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diff --git a/49074.txt b/49074.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9fe43c2..0000000 --- a/49074.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11605 +0,0 @@ - THE GARDEN OF MEMORIES - - - - -This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United -States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are -located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Garden of Memories -Author: Henry St. John Cooper -Release Date: May 29, 2015 [EBook #49074] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GARDEN OF MEMORIES *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - - *THE GARDEN OF - MEMORIES* - - - BY - - *HENRY ST. JOHN COOPER* - - AUTHOR OF "SUNNY DUCROW," "JAMES BEVANWOOD, - BARONET," ETC. - - - - TORONTO - THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY - LIMITED - - - - - COPYRIGHT, CANADA, 1921. - - - - MUSSON - ALL CANADIAN PRODUCTION - - - - - *CONTENTS* - -PROLOGUE - -CHAPTER - -I In the Garden of Dreams -II A Marriage Has Been Arranged -III A Desirable Family Mansion -IV How Allan Came to the Garden -V In Which Allan Buys the Manor House -VI "I Hate Him--Hate Him I Du!" -VII "How Wonderful--the Way of Things" -VIII "Kathleen--Do You Remember?" -IX How Sir Josiah Opened His Purse -X Confidences -XI In Which Sir Josiah Proves Himself a Gentleman -XII The Hands of Abram Lestwick -XIII The Homecoming -XIV "His Son's Wife" -XV "Will You Take This Man?" -XVI "My Lady Merciful" -XVII Harold Scarsdale Returns -XVIII In the Dawn -XIX The Dream Maiden -XX The Road to Homewood -XXI After Ten Years -XXII Mr. Coombe Wears a White Tie -XXIII "I Belong to Thee" -XXIV In Which Lord Gowerhurst Rises Early -XXV Beside the Lake -XXVI On Other Shoulders -XXVII The Conqueror -XXVIII The Watcher -XXIX Why Abram Lestwick Stayed from Church -XXX The Religion of Sir Josiah -XXXI "A Very Worthy Man" -XXXII The Awakening -XXXIII By the Lake -XXXIV The Going of Betty -XXXV "I Shall Return" - - - - - *THE GARDEN OF - MEMORIES* - - - - *PROLOGUE* - - -From the house a broad white stone path runs to the very heart of the -garden and there opens out into a wide circle in the middle of which is -set a sundial, and here too are placed some great benches of the same -white stone; where, when the heat of the sun is not too great, it is -pleasant enough to sit and watch the glory of the flowers. - -They are wealthy folk, the Elmacotts, and they love their garden and -pride themselves on it and hold that in all Sussex no soil can produce -finer flowers and sweeter fruit, and though in this year of grace -seventeen hundred and three the house, which is the Manor House of the -Parish of Homewood, has no great antiquity, being scarce more than sixty -years old, it has about it that completeness, those niceties of detail, -the neatness and the order and the well being that are found only in the -home which is ruled by a house-proud mistress. - -And Madame Elmacott is proud of her house, proud of her garden, proud of -the flowers that grow in it and above all proud of her stalwart sons, -Master Nat and Master Dick, who are at this time with his Grace of -Marlborough in Flanders, fighting their country's battles. - -To-day the sun shines on the garden and the flowers stir gently, swaying -in the light breeze that also lifts the white dimity at the open windows -of the house, whence comes the sweet tinkling of a spinet, the keys of -which are touched by the skilled white fingers of Mistress Phyllis -Elmacott. - -The tall hollyhocks that cast wavering blue shadows on the white stone -pathway nod to one another in the breeze, nod, it seems, knowingly, for -from the pathway one may see into the pleasant room where the spinet and -its fair player are and seeing these may also see the handsome figure of -the Captain, who leans upon the spinet, the better to see into those -bright eyes that have brought him home to England and Sussex from across -the seas, though at this time in the service of his Grace the Captain -General there is much to be done and much to be won. - -He has but waited to see and share in the victory of Donauwort and then -has come hastening home on the wings of love and with the merry peal of -marriage bells a-ringing in his ears. - -But it is not of these, not of the dashing Captain in his red coat and -fair-haired Mistress Elmacott, who thinks him the most perfect and -wonderful, as well as the bravest and handsomest of all created beings. -It is of the garden and of a lad who sits on the grassy bank at the edge -of the lake and watches with eyes, that yet seem scarcely to see, the -slim white figure of a maiden wrought of stone. She stands up from the -green waters, in the center of the lake and on her sun-kissed shoulder -she holds a pitcher, from which the glittering water is flung aloft -into, the air to fall with a pleasant tinkling, back into the green pool -beneath. - -And so silent, so motionless does he sit here, that the swallows that -now and again skim the water, the dragon flies in all the glory of their -green and crimson, and blue sheen that dart hither and thither take no -heed of him, no more heed than if he too were of senseless stone. - -In all the colour, in all the glory of the garden, he is the sombre, the -one sombre note. His clothes are drab, his shoes are stout and thick -and ungainly and clasped with great brass buckles. His hands are the -hands of a man who toils for his living, rough and hardened by spade and -hoe and rake and scythe, and stained by the good earth of the garden. -His eyes that stare so unceasingly on that white stone figure are blue, -his face is lean and tanned, his neck too is tanned deeply to the very -shoulders where the coarse shirt falls open. - -Straight and strong and courageous he is. Has he not listened with -bated breath and with quick beating heart to the brave stories told in -the bar parlour of the "Fighting Cocks" in Stretton. Cross? Has he not -watched the Serjeant who has told these thrilling tales, of every one of -which, who should be the hero but the Serjeant himself, in his fine red -coat and his crossed belts and his tall hat, that makes him, fine man -that he is, seem almost a giant? - -He has done well here in Stretton and Homewood and at Bush Corner and in -all those other quiet places, has the Serjeant. There are at least a -score of fine young Sussex lads, even at this very moment on their way -to Harwich, en route for Flanders and glory, who have been wheedled from -field and wood and garden and alehouse and stable by the Serjeant's -persuasive tongue, his jolly laugh and his generous hand. - -And Allan Pringle, sitting here by the green pool, clasping his strong -brown chin with his hands, knows that he too would have been of that -score, but for one reason--one reason that now, alas, is no more! - -It is the first grief he has ever known and it is a bitter one, for what -more bitter sorrow can youth feel than for wasted hopes, for broken -faith, for misplaced love? - -Only Betty and his love for her, only the happiness that she had -promised should one day be his, had deafened him to the persuasive -eloquence of the Serjeant. - -But it is not too late now, others will hearken to the Serjeant and set -off for Harwich and he will be among the next. Yes, he will be among -the next to go, and pray God that he may never return! - -He does not hear a light step on the long stone pathway, for it is -scarce heavier than a bird might make. From the house a little maid -comes hurrying. Now she stands hesitatingly and looks about her, her -finger on her lips, as one a little fearful, a little anxious. Again -and yet again, she pauses, as she looks about her, then comes to where -beyond the great hedge of clipped yew trees the green waters of the pool -reflect the golden, sunshine. - -And now she sees him and stands watching, a tender smile on her lips. A -dainty slip of a maiden is she, with hair that gleams gold under her -cap, the soft rounded arms are bare to the dimpled elbows, save for the -thin black lace mittens, through which her white skin shines. - -Though he, the silent, solitary figure sitting beside the pool is but -ten paces from her, yet she hesitates, half a score of times, making a -timorous step and then pausing before the next, her blue eyes filled, -now with mischief and love and now clouded by some fear. And then -suddenly she makes a brave little run to him and drops lightly on her -knees behind him and lifts her hands and clasps them over his eyes. - -"And you--you would leave your Betty? Oh, Allan, you