CHAPTER XLV
THE GYPSY BLOOD
It was a curious puzzle which, through the quiet of the afternoon thatfollowed, Diane sought desperately to assemble from the chaos ofhighly-colored segments which the morning had supplied. There wereintervals when she rejected the result, with its maddening gaps andimperfections, with a laugh of utter derision--it was so preposterous!There were quieter intervals when she pieced the impossible segmentsall together again and stared aghast at the result. No matter howincredulous her attitude, however, when the scattered angles slippedinto unity, riveted together by a painful concentration, the result,with its consequent light upon the wooing of Ronador, though more andmore startling, was in the main convincing.
Days back in Arcadia Diane remembered the Baron had suavely spoken ofhis kingdom, and Philip had told her much. There was a mad kingwithout issue upon the throne. There were two brothers of the madking, each of whom had a son. Theodomir, then, had been the son of theelder, Ronador of the younger. Theodomir had fled at the death of hisfather, unwilling to take up the regency under a mad king. SoRonador's father had come to the regency of the kingdom and Ronadorhimself and his little son had stood in the direct line of successionuntil the ghost arose from the candlestick and mocked them all. Andshe--Diane--was the child of Theodomir.
Diane was still dazedly sorting the pieces of the puzzle when the sunset in a red glory beyond the lake, matching the flame of Philip's fireby which he and the Baron sat in earnest discussion.
The west was faintly yellow, the forest dark, when from the tent towhich she had retired at noon, quite distraught and incoherent. AuntAgatha begged plaintively for a cup of tea.
"Diane," she said, when the girl herself appeared with it, "I--I can'tforget his face. I--I never shall. Twice now I've tried to get up,but I thought of his eyes and the revolver, and my knees folded up.It--it was just so this morning. What with the ringing in my ears--andthe dizziness--and his face so dark with anger--and digging my heels inthe ground to keep my knees from folding up under me--I--I thought Ishould go quite mad, quite mad, my dear. He--he meant to kill Mr.Poynter?"
"Yes," said Diane with a shudder. "Yes. I--think so."
"I'm sorry I told him where you were," fluttered Aunt Agatha, taking aconscience-stricken and somewhat tearful gulp of very hot tea. "I--Iam indeed, but I couldn't in the least know that he went about killingpeople, could I, Diane?"
"No," said Diane patiently. "No, of course not. Don't bother aboutit. Aunt Agatha. Why not wait until your tea is a little cooler?"
"I'll have to," said Aunt Agatha with an aggrieved sniff. "For I dobelieve I'm filled with steam now. Why are you so white and quiet,Diane? Is it the revolver?"
"Aunt Agatha," exclaimed the girl impetuously, "why have you alwaysbeen so reticent about my mother?"
The effect of the girl's words was sufficient proof that the frightenedlady had absorbed but little of Philip's revelation. Tired andnervous, hazily aware that the scene of the morning had beenportentous, and now confounding it in a panic with something that by adeathbed pledge had lain inexorably buried in her heart for years, AuntAgatha screamed and dropped her teacup. It rolled away in a trail ofsteam to the flap of the tent. Covering her face with her hands, AuntAgatha burst hysterically into a shower of tears.
Diane started.
"Aunt Agatha," she exclaimed, "what is it? For heaven's sake, don'tsob and tremble so."
"I--I might have known it!" sobbed Aunt Agatha, wringing her plumphands in genuine distress. "I might have guessed they would tell youthat, though how in the world they found it out is beyond me. If I'donly listened instead of worrying about my knees and the revolver, andstaring so. And you in the Everglades--where your father went to huntalligators. Oh, Diane, Diane, not a single night could I sleep--andit's not to be wondered at that I was scared. And the dance you didfor Nathalie Fowler and me--and the costume that night at Sherrill's.I was fairly sick! I knew it would come out--though how could Iforesee that the Baron and Mr. Poynter and the Prince would know? I--Itold your grandfather so years ago, but he pledged me on hisdeathbed--and your father was wild and clever like Carl and singular inhis notions. I'll never forget your grandfather's face when you ranaway into the forest to sleep as a child. He was white and sick andmuttered something about atavism. It--it was the Indian blood--"
Diane caught her aunt's trembling arm in a grip that hurt cruelly.
"Aunt Agatha," she said, catching her breath sharply, "you must nottalk so wildly. Say it plainer!"
But Aunt Agatha tranquil was incoherent.
Aunt Agatha frightened and hysterical was utterly beyond control.
"And very beautiful too," she sobbed. "And Norman, poor fellow, wasquite mad about her--for all she was an Indian girl--though her fatherwas white and a Spaniard, I will say that for her. Not even so dark asyou are, Diane, and shy and lovely enough to turn any man's head--muchless your father's--though your grandfather stormed and threatened tokill them both and only for Grant he would have. And when an Indianfrom the Everglades told Norman that--that she really hadn't beenmarried before but just a--mother like Carl's mother, my dear--"
But Diane was gone, stumbling headlong from the tent. Aunt Agatha wasto remember her white agonized face for many a day.
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