Maitland Varne, Or, the Bells of de Thaumaturge

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated.1911 Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XVIII DARE TO THE RESCUE I UNDERSTOOD Saul Marmaduke's parting look. He had said nothing of Marguerite during the ride. It spoke his dread of the influence of Lord Rexaull. He had avoided the mention of her name, having no immediate hope to offer me. I fought like a demon against the folly of indulging in the incoherences of fancy that followed the madness of this hopelessness. Two college youths with their sweethearts were going down before me into the park. They were seniors, I learned from their words, and their zest for doing last things together had set them to work counting the steps of each flight as they went down. I fell into the count with them. Five times the flights measured eleven steps; once but ten, and four times there were twentyone. Between the flights the steps varied from four to six-and-forty. The counting redeemed me for an interval from the blinding thought of Marguerite Wynne self-delivered, and perhaps irrevocably, into the arms of Gilbert Rexaull. At the foot of the last flight my arm was gripped by one who seemed to have divined the rage of my brain by the pallor of my face. Arden Dutaith, what is it?--you are ghastly! The words were declared below breath. I looked up. It was my guide. How do you know me? I returned fiercely, remembering that I, too, was in disguise. Do you have to ask that? demanded the guide. Aye, I said, from a representative of the Duke of Villach. Ha! was the only return. But did you think I would not know you? I flung. Would your speech not have given you away that night at Kings Arms? Do you think that I do not know of the bullet my cousin put in your hand one midnight?--you who represent Villach! Yes; I am Paulding Willard, he said with perfect composure, opening the breast of his...