would leave your -Betty who loves you and go away to the cruel wars?" she sobs. - -He has taken her hands, has taken them strongly in his hold and holding -them yet, he turns to her. "Why did you come, why did you come to me, -Betty?" - -"Because," and the blue eyes are lifted to his filled with an innocence -and candour that even he, jealous and despairing though he is, cannot -but recognise, "because I do love thee so and cannot let thee go!" - -"And why, loving me, Betty, do you suffer the kisses of such a man as -Timothy Burnand, a rascally tinker and a thieving poacher, a man whose -hand I would not have touch thee, Betty?" - -Into her face there flames a great flush, a look of anger, then it dies -out and the laughter comes rippling to her lips and into her eyes come -back the mischief and the love and a little pride too, for she realises -that he is jealous of her, this man she loves and though jealousy be a -sin, yet it is not without its sweetness, too, for say what the -wiseacres may, jealously is oftentimes a proof of love. - -"And you saw--" she cries, "Allan, you--saw--ugh!" She makes a little -gesture, a little grimace. "Did you think that I invited, that I -welcomed him? Did you think that I bore his kiss with patience? Go and -seek him now and look for the red mark upon his face! He came on me -unawares and then all suddenly--" she pauses. "Allan," she says -pleadingly, "Allan, you will not go, you will not go, my dear, you will -not go and leave me?" And sobbing she is in his arms. And so for Allan -Pringle the sun shines out again and the flowers are blooming brightly -and the little slim maiden of stone from the centre of the pool seems to -throw the glittering water higher and yet higher into the air as though -in joy that all is well between these two, who hold one another so -tightly, who are mingling their tears and their laughter and their -kisses, now that the cloud has passed. - - * * * * * - -There are no flowers in the garden now, for the garden of Homewood Manor -and all the world beside lies under a pall of white, for the winter is -here, the winter of seventeen hundred and five, which is remembered by -all men as a winter of bitter cold, of great frosts and heavy snows. - -In a tiny cottage that stands a bare quarter of a mile on the Stretton -Road from the Homewood gates, a man is on his knees beside a bed. - -And that bed holds all his world, all that the world can give him, all -that makes life sweet, and his heart is black and bitter with suffering -and despair and cries out against God that he, who was rich only in her -and in her love, must lose her now, must spend the rest of his days -solitary, and heartbroken. - -His eyes are on the sweet white face, on those lips once so red and now -so pale, but which even yet have a smile for him, a smile of wonderful -tenderness and undying love. He takes no heed of the fretful cry that -comes from the cradle, for there is no other in all his world now, but -her, she who is so soon to leave him. - -"Betty, my Betty, I cannot let thee go! Oh, remember, Betty, once when -I would have left thee, you called me back and I came. I am calling, -calling to you now, my life, my sweet, I cannot let you go! Stay with -me, stay with me, for you are all my life and the world is black without -you; stay with me!" - -She would lift her thin little hand to caress, to touch his face, but -the strength is not hers to do it. - -"Allan, take me, hold me in your arms, hold me tightly, my dear, hold me -tightly," she says. - -And he puts his strong arms about her. God pity him, how light she is, -how small, how fragile a thing this, that death is taking from him! - -His very soul is in rebellion against fate, he is mad with the -suffering, mad with his impotence. He can do nothing save watch her -die, watch her fade out of his life; and it must be soon "A matter of -hours," the doctor from Stretton had said and that was long ago and now, -now it is but a matter of minutes. - -"Allan, I wanted, always, to die like this, with your arms about me, -your dear eyes the last of earth that I shall see--ah! Allan, it is -now----" - -"Betty, Betty, I am calling, calling to you, come back, beloved, come -back!" - -And then he knows that it is useless, she is leaving him, slipping away, -no matter how tightly he may hold her. It is good-bye, their last -good-bye and the sad word comes perhaps unconsciously to his lips. - -And then, is it fancy? Is it some trick of his tortured brain? For as -he watches, the dear lips move and it seems to him that the message they -whisper to him with her dying breath is this: "It is not good-bye!" - -He is holding her against his breast, he is kissing those lips that for -the first time give not back kiss for kiss. He is calling to her from -his aching, breaking heart, but she has passed beyond the sound of his -voice, though the smile on her dead lips is still for him. - -And those last words, were they real? Did they pass her lips with her -dying breath, were they meant for him in pity and compassion and love? - -"It is not good-bye!" - - - - - *CHAPTER I* - - *IN THE GARDEN OF DREAMS* - - -A girl, a slip of a maid with sunny hair and wonderful blue eyes, stood -beside a crumbling old rose-red brick wall. She looked up the long -country road and she looked down it, there was no one, not a soul in -sight. So she thrust the too of one small and broken boot into a -crevice of the wall, made a little spring and caught at the top, then -dragged herself up till she sat, flushed and triumphant, on the coping. - -She was a village girl and her dress was of print, well washed, well -mended, skimpy, too, for her slight figure, slender though it was, for -it had been hers for three years, and a dress that is originally made -for a maiden of fourteen is apt to be small when worn by a maid of -seventeen. - -It was a demure and a very sweet face, the eyes big and strangely -dreamy, the white skin of her face and neck powdered lightly with tiny -golden freckles, her hair a deep red gold. - -And wonderful hair it was, wonderfully untidy, too, so rebellious that -it spurned all hairpins and fretted and struggled agains ribbons and -tapes. - -So now, she sat on top of the old rose red wall and looked down on the -other side and saw a green tangle of brambles and grass and other things -that grew rankly and luxuriously in that deserted place. - -It was easier to descend the wall than to climb it, for here was a -friendly tree that held out an inviting branch. Sho seized it, with -small brown hands and lightly swung herself to the ground and then drew -a sigh of relief and pleasure. - -It was forbidden ground! Were there not many notices that announced the -fact that "Trespassers Would Be Prosecuted"? But she cared nothing for -these, the notice that she dreaded most of all was "This Desirable -Historical Family Mansion, with Seven Hundred and Fifty Acres of Land, -to be Sold." - -How she dreaded lest one day someone should come and see and covet this -place and buy it and so shut her out forever from its delights and its -pleasures. But that someone had not come yet. - -So she made her way through the tangle of the growth, and came presently -to a great garden, a wonderful garden once, but now a weed-grown place -of desolation. - -Always this garden attracted her; to-day it brought a soft, tender light -into her eyes as she stood with clasped hands and looked at it! She -could see the old broken stone-paved pathway that led through the heart -of the garden. She knew where that stone pathway opened out into a great -circle in the midst of which was set a sundial, a sundial of stone -chipped and green and the gnomon of the dial rusted away so that never -again should its shadow fall upon the dial and mark the passing of the -brighter hours. And about this circle, she knew, were old stone seats, -green now like the pedestal of the dial and through the crevices of the -paving grew and flourished and blossomed foxglove and dandelion, -hollyhock and groundsell. - -It had been a very, very beautiful garden long years ago, when ladies -had tapped up and down the stone pathway in their little red-heeled -shoes. Ladies who wore wide flounced skirts and powdered hair and -cunning little patches on their fair cheeks. The garden with its roses, -with its stately hollyhocks, its cloves and sweet-williams, its rosemary -and lavender and all the sweet things that grow in English gardens, must -have been a very lovely and perfect place then. But to this little maid -with the dreamy eyes, it was a very wonderful place now. There