The Courtship of Morrice Buckler: A RomanceMason, A. E. W. (Alfred Edward Woodley)
History
The Courtship of Morrice Buckler: A Romance
Mason, A. E. W. (Alfred Edward Woodley)
Great Britain -- History -- James II, 1685-1688 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"You would seek him out and----" she began.
"I had that in my mind," said I, mounting two of the steps.
"Then you do not know him. Say you do not! There could be but one
result, and I fear it."
A knock on the outer door rang through the hall; this time we took two
steps up and down simultaneously.
"Swords!" she continued, "for you would fight?"
I nodded.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "swords are no true ordeal. Skill--it is skill,
not justice, which directs the thrust."
I fancied that I comprehended the cause of her fear, and I laughed
cheerfully.
"I have few good qualities," said I, "but amongst those few you may
reckon some proficiency with the sword." I ascended two steps.
"So," she replied, with an indefinable change of tone, "you are
skilled in the exercise?" But she stood where she was.
Otto Krax came from the inner part of the house and crossed to the
door.
"It is my one qualification for a courtier."
Since Ilga had omitted to take the two steps down, I deemed it right
to take four steps up.
She resumed her tone of entreaty.
"But chance may outwit skill; does--often."
We heard the chain rattle on the door as Krax unfastened it. Ilga bent
forward hurriedly.
"You do not know the man!" and in a whisper she added: "For my
sake--you do not!"
There were only four steps between us. I took them all in one spring.
"For your sake, is it?" and I caught her hand.
"Hush!" she said, disengaging herself. Marston's voice sounded in the
entrance. "You do not know! Oh, you do not!" she beseeched in shaking
tones. Then she drew back quickly, and leaned against the balustrade.
I looked downwards. Otto was ushering in Marston, and the pair stood
at the foot of the staircase. I glanced back at the Countess. There
were tears in her eyes.
"Madame!" said I, "I have forgotten his name."
With a bow, I walked down the steps as Marston mounted them.
"'Tis a fine day," says I, coming to a halt when we were level.
"Is it?" says he, continuing the ascent.
"It seems to me wonderfully bright and clear," said the Countess from
the head of the stairs.
CHAPTER XII.
LADY TRACY.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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