Page:Vance--Terence O'Rourke.djvu/236

 "Ah, monsieur, yes. It is true that I deceived you, but at first it was to save you from arrest. I—I am—"

"Madame la Duchesse!" he cried. "Blind fool that I was, not to have guessed it! Pardon, madame!" And he sank upon his knee, carrying her hand to his lips. "Madame!" he muttered humbly. "'Tis the O'Rourke who would go to the ends av the earth to serve ye!"

Was it accident, premeditation—or what more deep—that led the woman's fingers to stray among the soft, dark curls of the man?

"Monsieur, monsieur!" she cried breathlessly. "Rise. I—you—you are very kind to me …"

Her voice seemed to fail her. She paused. O'Rourke rose slowly, retaining his hold upon her hand. His mind cast back in rapid retrospect of the events of the day, since his advent at the Inn of the Winged God. It came to him as a flash of lightning, this revelation, making clear much that might otherwise have been thought mysterious. And he knew that she was indeed Madame la Duchesse de Lützelburg, this girl—she seemed no more—this girl whom he suddenly found himself holding in his arms, who sobbed passionately, her face hidden upon his breast.

For that, too, was his portion there in the infinite quietude of the woodland, under the soft-falling radiance of God's stars. How it came to pass neither could have told. Whether it was brought about by some sudden flush of dawning love on her part for this man whom many had loved and were yet to love, or by the tender, impetuous heart of him, whose blood coursed in his veins never so hotly as when for beauty in distress—who shall say?

But one thing was certain—that she lay content in his arms for a time. All other things were of no account, even