was no -other place like it in all the world; she had come here by sunshine and -by moonlight, for sometimes in the night the garden had seemed to call -to her and she had risen from her bed under the thatched roof of her old -grandmother's cottage and had come stealing here to watch it, all bathed -in the silver light of the moon. Perhaps she loved it best by -moonlight, for then strange dreams seemed to come to her, dreams that -never came when the sun was shining. - -It seemed as if some kindly gentle hand touched lightly on the chords of -memory, and then--the weeds and the tall rank grass, the decay of the -present, the rioting growth, all were gone and she saw the old garden as -it had once been, and she saw folk, strangely dressed folk, whom never -in her life could she have met. These came and went, men with strange -affected antics and gestures, gestures she might have smiled at, yet -never did, and sweet, gracious ladies who moved with stately dignity -through the old garden. - -But always there was one, a young man whose clothes were plain and -lacking all the finery that made the others seem so grand. She knew him -for a servant, for one who worked in the garden, for often she would see -him stooping over some trim bed, or with keen scythe sweeping the short -grass. - -They were dreams, only dreams that the old garden seemed to bring to -her, when she came when the world was sleeping. Dreams, and yet she -seemed to be so curiously awake. - -But she never spoke of the old garden to the others, or told of the -things that she saw here. Yet they knew she came, her grandmother rated -her, "One day, my maid, caught ee'll be," she said, "and then summoned -very likely for trespassing!" - -But the Law had no terrors for her, so she came whenever the garden -seemed to be calling to her and the high rank grass brushed her thin -cotton skirt and wetted the coarse stocking that clad her slim ankle. - -For an hour she wandered about the garden, she stood by the sundial and -watched the line of the path-way, sadly encroached on now by the weeds -and the self-seeded flowers. A tall yew hedge, once clipped into -fantastic shapes, but now reclaimed by Nature, shut out what had once -been the rose garden, all weed grown now and the roses gone. And beyond -the rose garden, the lake in which the great carp swam lazily and over -which the birds skimmed! From the lake's centre rose a figure in stone, -sadly battered and marred, the figure of a slim girl, a girl that might -have been, herself, changed into stone. - -She often came to look at this figure rising from the centre of the -lake. It held a vase poised on its shoulder, once a fountain had been -flung high into the air from this vase, but the fountain had been dead -long ago. To-day a rook sat perched on one stone shoulder, but flew -away when the living girl came down to the brink. - -She had a feeling for this stone maiden, all so lonely in the midst of -the desolation. She never came into the garden without coming to the -edge of the lake and nodding her little head to the figure who never -nodded back. - -And so, for an hour she wandered about the garden. She picked none of -the flowers that grew so freely here, for she would not dare take them -back, mute tale tellers that they would be. So, empty handed as she -came, she presently made her way back to the old wall and seeing that no -one was in sight, gained the road and went on to the cottage in the -village. - -Her grandmother was leaning over the gate, an old woman with the face of -a russet apple that has been kept till it has wrinkled and mellowed. - -"So there you be, Betty Hanson, and seeing the way you hev come it be -useless and idle it be, for me to ask you where hev you been tu!" - -The girl did not answer. - -"You've been in that garden again, spite o' all I du say. Betty Hanson, -it hev got to cease, my maid, and cease it will now!" - -"Why?" the girl said and there was a frightened look in her eyes. - -"Why? for I hev been talking to Mr. Dalabey and he du tell me that there -be several parties after the old house, and one rich American he very -likely to buy it and if he du, then there be an end to all your -philanderings in that there disgraceful old garden, my maid!" - -"Buy it! Buy it!" She looked at her grandmother and in the blue eyes -there was a look of actual fear. "'Ee don't mean as--as anyone be going -to buy--buy it?" She whispered, "'ee be only saying it!" - -"A rich American!" The old woman nodded her head, "and going to buy it, -he be, and a dratted good job, too!" she added. "Look at your frock -now, what a sight it be!" - -But she did not look at her frock, her face had gone very pitifully -white. She lifted her little brown hands and laid them against her -breast and went into the cottage with tragedy and misery in her blue -eyes. - -"And a dratted good job, too," the old woman said again. - - - - - *CHAPTER II* - - *A MARRIAGE HAS BEEN ARRANGED* - - -"My dear child, if I were to say that we had arrived at our last -shilling, such a statement would not be quite true, for we had reached -that unpleasant position some months ago, and I fear that it is on other -people's shillings that we are existing at the present moment. Not only -is our financial position unsatisfactory, to say the least of it, but, -and forgive me for speaking of it, Kathleen, the years are passing and -five years ago--well, dear one, you were five years younger than you are -to-day!" - -"Father, if you think that you can goad me----" - -"I never goad, it would be too fatiguing! Besides, Kathleen, as my -daughter and a Stanwys, you are not a fool--the Stanwys----" - -"Oh, please do not tell me about the Stanwys, father," she said -bitterly. - -"Would you rather that I spoke about the Homewoods? There is the father, -Sir Josiah----" - -"Common and vulgar!" the girl said with a note of contempt in her voice. - -"But the son--he at least is presentable, have we not agreed that the -son is not so bad, and the position----" - -"I know of the position; do you think I can forget it for even a -moment?" - -She rose and went to the window and stared out into the dull London -Square. - -She was twenty-eight. It is not a great age, yet at twenty-eight the -first sweet freshness of youth is on the wane--a woman of twenty-eight -realises that she is no longer a girl, her girlhood is behind her. -Sometimes she is terribly conscious of it. It is a little tragedy to be -eight and twenty, unmarried and unsought. Kathleen Stanwys at -twenty-eight was unmarried, nor was she engaged. Society was a little -puzzled by the fact, for she was unusually and exceedingly handsome. -She had been a very lovely girl and she was now a radiantly beautiful -woman. - -Seven years ago she had outshone all rival beauties in the great world -of Fashion, but she had made no bid for popularity. She shrank from -anything of the nature of publicity and cheap advertisement; rarely if -ever had her photograph appeared in the press. She wrapped herself in a -mantle of reserve. Ever conscious of the poverty which she was never -permitted to forget she had earned the reputation of being cold and -haughty and proud. Admirers she had never lacked, but suitors had been -few and shy! Young men, well provided with money, had a wholesome fear -of Lord Gowerhurst, her father, for he was a very finished specimen of -his type. - -Smooth tongued, with a charming and plausible manner, cynical, handsome -as all the Stanwys are and have been, an accomplished gambler, too -accomplished, perhaps his enemies, and he had many, whispered. He was -utterly selfish, utterly pitiless. He had never been known to spare a -man or a woman either. Woe to him or to her who fell into his toils. -With what fine courtesy, with what charm of manner would he relieve some -luckless victim, of his last shilling! How sweetly and sympathetically -he would speak of his victims' ill fortune, would suggest some future -"revenge," and then pocket his winnings with a grace that could have -brought but little comfort to the poor wretch whose possessions had -passed out of his own into the keeping of this courtly, delightful, -aristocratic gentleman. - -So, young men well endowed with money, having a wholesome fear of His -Lordship, avoided his Lordship's beautiful daughter, and young men -without money were of course not to be considered for a moment. - -Therefore, at twenty-eight, Kathleen, unappropriated, and a very -beautiful woman, stood staring out of the window this fine May morning, -into the dull London Square. - -My Lord, slender, dressed with exquisite