The Yellow House; Master of MenOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
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The Yellow House; Master of Men
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Detective and mystery stories; England -- Fiction
“If that is all,” he said, taking my hands suddenly into his, “you
shall not leave me until you have promised.”
“But--I----”
Then he was very bold, and I should have been very angry, but was
not. He looked coolly round, and finding that there was no one in
sight, he drew me to him and kissed me. His arms were like steel bars
around me, I could not possibly escape. After that there were no words
which I could say. I was amazed at myself, but I was very happy. The
twilight was falling upon the city when we walked once more through
the little streets, and my veil was closely drawn to hide my wet eyes.
My lover--I dared to call him that at last--was coming home with me,
and for a few brief moments my footsteps seemed to be falling upon
air.
I allowed myself the luxury of forgetfulness; the load of anxiety
which had seemed crushing had suddenly rolled away. But at the
entrance to the close a little dark figure met us face to face, and my
blood ran cold in my veins, for she lifted her veil, and my dream of
happiness vanished into thin air. Her face was like the face of an
evil spirit, yet she would have passed me without a word, but that I
held out my hand and stopped her.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “What do you want?”
She smiled at me with the malice of a fiend.
“It was a little call,” she said, “which I was paying upon your
father. He was unfortunately not at home. No matter, I shall call
again; I shall call again and again until I see him. I am in no hurry
to leave. Eastminster is such an interesting place!”
Then my heart died away within me, and the light of my sudden
happiness grew dim. She looked from one to the other of us, and her
eyes were lit with a new fury. Some subtle instinct seemed to guide
her to the truth.
“May I congratulate you both?” she asked, with a sneer in her tone. “A
little sudden, isn’t it?”
We did not answer. I had no words, and Bruce remained grimly and
contemptuously silent. She gathered up her skirts, and her eyes
flashed an evil light upon us.
“After all,” she exclaimed, “it is an admirable arrangement! How happy
you both look! Don’t let me keep you! I shall call later on this
evening.”
She flitted away like a dark shadow and passed underneath the stone
archway out of the close. I covered my face with my hands and
moaned. It had come at last, then. All that I had done had been
useless. I was face to face with despair.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE BREAKING OF THE STORM
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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