that would ruin everything.”
I took the words in automatically, thinking little of their sense. It was their tone which riveted my entire attention. I knew that voice; I had heard it somewhere before. Where I could not think, but it had a ring about it that was quite unmistakable; a self-opinionated arrogance, tempered with a mock-politeness, and in my mind it was associated with a memory that was definitely disagreeable. Strive as I would, I could not recall the circumstances in which I had heard that voice before, but every fibre of my being cried out to me that I had reason to fear and hate its owner.
Chapter III
Under a Clouded Moon
The sound of that sinister voice which stirred such vague and disquieting memories in my mind had come as such a shock to me that I was not conscious of Daphnis and the man saying good night; only that, having locked and bolted the postern door, she had turned and was walking back to the house.
As she disappeared in the shadows, I turned my face to the wall, lit a cigarette and, rising from my cramped position, stood up with the cigarette cupped carefully in my hand so that the burning end of it would not show.
I wondered if it was worth waiting now, and rather doubted it. Whether she was superstitious or not, Daphnis was hardly likely to be much intrigued by an amulet, sent her by a young man she hardly knew, when she was already deeply involved in a secret love affair. Still, there could not be much more than six or seven minutes to go till midnight, and it seemed silly not to make quite certain that I had entirely wasted my evening, before climbing back over the wall.
As I stood smoking there, I noticed that the clouds had become much more broken and that the moonlight was now filtering through sufficiently to fill the garden with a dim, uncertain light. Just as I had finished my cigarette, there came faintly on the light breeze the call to prayer of a muezzin from some distant minaret in the centre of the town. It was midnight but there was no sign of Daphnis.
I thought with regret of how I had planned to carry my ruse to its logical conclusion. During the whole of that day there had never been far from my thoughts the exciting vision of Daphnis walking round the bowl of water, then kneeling down facing the north, which was towards the house and would mean that her back was turned towards me, while I crept noiselessly up behind her and peered over her shoulder so that it should be my face which would be reflected on the moonlit surface. As bitterly disappointed as though the little scene had actually been promised to me, I was about to grasp the dangling rope when I caught sight of something whitish moving in the moonlight near the house.
Next moment I felt a terrific thrill. It was Daphnis. She had come out again, and as she approached I saw that she was wearing a loose white woollen robe over her dress, which had big full sleeves and was tightly girded at the waist.
When she reached the middle of the three palm trees she halted, but she carried no bowl of water with her and just stood there, apparently waiting for something to happen. I was in two minds whether to emerge from my hiding-place at once or to wait for a little to see what she would do when, quite unexpectedly, the question was answered for me. It was very still there in the garden, and although she spoke hardly above a whisper, I heard her say distinctly:
“Mr. Day, where are you?”
Feeling the most awful fool, I came out from behind the bushes and walked across to her. With a rather sheepish smile I murmured: “Good evening. How clever of you to guess that I meant to appear in person!”
“It didn’t need much intelligence to see through that business of the amulet,” she said slowly; “particularly as it seems that you’re determined to get me into trouble.”
“Oh, come!” I protested. “You know that I don’t want to do that, but I simply
had
to see you again somehow.”
The moon had now come
Marquita Valentine, The 12 NAs of Christmas