care, was of a tallness and -slimness that permitted his tailor to do justice and honour to his -craft. Few men could wear their clothes with such perfect grace as his -Lordship. His tailor, long suffering man, groaned at the length of the -unpaid bill, but realised that as a walking advertisement Lord -Gowerhurst was an asset to his business not to be despised. So the -lengthy bill grew longer and more formidable, but youngsters, fresh to -town, admiring his Lordship's appearance prodigiously, made it their -business to discover who was his Lordship's tailor and Mr. Darbey, of -Dover Street, saw to it that Lord Gowerhurst never went shabby and -possibly, cunning man, made those who could and would pay, contribute -unconsciously to the upkeep of Lord Gowerhurst's external appearance. - -He came of a handsome family, the women of which had been toasts in many -reigns and through many generations. His forehead was broad and high, -crowned by silver hair that curled crisply, his nose was of the type of -the eagle's beak, his hands white, well kept, reminiscent of the eagle's -claws, a moustache of jetty blackness in admirable contrast to his -silvered hair, shaded and beneficently concealed a thin-lipped, hard and -somewhat cruel mouth. - -My Lord rolled a cigar between his delicate fingers. It was an -excellent cigar; years ago Julius Dix and Company had acquired the habit -of supplying Lord Gowerhurst with cigars on credit and bad habits are -difficult to eradicate. But then his Lordship sent wealthy customers to -the quiet but extremely expensive little shop near the Haymarket. - -"Our position, Kathleen, is irksome," he said softly, "deucedly irksome. -Now and again I have little windfalls, but alas--they grow fewer and -farther between as time goes on--at the moment I haven't a bob, you, -dear, have not a bob--" he paused and laughed softly. "It recalls the -French exercise of my youth. I have not a bob, thou hast not a bob, he -has not a bob--" he waved the cigar. "Anyhow, that is the position, and -then some kindly breeze of Heaven wafts that stout, prosperous, opulent -craft the "Sir Josiah Homewood" on to the horizon of our "sea of -troubles," as Shakespeare so aptly puts it!" - -He paused, he looked at the slender, upright, girlish back of his -daughter. - -"So," he went on, "this large, stout, prosperous and richly freighted -cargo boat, the Sir Josiah Homewood, rises on the horizon of our -eventful lives and----" - -"Oh, please," the girl said with a note of impatience in her voice, -"leave out all that; I wish to understand exactly--exactly what you -propose----" - -"Not what I propose, but what Homewood proposes. Really, I rather admire -the fellow's presumption. As you know, he has a son, a lad not -altogether displeasing, who fortunately but little resembles his father, -a fact you may have noticed, Kathleen. Indeed, I might almost say the -young fellow is not without his good points; he is prepossessing, a -little shy and silent, in which he does not resemble his father. He is -well educated, he has Eton and Oxford behind him. By the way, what a -time he must have had at Eton, if his parentage ever leaked out, poor -devil--however, there it is, the lad is at least presentable--but the -father is----" - -"Terrible!" the girl said with a shudder. - -"Too true, yet it is not proposed you should marry the father. We need -money. You, child, need money, and what is more, a prospect, a future. -You have nothing and the outlook is not cheering." - -"The outlook is hopeless; I have nothing in the world, our family was -always hopelessly impoverished, still the little we once had----" -Kathleen paused. - -"Recriminations, my love, are useless!" his Lordship said. - -"There was very little and now that little hath taken unto itself wings -and has flown away----" He stroked his long drooping moustache with his -slender hand. "So it behoves us to make our arrangements for the -future. Sir Josiah and I have discussed everything." - -"You mean myself, you have arranged the deeds of sale, I suppose, how -much am I worth?" - -"Your value is inestimable. Sir Josiah, worthy Baronet, more daring -than I, puts it down in actual figures--" he paused. "I made a note of -them. He advances me--" He took some papers from his pocket, "the sum -of twelve thousand pounds--advances, mind you, Kathleen, a kindly loan, -which I shall, no doubt, find useful----" - -"That is your part of the payment," she said bitterly, "go on!" - -"He buys a fine house, an estate, he settles it on his son; by the way -the lad's name is Allan." - -"I know," she said, "go on." - -"He settles a fine estate on this Allan, with an income of eight -thousand a year, not so bad, eh?" - -"And this is all conditional----" - -"On your marrying the said Allan Homewood. I think," he said, as he -rose from his breakfast table, "I have on the whole not done so badly -for you!" - -"And yourself," she said; "not so badly!" She smiled bitterly, then -shrugged her shapely shoulders. "Very well, I suppose it is only left -for me to say thank you very much indeed!" - -"Quite so. The alternative, dear child, is this"--his lordship waved -his hand--"an elderly unmarried lady residing in, say, a Brighton -Boarding House, her face bearing some evidence of a past but long since -faded beauty, her title, if she is foolish enough to make use of it, -subjecting her to some little annoyance, mingled with a certain amount -of servile respect. Not a pretty picture, my love, but a very true -one." - -"And the alternative is to marry Mr. Allan Homewood?" - -"A pleasant alternative, and its acceptance never for a moment in doubt, -eh?" - -"Never for a moment in doubt," she repeated. - -"Then it only remains for me to say Heaven bless you, my child, and to -send a wire of acceptance to Sir Josiah. No, on second thought, I'll -telephone him from the Club." He paused for a moment to arrange his -necktie before the glass over the mantel, then went to the door. At the -door. he stood and looked at her for a moment, then went out, a -satisfied smile on his thin aristocratic face. - -The girl stood there by the window for a long time. She was thinking. -She had much to think about. She was twenty-eight and a beautiful woman -of twenty-eight has no doubt many memories. - -Presently she sighed and turned away from the window. A fine place and -eight thousand a year and more when Josiah Homewood was laid with his -fathers. Well! things might be worse, and the lad himself, she liked -him. He was younger than she was by four years, but what did that -matter? - -She had seen him once or twice, had liked him vaguely, there was little -to dislike about him. He was not handsome, she was glad of that, she -hated handsome men, nor was he plain. Again she was glad; she disliked -anything that was ugly. He was also, despite his parentage, a -gentleman. She liked him for that most of all. - -"If he had been vulgar like his father, three times the money would not -have been enough," she said to herself. - -Still, there were memories, memories that rose up out of the past, the -memory of a face, of eager, ardent, worshipping eyes, of a lame, halting -speech, words disjointed and broken, eager, pleading, yet hopeless -words. "I love you, oh! I love you; don't turn from me. I know I am -not worthy, Kathleen, but I love you so!" - -She laughed suddenly, she felt ashamed and annoyed to realise that there -were tears on her lashes and on her cheeks. - -"Folly!" she said aloud. "Folly, and it's all dead and gone ten, years -ago, ten years--" she laughed, "a lifetime! He's married to someone -else; if he's sensible, he will have married someone with money, for he -had none, poor fellow!" - -Meanwhile at the Club, where the better part of his day and practically -the whole of his night was spent, Lord Gowerhurst had looked up a -telephone number and was putting a call through. - -"Homewood--yes, Sir Josiah Homewood, is he in? Yes, I do, -Gowerhurst--Lord Gowerhurst--You'll put him through--then hurry!" - -He waited and then came a voice. It was evidently the voice of a stout -man in a state of anxiety. - -"Yes, it's me, it's Homewood, my Lord----" - -Lord Gowerhurst detected the anxiety, purposely he delayed, he told -himself the man was anxious--naturally--"Let him be anxious, let him -remain on tenter hooks for a time!" It would do him no harm. - -"Is that Sir Josiah Homewood?" - -"Yes, yes, Homewood, I'm speaking to Lord Gowerhurst, aren't I?" - -"Yes--ah, Homewood, is that you? Well, about that little matter we were -discussing yesterday--" his lordship drawled, "the proposition