It was then that Annabel returned. She came slowly and rather thoughtfully along the silent corridor. She had exhausted for the time being her fine spirits, her wit, almost her good looks. She hoped she would _not_ meet Piers, and was glad in pa.s.sing the door of his apartments to see no man in attendance, nor any sign of wakeful life. A little further on she noticed a band of light from the Duke's private parlour; the door was a trifle open, left purposely so by Piers in order that his father might not be tempted to pa.s.s it. Tired as she was, she could not resist the opportunity it offered. She liked to show herself in her fineries to her guardian, for he always had a compliment for her beauty; and although she had listened for hours to compliments her vanity was still unsatiated. With a coquettish smile she pushed wider the door and saw Lord Exham. There could be no doubt of his profound insensibility; his face, his att.i.tude, his breathing, all expressed the deep sleep of a thoroughly-exhausted man.

For one moment she looked at him curiously, then, at the instigation of the Evil One, her eyes saw the ring upon his hand, and her heart instantly desired it; for what reason she did not ask. At the moment she perhaps had no reason, except the wicked hope that its loss might make trouble between Kitty and her lover. With the swift, noiseless step that Nature gives to women who have the treachery and cruelty of the feline family, she reached Piers's side. But rapid as her movement had been, her thought had been more rapid. "If I am caught, I will say I won a pair of gloves, and took the ring as the gage of my victory."

She stooped to the dropped hand, but never touched it. The ring was large, and it was only necessary for her to place her finger and thumb on each side of it. It slipped off without pressing against the flesh, and in a moment it was in her palm. She waited to see if the movement had been felt. There was no evidence of it, and she pa.s.sed rapidly out of the room. Outside the door, she again waited for a movement, but none came, and she walked leisurely, and with a certain air of weariness, to her own apartments. Once there all was safe; she dropped it into the receptacle in which she kept the key of her jewel-case, and went smiling to bed.

Not ten minutes after her theft the Duke entered the room. He did not scruple to awaken his son, and to discuss with him the tactics of a warfare which was every day becoming more bitter and violent. Piers was full of interest, and eager to take his part in the fray. Suddenly he became aware of his loss. Then he forgot every other thing. He insisted, then and there, on calling his valet and searching every inch of carpet in the room. The Duke was disgusted with this radical change of interest. He went pettishly away in the middle of the search, saying,--

"The Reformers might well carry all before them, when peers who had everything to lose or gain thought more of a lost ring than a lost cause."

And Piers could not answer a word. He was confounded by the circ.u.mstance.

That the ring was on his hand when he entered the room was certain.

He searched all his pockets with frantic fear, his purse, the couch on which he had slept. There was no part of the room not examined, no piece of furniture that was not moved; and the day began to dawn when the useless search was over. He went to his room, sleepless and troubled beyond belief. Government might be defeated, Ministers might resign, Reform might spell Revolution, the estates and t.i.tles of n.o.bles might be in jeopardy,--but Kitty's ring was lost, and that was the first, and the last, and the only thought Piers Exham could entertain.

CHAPTER EIGHTH

WILL SHE CHOOSE EVIL OR GOOD?

Annabel had a very good night. Her conscience was an indulgent one, and she easily satisfied its complaining. "It was after all only a joke," she said. "In the morning I can restore the ring. The Duke will have a good laugh at his son's discomfiture, and will praise my cleverness. The d.u.c.h.ess will either knit her brows, or else take it merrily; and Piers will owe me a forfeit, and that will be the end of the affair. What is there to make a fuss over?" Annabel's conscience thought, in such case, there was nothing to fuss about; and it let her sleep comfortably on the prevaricating promise.

She considered the matter over as she was dressing. She had slept well, was refreshed and full of life, and therefore full of selfish wilfulness:--

"I will restore the ring to Piers." She said this to please one side of her nature.

"I will not restore the ring." She said this to please the other side. "As a thing of worth, it is by no means costly. I will give Kate Atheling a ring of twice its value. As a thing of power it is mine, the spoil of my will and my skill; and I will not part with it." Still she kept the first decision in reserve; she promised herself to be influenced by the circ.u.mstances which the affair induced.

But the way out of temptation is always very difficult, and circ.u.mstances are rarely favourable to it. They were not in this case. Before Annabel was dressed she received a message that overthrew all her intentions. The d.u.c.h.ess was going to breakfast in her own parlour, and she desired Annabel's company at the meal. The desires of the d.u.c.h.ess were commands, and the young lady reluctantly obeyed them; for she antic.i.p.ated the reproof that came, as soon as they were alone, regarding her att.i.tude towards Cecil North.

"It will not do, Annabel," said the d.u.c.h.ess, severely. "The Norths are a fine family, but poor, even in the elder branches. This young man can look forward to nothing better than some diplomatic or military appointment, and that in an Indian Presidency."

"What could be better?" asked Annabel, with an affectation of delight.

"An Indian Court is a court. It has the splendour, the ceremony, the very air of royalty."

