Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
black against the sunny window; and it was most marvelously perfect. O'Rourke's breath came fast as he looked; for she was surprisingly fair and good to look upon. It was the first time he had seen her clearly enough to fully comprehend her perfection, and he stood for a moment, without stirring, or, indeed, coherently thinking. It was not the nature of this man to neglect a beautiful woman at any time; he grudged this girl no meed of the admiration that was her due.
In a moment he felt her fingers soft and warm about his own; his heart leaped—an Irishman's heart, not fickle, but inflammable; and then he repressed an exclamation as his fingers were crushed in a grip so strong and commanding that it fairly amazed him.
And, "Silence; ah, silence, m'sieur!" the girl begged him, in a whisper.
Were they observed, then? He turned toward the outer door, but saw no one. But from the highway there came a clatter of hoofs.
"Soldiers!" the girl breathed. "Soldiers, m'sieur, from the frontier post. Let me go. I—"
Almost violently she wrested her hand from his, darting toward the door with a gesture that warned him back to his partitioned corner if he valued his incognito.
Halfway across the floor she shrank back with a little cry of dismay, as the entrance to the Inn of the Winged God was darkened by two new arrivals.
They swung into the room, laughing together: tall men both, long and strong of limb, with the bearing of men confident of their place and prowess. O'Rourke, peering guardedly out from his corner, saw that they were both in uniform: green and gold tunics above closely fitting breeches
[ 208 ]