that you -placed before me with such engaging frankness, I should not be surprised -if you remember----" - -"Yea, my Lord, I've not forgotten! Not me!" The voice came chokingly, -uncertain, but above all things eager. - -"I have discussed it with the person--most concerned!" - -"And what does her ladyship----" - -"My dear Homewood, no names on the telephone, no names I beg!" - -"No, no, of course not, my mistake, my Lord. I wouldn't think of -mentioning any names, not for a moment, my Lord. Still what does -she--the person--the party, I mean, my Lord, what does she--er--her----" - -"I quite understand the--as you say--party--is inclined to give very -favourable consideration to the matter. In fact, I may say, my dear -Homewood, that the matter is practically settled on the basis you -suggested." - -Sir Josiah Homewood in his luxurious City office, closed his eyes as in -ecstasy! He clung to the telephone receiver and an expression of rapt -and perfect contentment stole over his features. - -"Then--then it's all right. I may regard it as all right, -my--my--Lord--she, the party, I mean----" - -"Agrees--" said Lord Gowerhurst shortly. "Briefly, yes she agrees--the -matter is settled and now it only remains to complete the contract, you -understand, eh?" - -"I understand, ha, ha, very good, just so, the Contract, always dealing -with contracts I am, but not many like this! Ha, ha, splendid--and now -your Lordship and the other party, I mean the other contracting party, -will dine at my house in Grosvenor Square to-night." - -Gowerhurst frowned. "Oh, very well!" he said ungraciously. - -"Half past seven at Grosvenor Square, your Lordship remembers the -number?" - -"At half past seven, then!" His Lordship said and hung up the receiver. - -"And that," my Lord said, "is that! When my time comes, and I am in no -hurry for it to come, especially just now, I shall be able to close my -eyes on this world, knowing that I have done my duty to my only child, a -truly comforting reflection--And now for a brandy with the merest -suggestion of soda, and if possible a little game of billiards." And he -went up the Club's handsome staircase. - -None of the multitudinous clerks in the large and palatial offices of -Sir Josiah Homewood, Son and Company, Limited, had ever seen the -Managing Director in such a delightful temper, for sometimes his temper -was not delightful. This morning he beamed on all and sundry. Young -Alfred Cope, who supported a widowed Mother on an insignificant salary, -had long been trying to muster up courage to ask for a rise. It seemed -to him that this morning, this bright May morning, the opportunity had -come, and so opportunity sent him, a shivering, trembling wretch, -tapping nervously on the highly polished mahogany door of Sir Josiah's -private office. - -"Well?" Sir Josiah said. "Well, and what do you want?" - -Alfred stumbled lamely into his pitiful story. - -Sir Josiah frowned. "How much are you getting paid now?" he demanded. - -"Forty-two. Forty-two shillings a week! Bless my heart and soul, -princely, princely! Why, when I was a lad such a wage would have been -considered handsome, sir, and here you come asking me for more--Why; -bless me, let me tell you this, Cope--the City is bristling with clerks, -bristling with 'em, you can't move for clerks, sir, and most of 'em out -of work! I've only got to hold up my finger, sir, like this--" He -thrust a broad, stumpy finger into the air, "and say 'Clerk!' and a -hundred would rush at me. I'd be suffocated! Do you understand me, -Cope? Simply crushed to death by the rush! If I put an advertisement -in the papers, I'd have to hire a policeman to keep the Quee--the -Queek--what d'ye call the thing from obstructing the traffic--Forty-two -shillings, you ought to go down on your knees, sir, on your knees and -thank Heaven that you are earning such a salary! Princely! That's what -it is, princely!" - -And so on, for ten long, fear laden, wretched minutes, at the end of -which the hapless wretch slunk away, thanking God that he had not been -dismissed or that his wretched two and forty shillings had not been -reduced to thirty or less. - -"Forty-two shillings--and wants more," Sir Josiah said to himself, -"bless me, what are things coming to?" Then he banished the frown, he -beamed all over his round red face. - -"Lady Kathleen Homewood," he said to himself, "Lady Kathleen Homewood, -my daughter-in-law! Lady Kathleen--ah ha!" He rubbed his hands. -"That'll make Cutler sit up! The fellow gives himself airs because his -daughter married a fellow who is Governor of some place no one in their -senses ever heard of--His Excellency the Governor--Bless my heart! I'm -sick to death of His Excellency! Now Cutler will turn green, eh? -There's nothing like the real thing, the real old true blue-blooded -British aristocracy--can't get over that, eh? No, no fear!" - -Usually it takes but two to make a bargain; in this case it required -four. Three of the four were agreed, himself first of all, now His -Lordship, the Earl of Gowerhurst, and Lady Kathleen Stanwys, his -daughter. There was but one other, but that one other was a good boy, a -dutiful son; he would do exactly what his father wished. - -"Thank God I don't look for opposition from him!" Sir Josiah thought. -"Never trod a better lad than mine, bless him! He knows my heart's set -on this, knows it he does, and he'll do it to please me! He's not like -other young fellows with their fancy tricks. Besides that, the girl's a -beauty, apart from her blood and breeding! If she is a little older -than he, well, what of that? It's the blood, the birth that is, what -tells every time and by George--by George, when I have grandchildren -I'll be able to look at 'em and say to myself--'These grandchildren of -mine are also the grandchildren of an Earl!' And that's something these -days, eh? That's something!" So he fell to muttering and chuckling to -himself, this highly pleased old gentleman, and presently he picked up a -pen and all unconsciously scribbled many times on the blotting paper: - -"Lady Kathleen Homewood, Lady Kathleen Homewood, my daughter-in-law, -Lady Kath----" - -"Eh, what's that?" - -"I thought I'd remind you that it is past one, Sir Josiah, and you were -to lunch with Mr. Cutler and Mr.----" - -"Oh, bless my soul, yes, I'd clean forgotten--many thanks--Jarvis--quite -right, sensible of you!" - -Mr. Jarvis, the head clerk, bowed and would have retired. - -"Oh, Jarvis, one moment, here, help me into my coat, there's a good -feller! That young feller, young what's his name--Cope--Crope--eh?" - -"Cope, sir, yes, sir!" - -"What sort of a chap is he, good worker and all that?" - -"A very attentive worker and a respectable young man!" - -"Supports a widowed mother, I understand?" - -"Yes, sir!" - -"Bless me, well, well. I've been having a chat with him--where's my -umbrella?--having a chat with him--a man can't support a widowed mother -cheaply these days, eh, Jarvis?" - -"Very expensive days, sir!" - -"Quite so, expensive hobby, too, supporting widowed mothers. Raise his -salary to--say Three pound ten, Jarvis, and report to me how he goes on! -My hat, do you see my hat? Oh, thanks, I'll be back at two-thirty, -Jarvis----" - -And Sir Josiah went out. - - - - - *CHAPTER III* - - *A DESIRABLE FAMILY MANSION* - - -DEAR SIR, - -"In reply to your advertisement in the _Daily Telegraph,_ I am at the -moment in a position to offer you a very fine old historical mansion -situated in West Sussex on the Hampshire border. The house has been -untenanted for a number of years and will require considerable -attention. In the hands of a man of wealth and taste, it could be -restored to its original condition and would form one of the most -picturesque and desirable mansions in the Country. It is eminently a -place that it is necessary to see and a description of it would take too -much time now, for as I have previously mentioned, I am only, at the -moment, in a position to offer it as it has already been seen and highly -approved by a wealthy American gentleman and it is quite probable that -he will close at the bargain price at which the house and estate of -seven hundred and fifty acres, including part of a small and picturesque -village, is being offered. I would urge on you, therefore, if you care -to consider the place, to view it without one moment's delay, as -obviously it will be sold to the first who makes a good offer. I may -add that the Mansion in question, with its many historical associations, -would make a country seat fit for any nobleman in the land. May I -finally repeat