Free The Lion's Skin by Rafael Sabatini

help me for a fool!—that I thought I loved Lord Rotherby. And so——and so——"
    She sat down again, weakly, miserably, averting her face that she might hide her tears. He was touched, and he even went so far as to show something of his sympathy. He approached her again, and
laid a benign hand lightly upon her shoulder.
    "But—but—in that case—Oh, the damned villain!—why this mock-parson?"
    "Does your lordship not perceive? Must I die of shame? Do you not see?"
    "See? No!" He was thoughtful a second; then repeated, "No!"
    "I understood," she informed him, a smile—a cruelly bitter smile—lifting and steadying the corner of her lately quivering lip, "when he alluded to your lordship's straitened
circumstances. He has no disinheritance to fear because he has no inheritance to look for beyond the entail, of which you cannot disinherit him. My Lord Rotherby sets a high value upon himself. He
may—I do not know—he may have been in love with me—though not as I know love, which is all sacrifice, all self-denial. But by his lights he may have cared for me; he must have
done, by his lights. Had I been a lady of fortune, not a doubt but he would have made me his wife; as it was, he must aim at a more profitable marriage, and meanwhile, to gratify his love for
me—base as it was—he would—he would—O God! I cannot say it. You understand, my lord."
    My lord swore strenuously. "There is a punishment for such a crime as this."
    "Ay, my lord—and a way to avoid punishment for a gentleman in your son's position, even did I flaunt my shame in some vain endeavor to have justice—a thing he knew I never could have
done."
    My lord swore again. "He shall be punished," he declared emphatically.
    "No doubt. God will see to that," she said, a world of faith in her quivering voice.
    My lord's eyes expressed his doubt of divine intervention. He preferred to speak for himself. "I'll disown the dog. He shall not enter my house again. You shall not be reminded of what has
happened here. Gad! You were shrewd to have smoked his motives so!" he cried in a burst of admiration for her insight. "Gad, child! Shouldst have been a lawyer! A lawyer!"
    "If it had not been for Mr. Caryll——" she began, but to what else she said he lent no ear, being suddenly brought back to his fears at the mention of that gentleman's name.
    "Mr. Caryll! Save us! What is keeping him?" he cried. "Can they——can they——"
    The door opened, and Mr. Caryll walked in, ushered by the hostess. Both turned to confront him, Hortensia's eyes swollen from her weeping.
    "Well?" quoth his lordship. "Did they find nothing?"
    Mr. Caryll advanced with the easy, graceful carriage that was one of his main charms, his clothes so skilfully restored by Leduc that none could have guessed the severity of the examination they
had undergone.
    "Since I am here, and alone, your lordship may conclude such to be the case. Mr. Green is preparing for departure. He is very abject; very chap-fallen. I am almost sorry for Mr. Green. I am by
nature sympathetic. I have promised to make my complaint to my Lord Carteret. And so, I trust there is an end to a tiresome matter."
    "But then, sir?" quoth his lordship. "But then—are you the bearer of no letter?"
    Mr. Caryll shot a swift glance over his shoulder at the door. He deliberately winked at the earl. "Did your lordship expect letters?" he inquired. "That was scarcely reason enough to suppose me
a courier. There is some mistake, I imagine."
    Between the wink and the words his lordship was bewildered.
    Mr. Caryll turned to the lady, bowing. Then he waved a hand over the downs. "A fine view," said he airily, and she stared at him. "I shall treasure sweet memories of Maidstone." Her stare grew
stonier. Did he mean the landscape or some other matter? His tone was difficult to read—a feature peculiar to his tone.
    "Not so shall I, sir," she made answer. "I shall never think of it other than with burning cheeks—unless it be