"But with your fortune--"

"I a.s.sure you, d.u.c.h.ess, any man who marries me will need all my fortune.

He will in fact deserve it. You know that I am _not_ amiable, and that I _am_ extravagant and luxurious."

"But you may avoid such a foolish, unwomanly thing as flirtation, even if you are not amiable. It seems to me the world has forgotten how to be amiable. This morning, the Duke is touchy and disagreeable; and Piers has not come to ask after my health, though it is his usual custom when I remain in my room. He angered the Duke also last night."

"Did you see him last night?" asked Annabel, with an air of indifference.

"The Duke did. Piers seems to have behaved in an absurd way about a ring he has lost. The Duke says, he turned his room topsy-turvy, and went on as if he had lost his whole estate."

"Was it the ring with the ducal arms that he always wears?"

"No, indeed! Only a simple band of sapphires, or some other stone. The Duke thinks it must have been the gift of some woman. Were you the donor, Annabel?"

"I! I should think not! I do not give rings away. I prefer to receive them. He wore no sapphire band yesterday when he and I went to the Athelings--" and she looked the rest of the query, over her coffee-cup, straight into the eyes of the d.u.c.h.ess.

"What is it you mean to ask, Annabel?"

"Do you think that Miss Atheling--"

[Ill.u.s.tration:]

"Miss Atheling! That girl! What an absurd idea! Why should she give Lord Exham a ring?"

"_Why!_ There are so many '_whys_' that n.o.body can answer." And with this remark, Annabel felt that her opportunity for confession had quite lapsed. For if the d.u.c.h.ess had thought it right to reprove her for such freedom as she had shown towards Cecil North, what would she say about an act so daring, so really improper in a social sense, as the removal of a ring from her son's hand? Annabel had no mind to bring on herself the disagreeable looks and words she merited. She gave the conversation the political turn that answered all purposes, by asking the d.u.c.h.ess if she was not afraid Piers's principles might be influenced by his friendship with young Atheling. "They were David and Jonathan yesterday," she said; "and as for Cecil North, he is a Radical of the first water."

"Lord Exham is not so easily persuaded," answered the d.u.c.h.ess, loftily.

"He could as readily change his nose as his principles. But I am seriously annoyed at this intercourse with a family distinctly out of our own caste. The Duke has been very foolish to encourage it."

"You have also encouraged Miss Atheling."

"I have been too good-natured. I admit that. But as I have promised to present her, I must honourably keep my word; that is, if any opportunity offers. It now appears as if there would be no court functions. The King declined the Lord Mayor's feast,--a most unprecedented thing,--and it is said the Queen is averse to receive while the Reform agitation continues. When it will end, n.o.body knows."

"It will end when it succeeds, not before," said Annabel. "I am only a woman, but I see that conclusion very clearly." It gave her pleasure to make this statement. It was her way of returning to the d.u.c.h.ess the disagreeable words she had been obliged to take from her; and she was not at all dismayed by the look of anger she provoked.

"I am astonished at you, Annabel. Are you also in danger of changing your opinions?"

"I am astonished at myself, d.u.c.h.ess. My opinions are movable; but I have not yet changed them. Truth, however, belongs to all sides, and I cannot avoid seeing things as they are."

"That is, as young Atheling and Cecil North show them to you."

"Lord Exham has still more frequent opportunities of showing me the course of events. I have 'influences' on both sides, you see, d.u.c.h.ess; but, after all, I form my own opinions."

"Reform will never be accomplished. The people must follow the n.o.bles, as surely as the thread follows the needle."

"I have ceased to prophesy. Anything can happen in a long enough time; and I often heard my father say that, 'They who _care_ and _dare_ may do as they like.' I think the Reform party both '_care_' and '_dare_.'"

"Have you fallen in love with Cecil North, or with Mr. Atheling?"

"I am in love with Annabel Vyner. I worship none of the idols that have been set up, either by Tories or Reformers. Men who talk politics are immensely stupid. I shall marry a man who is a good fighter. Mere talkers are like barking dogs. Why don't these Reformers stop whimpering, and fly like a bull dog at the throat of their wrongs? Then I should go with them, heart and soul and purse."

"You are talking now for talking's sake, Annabel. You are actually advocating civil war."

"Am I really? Well, war is man's natural condition. It takes churches, and priests, and standing armies, and constables always on hand, to keep peace in any sort of fashion. We are all barbarians under our clothes,--just civilised on the top."

"Such a.s.sertions are odious, and you cannot prove them."

"I can. The other evening I was reading to Lord Tatham a most exquisite poem by that young man Tennyson; and he seemed to be enjoying it, until Algernon Sydney showed him his watch, and said something about 'the Black Boy.' Then his face fairly glowed, and he went off with a compliment that meant nothing. The next morning I found out 'the Black Boy' was a famous pugilist. We are all of us, in some way or other, in this mixed condition."

"I think you are particularly disagreeable this morning, Miss."