my urgent advice to view the place at once, as the delay -of even an hour may be prejudicial to your obtaining it. Believe me, -sir, - -Yours truly, - DALABEY AND SON." - - -Over this letter Sir Josiah pondered a little and frowned a little. - -"It's rather like having a pistol at one's head! Hanged if it isn't!" -he muttered. "But it reads all right, it reads--the goods! Historical -Mansion, seven hundred and fifty acres, fit for a nobleman, with part of -a village, sounds right--sounds right--" he muttered. He nodded his -head. "But this hurry--why it's a confounded nuisance, that's what it -is. How can I go? I've got--let me see--har hum--" He muttered to -himself and frowned heavily. - -He had much important business to see to, that day, a meeting of -Directors at twelve, another at two, and there were things to be -arranged and discussed that Sir Josiah knew would require his clear -brain and intellect. How could, he go journeying down to some remote -part of Sussex to view this ancient mansion with its historical -associations, desirable as it might be? - -Sir Josiah looked up from the letter and glanced across the breakfast -table at his son. - -Allan was reading. It would have been noteworthy had Allan not been -reading. The lad was always reading. His book was propped up against a -teacup and he seemed to have forgotten his breakfast. - -A good looking, big and broad shouldered young fellow this, with clean -cut features and massive jaw and a broad high forehead! Muscle and -sinew were there, but there was intelligence and brain power in that -noble forehead of his. - -Fully six feet stood he in his socks, massive of build, with straight, -honest blue eyes and waving hair that was neither dark nor fair. A face -that might in its strength seem a little hard, a little fierce, even a -little forbidding, but that the mouth atoned for all. - -No man with a mouth like this could be other than very human, very -tender and kindly, very generous, the mouth of a man who could give -much, suffer much and love greatly. - -But Sir Josiah saw nothing of all this, he only saw Allan, his son, -reading another of those confounded books, for which Sir Josiah had no -feeling, except of the deepest disgust. - -"Allan!" - -"Father?" The young man looked up. "I'm sorry!" he said. "Did you -speak to me before?" - -"No, I didn't, and breakfast ain't the time, Allan, to be stuffing your -head with all that there nonsense!" - -Allan smiled. "You had your letters, and as I had my book----" - -"You always have your book! I never saw such a fellow for reading--but -I'm not saying anything, my boy. No, no, you're a good lad. Few sons -please their old fathers as you do me--we're not quarrelling, Allan -lad!" - -"We never have yet, father, and we never will, I think!" - -"I know!" said Sir Josiah. "Ah, Allan, you're doing well, a fine woman, -beautiful as a picture, tall and stately, and the daughter of an Earl. -Why, boy, you ought to be in the Seventh Heaven of delight and instead -you sit there with your nose in a book!" - -"She is a fine and a beautiful and I believe a good woman," said Allan, -"but her father--" he paused. "I could have wished her a better -father!" - -"An Earl, an Earl!" cried the old man. "A better father than an Earl! -Bless me, Allan--what nonsense! However, you're marrying her not her -father; it's all settled, all agreed--" He rubbed his hands, his round -red face shone with benevolence and joy. "You're a sensible and dutiful -fellow, Allan! You say to yourself, 'My old father wishes it--The girl -is good and beautiful and well born, I don't know particularly that I -love her--come to that perhaps I don't, but I might go farther and fare -worse!' Eh, that's it, isn't it? And you're doing it, boy, because you -know it will give pleasure to the old man!" - -"I think you have got my reasoning very correctly, father!" Allan said. - -"There's no one else?" Sir Josiah said. - -"No one else, no--and I like Lady Kathleen. I admire her and I pity -her----" - -"Pity--pity--bless my soul, boy, pity. Why should you pity her? Isn't -she well born, doesn't she move in the best, the very best society? -Isn't she the only daughter, only child come to that, of an Earl? Pity -her?" - -"Just that, I pity her, I am deeply sorry for her. I think she suffers -a good deal and can't you understand why?" - -"I--I don't know, lad, how should I know what the feelings of a young -Society lady are?" - -"She is proud and she is poor, there's suffering in that--She is proud -and she knows that her father's name is in bad odour. Do you think a -sensitive, highly strung girl as she is doesn't feel a thing like that? -Yes, I pity her, and if through me her life may be made a little -happier, why not? Last night when you and her father were talking -money--she and I had much to say to one another. She was very open and -very frank to me and I to her. We made no pretence--we know that we do -not love one another. She is desperately poor and she is marrying me -chiefly--entirely for the money you are going to give us both. I know -that you are lending Lord Gowerhurst money, that he has not the -slightest intention of every repaying you--Oh, Kathleen and I have been -perfectly open and frank with one another--I understand that she cares -for no one else. She has the same assurances from me, so there--" Allan -laughed sharply, "you have it, the usual thing, a marriage of -convenience! How can I pretend that I like it, Father, when I do not? -You--you know that I would sooner not--but it is arranged, it is -agreed--I do not love her, but thank God I can and do respect her and I -feel sorry for her--and so we shall go through with it, Father!" he -concluded. - -Josiah nodded. "Yes, boy, you will go through with it and one day -you'll thank me that I brought it about. I know a good woman when I see -one and I tell you she is that--good--good to the core--I'm not clever -and not over well educated, Allan, like you are. I don't set up to be a -gentleman, but there's one thing I can do, I can sum up my fellow men -and women, too, come to that. You'll find Allan, I'm making no mistake -when I say Lady Kathleen is as fine and as true a woman as ever stepped. -You'll go through with this marriage, Allan, I count on you!" - -"I've never failed you yet, Father." - -"You never have, never, and never will!" A look of rare tenderness came -into the commonplace, even vulgar face. He rose and went to his son and -put a large trembling hand on his shoulder. - -"No Allan, you've never failed me, not even when you were a little chap! -Do you think I don't think of it? Do you think I don't thank God for -it, do you think when I hear other men speaking of their sons and of--of -the trouble some of 'em bring? Do you think I don't say to myself--'My -boy's above that kind of thing, my boy's an honest man and a -gentleman!'" He gripped the shoulder under his hand tightly. - -"And now read that, read this letter----" he went on in a changed voice. -"Read it, Allan!" - -Allan took the letter and read it. - -"Well, father?" - -"It looks like being just the kind of place I'm after!" - -"There are bound to be hundreds of others--hundreds!" - -"That's just what there aren't. You know how I've advertised, you know -how many places I've seen, twenty at least, and I wouldn't be found dead -in any one of 'em. No! places like I want aren't to be found every day, -and I've got an idea this might be the place. Besides that, these -agents write, it's to be bought cheaply. I'm never above making a -bargain, Allan. It's in pretty bad condition evidently and I daresay -it'll cost some money to put right, but what's that matter if I get it -off the purchase price? Now to-day I can't go and you see that this -agent writes to say it's urgent. There's an American out for it and I -don't like to be beat, Allan, and especially I don't like to be beat by -an American. They are keen buyers and clever buyers and what I say is -this--if this place is good enough for a rich American--why it might -also be good enough for me!" - -Allan nodded. "And you will go and see this place and----" - -"That's just what I can't do, I've got two Company meetings and -important ones they are, and I can't miss 'em. Time's short, it's a bit -like having a pistol pointed at one's head; but there you are, you can't -help it and so my boy you've just got to put that book of poems, or -whatever it is, away and forget it for to-day--you've got to go -down--to----" he paused and looked at the letter, "this place, this -Little Stretton, Little Stretton----" he repeated. "I seem to