She owned
the whole truth, without saying a word. She looked at him--
and then looked away again.
He drew her nearer to him. 'My own darling!' he whispered--
and kissed her. Softly and tremulously, the sweet lips lingered,
and touched his lips in return. Then her head drooped.
She put her arms round his neck, and hid her face on his bosom.
They spoke no more.
The charmed silence had lasted but a little while, when it was
mercilessly broken by a knock at the door.
Agnes started to her feet. She placed herself at the piano;
the instrument being opposite to the door, it was impossible,
when she seated herself on the music-stool, for any person
entering the room to see her face. Henry called out irritably,
'Come in.'
The door was not opened. The person on the other side of it asked
a strange question.
'Is Mr. Henry Westwick alone?'
Agnes instantly recognised the voice of the Countess. She hurried
to a second door, which communicated with one of the bedrooms.
'Don't let her come near me!' she whispered nervously. 'Good night,
Henry! good night!'
If Henry could, by an effort of will, have transported the Countess
to the uttermost ends of the earth, he would have made the effort
without remorse.
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