Page:Harris Dickson--The black wolf's breed.djvu/231

Rh dress, gleamed more white and pure, I would have raised it to my lips. Even at such a time I noted the device upon a ring she wore, a device grown so familiar: A wolf's head, sable.

"An old thing of my mother's," she explained, "Charles has one, and I."

I eagerly seized upon a subject which might so naturally prolong our interview.

"Aye, I know the device well; are you of the d'Artins?"

"Yes, my mother was; there are now none of the race. The last is a wanderer; I know not if he lives."

"I know, perchance, of such a man, Madame; would you tell me more of him, of yourself?"

"I never saw him, my mother's father. Her marriage displeased him greatly. When her first child was born, a girl, she sent it to him for his blessing. He denied it, saying he wanted no more of women. The child died in infancy. Of my sister's birth and mine he was never told. Then he went away, where, none know."

It thrilled me with a new hope. Who could guess but my relations with Colonel d'Ortez might throw me again in her way. I took her hand again, making pretence to examine the ring more curiously. She made slight demur, and I pressed my first fervent kiss upon the hand of woman. Man's fortitude could stand no more. Tossing honour, discretion, duty to the winds, I folded her close, closer yet, and kissed her brow, her hair,