know the -name, been there before perhaps--motoring or something, however you'll -have to go there to-day instead of--me! You're not a fool, Allan, -you've got eyes in your head--After all, the place is to be for you when -you are married to her Ladyship, and it's right you should be the one to -see it, so go down there, boy, see the place, size it up and find out -the price. Use your own judgment because you've got it to use. I'll -leave it in your hands. I'll make out a cheque for five hundred and -sign it and you can leave it as deposit if you decide to buy. Only make -up your mind, don't beat about the bush, remember we're not the only -ones--and if it's the right place I don't want to lose it!" - -"But father--had you not better see it yourself, surely to-morrow----?" - -"To-morrow won't do--it must be done to-day--I know, worse luck, you're -not a good hand at making a bargain, but I've got to make the best of -that! Do your best, if you like the place, if you think it's cheap, if -there are possibilities in it--why, Allan, boy, snap it up--don't let -anyone get ahead of you! Here's the cheque." Sir Josiah tore a cheque -out and made it out for five hundred pounds and signed it "Josiah -Homewood." - -"And now you'd better look out a train to this place, this Little -Stretton----" again he seemed to linger over the name. "Unless, of -course," he added, "you'll go by the car?" - -"I'll go by train----" Allan said. In the train he could read his -beloved books. The car allowed no such relaxation. "I'll go by train!" -he said. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV* - - *HOW ALLAN CAME TO THE GARDEN* - - -For May it was a very hot day, almost an unnaturally hot day. It was a -day that might well have belonged to August. - -Allan stepped it from the station, a sign post told him that Little -Stretton was yet a mile to go. He took off his hat and henceforth -carried it in his hand. He had read his book all the way down in the -train and his mind was still lingering on it, on the book rather than on -realities. So when he came to where stood an old, a very, very ancient -oak, the mere relic of a once noble tree, he looked at it vaguely, and -then looked beyond for the little red tiled barn that some fancy told -him would be there. And it was there, but it was a very old barn and -the roof had fallen in, in places and lichen was growing on the broken -tiles. - -Allan stared at it, he felt faintly surprised. - -"Strange!" he said aloud. "Strange--why----" - -He had an idea that the barn was not so old, why it ought to have been -almost a new barn, had he not seen---- - -"Good Heavens!" he said aloud. "I must be dreaming or something----" -Then he walked on rapidly. He breasted a hill and descended on the far -side, following the twisting, turning road between the hedgerows all -sweet with May flowers, and so came at last to a little village of red -houses roofed with slabs of old Sussex stone, all green and yellow with -lichen, yellow mostly. - -Allan stood still and looked at the village that lay almost at his feet. - -"I suppose," he said slowly. "I suppose we must, have motored through -here once!" - -He seemed to know it all so well, the sleepy sloping street with the -quaintly irregular houses, the little shops with curved bow windows -thrusting out on to the pavement, and the low pitched doorways one -gained by climbing perhaps three or more worn stone steps. The Inn, the -sign of which swung from a beam that spanned the street. Yes surely he -had seen it all before--on some motoring trip perhaps--and yet--and yet -in a way it was strangely different, as the barn had differed from his -expectations. For a time with a queer puzzled sensation, he stood, and -then he came back to realities. He had journeyed here to see some house -agent--what was his name? - -Dalabey! yes Dalabey! - -"Boy," he called to a dusty white haired urchin playing with a dog. -"Boy, which is Mr. Dalabey's, the house agent?" - -The boy pointed. "That be Dalabey's up they steps be Dalabey's shop." - -So Allan went up the steps and found himself in the office of Dalabey -and Son. - -Mr. Dalabey, a stout, red haired man, wearing no coat, was talking with -a visitor, he looked at Allan. - -"My father had a letter about a house, an old house, he asked me----" - -"Ah yes, to be sure, the house as Mr. Van Norden be after, well there be -nothing settled as yet, sir," Mr. Dalabey said as he reached up for a -huge key. - -"I'll be ten minutes about," he said, "if you'll wait here while I get -finished with this gentleman!" - -"Couldn't I go on? If you direct me I might find it." - -"Aye, and I'll follow. Well you can't make any mistake, 'tis just -beyond the village, you'll see a high red wall, a very old wall it be, -follow the wall for maybe a quarter of a mile, then you will come to the -gates, well this key don't fit the gates, you'll hev to go a bit further -till you come to a green door. This key is the key of the door, if -you'll go on I'll get my bicycle and follow you and maybe I'll catch you -up before you get there." - -"Thanks!" Allan said, he took the key, a ponderous thing and smiled at -it for its bigness and clumsiness. - -Children in the roadway stared at the young man swinging the ponderous -key in his hand, women standing in their doorways nodded to one another. - -They knew the key. "Very like he be the rich American who be coming to -buy the Manor," they said. - -Allan walked on. Yes, certainly they must have motored through this -village, he remembered it vaguely, and yet it seemed to him always a -little changed. Now was there not, should there not be a Cross standing -here where the road widened, in front of the Inn. - -He paused and stared about him. There was no Cross, no suggestion of -one. - -An old man, typically Sussex, grey bearded and bent double by age, clad -in a smock and an ancient tall hat, stared at him with rheumy eyes. - -"Grandfather," said Allan, "wasn't there a cross here once?" - -"Aye, a cross there were and a very fine cross it was tu," said the old -man. "I du remember her, when I were a lad, seventy years ago; I du -remember that Cross, seventy years ago knocked down her were in broad -daylight, her were and I see it done, I did wi' my two eyes, see it -done, I did!" He nodded his hoary head. "'Twere this a way, the doing -of it. Village Street be wunnerful steep it be, they was bringing up -two great el'ums on a lurry, three strappin' hosses they were a-pulling -of the lurry up the hill, then down all on a sudden goes one o' the -hosses, and down goes another. T'other hoss rares up her did and crack -goes the chain, lurry wi' they two great el'ums goes running back'ard -down the bill it did. I say it, as seen it done seventy years ago, -seventy and one to be parfectly correct, and bash goes they el'um trunks -into the Cross. Bash goes the Cross, down it falls in little pieces. I -picked up a piece, I du remember, the bit I've got to this day, it -stands on the chimbley shelf, it du. Seventy and one years ago, and me -a lad of turned twelve a fine strapping lad tu." - -Allan slipped a coin into the old man's willing palm. - -Strange he should have thought that a Cross stood there. And yet, why -strange? He had seen some other village street like this one, with a -Cross set up in it. One often saw Crosses set up in old world villages. - -So he went on, swinging the great key in his hand and presently he came -to the end of the village, where was the beginning of the old brick -wall, a very high brick wall it was, fully ten feet, and the bricks were -of that rare rose tint, the like of which have never been made since -Anne was Queen, but these seemed to go back far before the time of Anne -and here and there the wall was somewhat broken. But nature had done her -best to make good the gaps, filling them up with lichen and moss of -brilliant green and vivid yellow, a feast of colour for eyes tired of -London's sombre streets. - -And he knew, because Mr. Dalabey had told him, that a quarter of a mile -on, he would come to the gates, wide gates of iron hung on stone pillars -and on each stone pillar was set the head of a deer, also carved in -stone. - -And presently he came to the gates, and the pillars stood all moss -covered, surmounted, as he knew they would be, by the sculptured heads -of deer; but one had lost its antlers, and the other had its muzzle -broken short off. - -Allan looked up at them and smiled, and then his smile vanished. Mr. -Dalabey had not told him of the deers' heads, and yet--they were here. -Curious! he thought. - -It was as though