He turned and looked her straight in the face, his expression very serious.
"No. There is nothing, I admit. Nothing! And yet a great secret lies here. Here, this spot, remote from anywhere, was the scene of a mysterious tragedy. You hold one clue, Elma--and I the other." And again he looked straight into her eyes, while standing on that very spot where the fair-haired girl had breathed her last in his arms, and then, after a few seconds" silence, he went on: "Elma! I--I call you by your Christian name because I feel that you have my future at heart, and--and I, on my part--I love you! May I call you by your Christian name?"
She returned his look very gravely. Her fine eyes met his, but he never wavered. Since that first day when Tweedles, her little black Pomeranian, had snapped at him she had been ever in his thoughts. He could not disguise the fact. Yet, after all, it was a very foolish dream, he had told himself dozens of times. He was poor--very poor--a mere adventurer on life"s troublous waters--while she was the daughter of a millionaire with, perhaps, a peeress" career before her.
"Roddy," at last she spoke, "I call you that! I think of you as Roddy,"
she said slowly, looking straight into his eyes. "But in this matter we are very serious--both of us--eh?"
"Certainly we are, Elma," he replied, taking her hand pa.s.sionately.
She withdrew it at once, saying:
"You have brought me here for a purpose--to find traces of--of the girl who died at this spot. Where are the traces?"
"Well, the bracken is trodden down, as you see," he replied.
"But surely that is no evidence of what you allege?"
"No, Elma. But that photograph which you showed me last night is a picture of her."
The girl smiled mysteriously.
"You say so. How am I to know? They say that you are unfortunately suffering from delusions. In that case sight of any photograph would possibly strike a false chord in your memory."
"False chord!" he cried. "Do you doubt this morning that I am in my sane senses? Do you doubt that which I have just said, Elma--do you doubt that I love you?"
The girl"s cheeks flushed instantly at his words. Next second they were pale again.
"No," she said. "Please don"t let us talk of love, Mr Homfray."
"Roddy--call me that."
"Well--yes, Roddy, if you like."
"I do like. You told me that you thought of me as Roddy. Can you never love me?" he implored.
The girl held her breath. Her heart was beating quickly and her eyes were turned away. She let him take her gloved hand and raise it fervently to his lips. Then, without answering his question, she turned her splendid eyes to his and he saw in them a strange, mysterious expression such as he had never noticed in the eyes of any woman before.
He thought it was a look of sympathy and trust, but a moment later it seemed as though she doubted him--she was half afraid of him.
"Elma!" he cried, still holding her hand. "Tell me--tell me that you care for me a little--just a little!" And he gazed imploringly into her pale face.
"A little!" she echoed softly. "Perhaps--well, perhaps I do, Roddy.
But--but do not let us speak of it now--not until you are better."
"Ah! You do love me a little," he cried with delight, again raising her hand to his lips. "Perhaps you think I"ve not recovered from that infernal drug which my unknown enemies gave me. But I declare that to-day I am in my full senses--all except my memory--which is still curiously at fault."
"Let us agree to be very good friends, Roddy," the girl said, pressing his hand. "I confess that I like you very much," she admitted, "but love is quite another matter. We have not known each other very long, remember."
"Sufficiently long for me to know that I love you truly, and most dearly, Elma," the young man declared with keen enthusiasm.
Then the girl sighed, withdrew her hand, and begged of him to drop the subject.
"I have told you that I care for you just a little, Roddy," she said.
"For the present let that suffice."
She was obdurate, refusing to discuss the matter further. Instead, she began to question him closely concerning the events of that fatal night.
Again he repeated them, just as they have been recorded in the foregoing pages.
"Then it is evident that you were watched," she remarked. "Whoever was responsible for the crime attacked you by some secret means. Then both of you were taken away."
"By whom? To where? That"s the mystery!" Roddy echoed blankly.
"A mystery which must be fathomed. And I will help you," she said quietly.
"You know the ident.i.ty of the poor girl," he said. "How did you come by her photograph?" he asked, a question he had been dying to put to her ever since the previous evening.
She was silent.
"You know more of the affair than you have admitted, Elma," he suggested in a low voice, his eyes still fixed upon her pale countenance. "Is my surmise correct?"
"It is," she replied in a strange half-whisper. "I have no actual knowledge," she hastened to add. "But I have certain grim and terrible surmises."
"You were anxious that my father should not see that photograph last night. Why?"
"Well--well, because I did not wish to--I didn"t wish him to think that I was unduly exciting you by showing you the portrait," she faltered.
He looked at her, struck by her curious evasiveness.
"And was there no other reason, Elma?" asked the young man in deep earnestness.
Again she hesitated.
"Yes. There was another reason," she replied. "One that I regret I cannot at present tell you."
"You refuse to satisfy my curiosity--eh?"
"I am compelled to refuse," she replied in a low voice.
"Why?"
"Because, as yet, I have only suspicions and surmises. When I have proved even one of them then I shall not hesitate to tell you the truth, Roddy--a bitter and terrible truth though it may be."
"Really you are most mysterious!" her companion said, his face darkening.
"I know I am," she answered with a queer hollow laugh.
"But at least you can tell me the dead girl"s name?"