Tavernake glanced at his companion, wondering whether
this, perhaps, might not be the person for whom she was watching.
His first glance was careless enough, then he felt his heart
thump against his ribs. A tragedy had come into the room! The
woman at his side sat as though turned to stone. There was a
look in her face as of one who sees Death. The small patch of
rouge, invisible before, was now a staring daub of color in an
oasis of ashen white. Her eyes were as hard as stones; her lips
were twitching as though, indeed, she had been stricken with some
disease. No longer was he sitting with this most beautiful lady
at whose coming all heads were turned in admiration. It was as
though an image of Death sat there, a frozen presentment of
horror itself!
CHAPTER XXIII
ON AN ERRAND OF CHIVALRY
The seconds passed; the woman beside him showed no sign of life.
Tavernake felt a fear run cold in his blood, such as in all his
days he had never known. This, indeed, was something belonging
to a world of which he knew nothing. What was it? Illness?
Pain? Surprise? There was only his instinct to tell him. It
was terror, the terror of one who looks beyond the grave.
"Mrs. Gardner!" he exclaimed. "Elizabeth!"
The sound of his voice seemed to break the spell. A half-choked
sob came through her teeth; the struggle for composure commenced.
"I am ill," she murmured. "Give me my glass. Give it to me."
Her fingers were feeling for it but it seemed as though she dared
not move her head.
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