her breath came sobbingly and her great, soft eyes were blurred.
At last the great iron gates were in view; he could see them through the dusk, firmly shut. He pulled up and walked on, looking for a place in the hedge where Jenny might push through.
XXVII
My Lord Enters by the Window
His Grace of Andover made a sign to the footmen, and with a sinking heart Diana watched them leave the room, discreetly closing the door behind them. She affected to eat a peach, skinning it with fingers that were stiff and wooden. Tracy leaned back in his chair, surveying her through half-shut eyelids. He watched her eat her peach and rise to her feet standing with her hand on the back of the high, carved chair. She addressed him nervously and with would-be lightness.
“Well, sir, I have eaten, and I protest I am fatigued. Pray have the goodness to conduct me to your housekeeper.”
“My dear,” he drawled, “nothing would give me greater pleasure—always supposing that I possessed one.”
She raised her eyebrows haughtily.
“I presume you have at least a maidservant,” she inquired. “If I am to remain here, I would retire.”
“You shall, child, all in good time. But do not be in a hurry to deprive me of your fair company.” He rose as he spoke, and taking her hand, led her dumbly to a low-backed settee at the other end of the great room.
“If you have aught to say to me, your Grace, I beg that you will reserve it until tomorrow. I am not in the humour tonight.”
He laughed at her.
“Still so cold, child?”
“I am not like to be different, sir.”
His eyes glinted.
“You think so? I shall show you that you are wrong, my dear. You may loathe me, you may love me, but I think you will lose something of that icy indifference. Allow me to point out to you that there is a couch behind you.”
“I perceive it, sir.”
“Then be seated.”
“It is not worth the while, sir. I am not staying.” He advanced one step towards her with that in his face that made her sink hurriedly on to the couch.
He nodded smiling.
“You are wise, Diana.”
“Why so free with my name, sir?” This with icy sweetness.
Tracy flung himself down beside her, his arm over the back of the settee and the fingers of his drooping hand just touching her shoulder. It was all the girl could do to keep from screaming. She felt trapped and helpless, and her nerve was in pieces.
“Nay, sweet! An end to this quibbling. Bethink you, is it worth your while to anger me?”
She sat rigid and silent.
“I love you—ay, you shudder. One day you will not do that.”
“You call this love, your Grace?” she cried out, between scorn and misery.
“Something near it,” he answered imperturbably.
“God help you then!” she shivered, thinking of one other who had loved her so differently.
“Belike He will,” was the pleasant rejoinder. “But we wander from the point. It is this: you shall retire to your chamber at once—er—armed with the key—an you will swear to marry me tomorrow.”
Very white, she made as if to rise. The thin fingers closed over her shoulders, forcing her to remain.
“No, my dear. Sit still.”
Her self-control was slipping away from her; she struggled to be free of that hateful hand.
“Oh, you brute, you brute! Let me go!”
“When you have given me your answer, sweetheart.”
“It is no!” she cried. “A thousand times no!”
“Think. …”
“I have thought! I would rather die than wed you!”
“Very possibly. But death will not be your lot, my pretty one,” purred the sinister voice in her ear. “Think carefully before
