France -- History -- Louis XV, 1715-1774 -- Fiction; Jacobite Rebellion, 1745-1746 -- Fiction
He had no premonition of what Kate might be about to say to him when
she should enter the room in which he now sat; yet he had a very
strong suspicion that her remarks would consist of accusations against
him of having betrayed the Sholtos and Elphinston.
"Well, well," he said,-"let her accuse. I have the last card. It is a
strong one. It should win the trick."
Yet at the same time, strong as any card might be which he held in his
hand, he would have given a good deal to have known where at the
present moment those three men might be harbouring whom he had
endeavoured so strongly to give to the hangman's hands. And once, as a
sudden thought came to his mind--a thought that almost made the
perspiration burst out upon him--a thought that they might all be in
this very house and appear suddenly to take vengeance on him for his
treachery!--he nearly rose from his seat as though to fly while there
was yet time. But, coward though he was, both physically and morally,
he had strength to master his impulse, and, in spite of his fears that
at any moment Elphinston, whom he had wronged the worst of all, might
enter the room, to remain seated where he was.
Still his eyes sought ever the hands of the clock as moment after
moment went by and his wife failed to come, until at last he was
wrought to so high a pitch of nervousness that he started at any sound
inside and outside of the house. A man bawling the news in the street
or blowing the horn, which at that time the newsboys carried to
proclaim their approach, set his nerves and fibres tingling; the
laughter of some of the domestics in the kitchens below him had an
equally jarring effect, and when aloud knock came at the street door
he quivered as though the avenging Elphinston was indeed there. Then,
at last, the door opened suddenly, and his wife stood before him.
He saw in one swift glance that she was very pale--she, whose
complexion had once been as the rose-blush--and this he could
understand. It was not strange she should be so. What he could not
understand was the habit in which she appeared, the manner in which
she was attired. Ever since she had become his wife he had caused her
to be arrayed in the richest, most costly dresses he could afford; had
desired, nay, had commanded, that in all outward things she should
carry out the character of Lady Fordingbridge; that her gowns, her
laces, her wigs, should all be suitable to his position.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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