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I cannot think there can be anything seriously wrong with dear father," said Rosamund. "But, of course, after mother's telegram I must go." Accordingly, a reply stating the hour of Rosamund's arrival at Paddington was wired back to London, and shortly afterwards the girl went up to her own room to pack a few things.
For a moment Rosamund stared at the boxes, then suddenly she closed her eyes, and taking them up at hazard, stretched out her arms, leaning forward over the edge of the dais. Thereon, calmly enough the brethren took, each of them, the box that was nearest to him, that in Rosamund's left hand falling to Godwin and that in her right to Wulf. Then she opened her eyes again, stood still, and watched.
Dickinson gently, but decisively, took the music case from Rosamund's hand with an "I'll carry that home for you"; a thin man, like an early primrose obliged by some inadvertence of spring to work for its living, sidled up and begged for the name of "your most beautiful and chaste second encore for our local paper, the 'Welsley Whisperer'"; and Mrs.
They obeyed, and there upon the breast of one of them, burnt into his skin, was the symbol of the blood-red dagger. Now Saladin saw, and beckoned the brethren aside. "How knew you of this?" he asked, searching them with his piercing eyes. "Masouda, the lady Rosamund's waiting woman, warned us that you, lord, and we, were to be murdered tonight by eight men, so we made ready."
He was actually, after his fashion, courteous, it could be said of him, except that his mind was too visibly possessed by distant matters for Rosamund's taste, she being accustomed to drawing-room and hunting and military gentlemen, who can be all in the words they utter.
"Well, of course all this sort of thing is it's very far away from Rosamund." "You don't mean to say you doubt Mrs. Clarke?" "No, but " "Surely if she's innocent she's as good as any other woman." "I know, but I suppose it's like this: there are different ways of being good, and perhaps Mrs. Clarke's way isn't Rosamund's. In fact, we know it isn't."
"From the little I have seen of Rosamund, she seems to be a very amiable and clever girl," she said. "She evidently has a great deal of strength of character, and cannot help coming to the front. We must be patient with her, Lucy." Lucy felt a greater ache than ever at her heart. She was certain that Miss Archer was already captivated by Rosamund's charms. What was she to do?
But when the next morning came, and she saw the carriage arrive at the door, and perceived Rosamund's trunks being put on the roof, she suddenly woke to the fact that the strong influence of her life during the last couple of months had come to a complete end; that Rosamund, the strong, the vivacious, the daring, the noble, was leaving her.
Not a word could he recover of what she had spoken before Rosamund's intervention. He fancied she must have related details of her journey.
The girl gave a laugh, flung herself into a chair, then drew herself a little closer, and stared full at Rosamund. "Never mind mother," she said. "Who are you?" "My name is Rosamund Cunliffe," was Rosamund's reply. She spoke steadily. There was a certain calm about her voice which seemed to exercise a beneficent influence over the queer girl. "And my name is Irene Ashleigh.
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