At Love's Cost
Page 154"I know," said Ida, quietly, as she looked at the graceful horsewoman,
at the lithe, full figure, the cold perfection of the Grecian face.
"That is Miss Falconer: it is, is it not?"
He nodded indifferently.
"And she has seen us," said Ida.
"It doesn't matter in the least," said Stafford. "Why shouldn't she?
But I don't think she has; she did not turn her head as she rode by."
"That is why," said Ida, with her woman's acuteness. "She saw us from
the top of the hill--see, the groom is just riding down."
She was silent a moment or two, watching Maude Falconer as she cantered
away, then she shivered as if with cold.
"What is the matter, dearest?" he asked, drawing her to him. "Why did
She tried to laugh, but her eyes were grave and almost solemn. "I don't
know. It was as if someone had walked over my grave; as if I felt the
presentiment of some coming evil. I never felt like it before--Yes: she
is very beautiful, Stafford. She is like a picture, a statue--no, that
is not fair; for no picture had ever such magnificent hair, no statue
was ever so full of life and--Oh, I want a word--power. Yes; she is
like a tigress--a tigress asleep and in a good temper just for the
present; but--"
Stafford laughed, the strong and healthy man's laugh of good-natured
tolerance for the fancies of the woman he loves.
"My dear Ida, I assure you Miss Falconer is quite an ordinary young
us, I am rather glad. I--well, I want to take you by the hand and
exclaim aloud to the whole world: 'Behold the treasure I have found!
Look upon her--but shade your eyes lest her beauty dazzle you--and
worship at her feet.' Only a day or two more and I'll tell my father
and have him on our side."
She made a gesture of consent.
"It shall be as you will," she murmured again. "But go now, dearest; I
shall have to ride fast to reach home in time to give my father his
tea."
Maude Falconer cantered easily until she had turned the corner of the
hill and was out of sight of Stafford and Ida, then she pulled up the
foam from his champing lips, pulled up and looked straight before her,
while the colour came and went on her smooth cheek; a sombre fire
gleamed in the usually coldly calm eyes, and her bosom heaved under the
perfect moulding of the riding-habit. She sat and looked before her for
a moment or two as if she were battling with an emotion which
threatened to master her and to find expression in some violent
outburst; but she conquered, and presently rode on to the Villa; and
half an hour later Stafford, coming up the steps, found her lying back
in her favourite chair with a cup of tea in her hand.