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Her hurried toilet completed, Myra with trembling fingers cautiously opened the bedroom door and peeped out. The rocky corridor was deserted, no sound came from the great cave, and the whole place seemed almost uncannily silent. With an effort of will Myra mastered her panic and tiptoed silently along the corridor towards the outer hall.
"And you are the most exasperatingly dull man," Myra retorted, still half-laughing, half-crying. "Oh, Tony, my dear, take care of me and love me terribly if you want to keep me. Hold me fast and grapple me to you with hooks of steel, or you will lose me." She almost hurled herself into Tony's arms, buried her face in his shoulder, and burst into tears.
His professional instincts had told him that unless something could be done something which the highest medical skill in London had thus far been unable to devise Myra Duquesne had but four hours to live. Somewhere in his mind a memory lurked, evasive, taunting him.
"Dearest Myra!" "It is so, Endymion. Let us deceive ourselves no longer. I ought not to have rested until you were in a position which would have made you a master of your destiny." "But if there should be such a thing as destiny, it will not submit to the mastery of man."
It stated that the writer had returned to Chestnut Hall, after the death of the faithful Myra, and that she was now living alone with the negro attendants, in the home of her childhood; that she was betrothed to a man who held the rank of major in the Continental army. This man, she wrote, had been badly wounded the spring before in a skirmish with Arnold's raiders, near her home.
"I am afraid of nothing!" interrupted Myra, exasperated beyond measure; and immediately she regretted the impulsive words. "So you will prove the fact by keeping your promise to come to Spain as my guest?" queried Don Carlos quickly.
At the door, she was received by the proprietress, a stately lady in black satin, wearing a double row of large jet beads, who reminded her instantly of all Lord Ingleby's maiden aunts. She seemed an accentuated, dignified, concentrated embodiment of them all; and Myra longed for Billy, to share the joke. "Aunt Ingleby" requested Mrs. O'Mara to walk in, and hoped she had had a pleasant journey.
Full of his successful quest, he offered with eager triumph the flowers to Adriana, without casting a glance at her new companion. "Beautiful!" exclaimed Adriana, and she stopped to admire and arrange them. "See, dear Myra, is not this lovely? How superior to anything in our glass-houses!" Myra took the flower and examined it.
He wondered if Myra knew of her husband's borrowing. If she had any inkling of the truth, how would she feel? For he knew that Myra was proud, sensitive, independent in spirit far beyond her capacity for actual independence. If she even suspected his identity, the borrowing of that money would surely sting her. But Hollister put that notion aside.
That shadowy phantasm that recruiting sergeant's plea that political abstraction that is flung in one's face along with other platitudes from every platform," Myra broke out passionately. "What does it really mean? What did it mean to us? Men going out to die. Women at home crying, eating their hearts out with loneliness, going bad now and then in recklessness, in desperation.
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