CHAPTER 4 COLONEL GREYSON’S MISSION

“She is heartless, soulless!” groaned Sir Harold. “Oh, Elaine, why should you be so fair and fickle?”

He paced the floor like a man distraught. His eyes were bloodshot, his face ashy pale. This misery was more bitter than death.

He had given the one great love of his life; he had tasted the most ecstatic bliss that had ever fallen to mortal man. But, after all, he had only been reveling in a fool’s paradise. He had believed that the earl’s daughter loved him beyond all earthly things; that this was no idyllic dream, but the meeting of two sympathetic twin souls—a beautiful reality.

When the first storm of his misery had nearly subsided, he sank into a chair, and buried his face in his hands.

The Earl of Seabright had warned him to deal gently with Lady Elaine. She was so young, so willful, so utterly spoiled.

“These sudden engagements are apt to be as quickly broken,” my lord had said, and now his words rang like the knell of doom in Sir Harold’s ears. Was all at an end between them? Was their quarrel to be the subject of a nine days’ wonder? The society papers would enlarge upon it. Innumerable five-o’clock teas would be enlivened by it, and then it would be forgotten by everybody but Sir Harold.

Thus he reasoned, and he felt that his heart would be broken, that it would be forever dead.

“Perhaps it will be better so. She does not love me—she does not love as I love. I do not want half a heart. I will go away, and the sooner I am dead the better it will be for me. My life has ever been a bitter mistake. I am a visionary, and my last delusion will kill me!”

It was a relief to John Stimson, Sir Harold’s valet, that he had a legitimate cause for knocking at the door of his master’s study. A footman had appeared bearing the card of Colonel Greyson on a salver.

“He told me to see that he was not disturbed on any account,” he muttered; “but I shall risk it. I didn’t like the look in his face when he went into the study, and the awful silence within makes me uneasy.”

He took the salver from the footman, saying:

“All right. I will attend to this. Sir Harold is engaged. Where is Colonel Greyson?”

“In the blue drawing-room,” the footman replied.

“Thank you; that will do,” said the valet, as he tapped gently on the door.

To his surprise it was opened at once, and his master took the card with an exclamation of impatience.

“I told you not to disturb me, Stimson,” he said, harshly.

“But you never refuse to see the colonel, Sir Harold, and I felt anxious about you.”

Stimson was a privileged servant. He had traveled over half the globe with his young master, and had nursed him through the yellow fever in an African swamp.

“You are ill, master, I am sure.”

“Ill?” echoed Sir Harold. “No, I am not ill. I wish to heaven that I were sick unto death!”

It was a strange speech, but Stimson pretended not to notice it. He merely said:

“You will see Colonel Greyson, Sir Harold?”

“Yes, I will see him here, in my study,” was the gloomy reply, and when Stimson had gone he added:

“He it was who introduced us, and who more fitting to be the first to hear that we are parted forever?”