he had come on a place that he had visited in a dream, -he could not shake off the feeling of familiarity, the knowledge, the -certainty that attended his every step. He knew that the green door -would be arched at the top and that it would be studded with great nails -and bound with iron in many places. - -He knew that it would be and it was! He fitted the heavy key in the -lock and it turned at last with much rasping and complaining. - -The door gave on a paved yard and in the crevices of the great flat -topped cobbles grew weeds of all kind that bloomed and flourished -untouched. - -And now the feeling of familiarity, the knowledge of the place had grown -on him, so that he wondered at it no longer. He accepted it, because it -was right, because--he refused to consider it at all. He knew! - -To the left stood the kitchen part of the house, he glanced towards it, -but turned to the right and picked his way across the weed grown yard -and came to a small wicket gate, between two tumble down buildings. The -wicket gate had fallen into rottenness and lay all in fragments on the -ground, but through the opening that was left he passed and found -himself in the wild tangle of the great garden. - -Through the garden he walked, a man waking, yet in a strange dream. He -followed the flagged pathway past the old sundial that had lost its -gnomon, beyond the wild yew hedge and so to the lake, from which rose -the slim figure of a stone girl and at her he stared long. - -He suddenly realised that, he had come here to see her, he had come on -purpose, just to see this stone figure of a girl. He would have been -disappointed, almost shocked, if she had not been here--and she was -here--but the pitcher on her shoulder was empty and the upflung water -flashed no longer in the sunlight. - -Slowly, very slowly, he turned away, he went back through the rose -garden with bowed head, he came to the great circle of stone in the -midst of which was set the old sundial, and on a stone seat, warmed by -the sun, he sat down. - -"Strange!" he said. He said it aloud. "Strange!" he repeated. "I seem -to know----" He stretched his arm out and laid it on the back of the -old stone seat, and sat there staring at the moss grown sundial -pedestal--staring till it seemed to waver, to become all uncertain -before his sight. - -And then--then he lifted his head and looked about him. - -He saw a garden all glowing with flowers, and trim green lawns, the -weeds, the desolation and the ruin of centuries had passed as with a -breath. The garden was all glowing and blowing as perhaps it had two -hundred years ago, and then slowly he turned his head and looked towards -the house and saw that doors and windows stood open and that curtains -swung from the casements lazily in the breeze. And as he watched a door -opened and into the sunshine stepped, somewhat timidly he thought, a -little maid, a trim, slim bodied little maid. She wore a flowered -cotton gown, short at the ankles and low in the neck, and how the sun -seemed to kiss it! And the little face above, a rarely sweet little -face, purely oval with ripe red lips and the bluest eyes in the world. -So she came hurrying along the wide stone pathway to him, a smile on her -red lips and the copper red of her hair all flaming in the sunlight -under the dainty mob cap. - -But ere she reached him, she stood still suddenly and looked at him with -a pretty frown that was yet half a smile on her little face. - -"Allan!" she said. "Allan, be you still angry wi' your Betty now, dear? -Will 'ee take back the words 'ee did speak in your anger, Allan? For -you should know I would not have let a gawky rogue like Tim Burnand buss -me, Allan, if I could 'a helped it. Before I could tell what he was at, -he did steal a kiss, and I have rubbed my poor face sore to rub it all -away for--for I want no kisses but thine Allan, my--my dear!" - -Her voice was very soft and sweet and the tears gathered in her -wonderful blue eyes, tears that seemed to wring his heart. - -"I--I was overharsh and rough wi' thee, my Betty," he said. "I know -'twas not your fault, but all the fault of Tim Burnand whose bones I'll -break for him, may----" - -"Nay--swear not!" she said. "Oh Allan, I love thee for thy jealousy, I -love thee for it!" Her eyes were laughing and joyous now and her face -was all smiles and dimples and so she came to him, daintily, and put her -two small hands, little brown hands in queer black lace mittens, on his -shoulders and rising on her toes, she kissed him on the eyes. - -"And never, never more will 'ee be angry and jealous of your Betty?" she -said. - -"Never again!" he said. "But because I do love thee so, my maid I could -not bear to think that other lips----" - -"Have never touched mine, 'twas but my cheek he bussed, and I boxed his -ears soundly for him--but hush--I hear my lady calling to me--Listen! -Betty! Betty! yes--I did but steal away, seeing you here--just to tell -thee----" She paused for breath for a moment "to tell thee, my Allan, -how I do love thee! Hark, my lady is calling again!" - -"Blow me; sir, if I didn't think you'd been and lost yourself or fell -down the old well, which I did ought to have reminded you about, or -something!" said a voice. - -Allan started up, stared up into the round red and over-heated face of -Mr. Dalabey. He looked about him with dazed eyes. Weeds were rioting -over the old garden, the grass stood knee high on the lawns, dandelions -thrust their golden heads between the paving stones at his feet. He -stared at the house and saw it all, sombre and lifeless, a house of the -dead. Its windows were broken, desolation and ruin were upon it, and -then he looked back at the jolly red face of Mr. Dalabey. - -"Fell asleep!" Mr. Dalabey said. "And been dreaming!" he added. - -"Yes--dreaming----" Allan said quietly. "Dreaming!" - - - - - *CHAPTER V* - - *IN WHICH ALLAN BUYS THE MANOR HOUSE* - - -In and out and up and down Mr. Dalabey led Allan over the old house. -They pried into dark and dusty corners, they ascended narrow and rickety -stairs. It was a wonderful, rambling old place, the years had set their -mark on it. The old oaken floors, worn and roughened by a thousand -feet, took on many a queer pitch; from the pine panelling the paint had -come away in great flakes; scarce a window but had its broken pane and -through the pane some impertinent creeper thrust into the room and -nodded to them familiarly. - -Allan followed the stout, red faced, good humoured man up and down the -stairs and in and out the old rooms. A great talker was Mr. Dalabey, a -born seller of houses. - -"This here be the banquetting hall, a very noble room, sir, very noble, -fit for the aristocracy, her be, and a good many of the aristocracy it -hev seen, sir, and many a bottle hev been drunk here, sir, I'll wager! -Look at the ceiling, sir, some of the finest old plaster work to be met -with in the kingdom, wonderful fine plaster work it be, as many gents as -be connoisseurs, hev remarked. Greatly took with the plaster work was -Mr. Van Norden." - -"Yes," Allan said, and "Yes!" For his thoughts were far away, he looked -through the broken and dusty windows into the garden with its weeds and -its broken pathways and overgrown flower beds, and a strange sense of -loss came to him. He felt a little ache at his heart, for the girl who -had come to him in that same strange dream and had kissed his eyes and -called him "her dear." - -How real she had been. He marvelled now at the feeling that had been -his at the time, that she was a very part of his life. How sweet and -musical her voice, how warm and soft the touch of her red lips and yet -it had only been a dream! - -"This be one o' the guest rooms and you'll notice the wig cupboard, -sir," said Mr. Dalabey; "very remarkable this wig cupboard, you'll see -'em in most of the bedrooms where the quality of them days kep' their -wigs. Much took Mr. Van Norden was with they wig cupboards!" - -"Yes!" said Allan, and all the time his thoughts were with the maiden of -the garden, she who had kissed his eyes and had vanished as she had -come, leaving him with this strange sense of loneliness and longing and -hunger, and above all that deep, deep sense of loss. - -"And now I think we've pretty well done it, sir, there's the stables, -rare fine stables they was once. Seldom less than twenty hosses did -they keep in them stables in the Elmacott's days----" - -"Whose days?" - -"Elmacott, that were the name o' the folk, dead and gone they be -now--Sir Nathaniel were the last, a rare wild devil of a man according -to history, my old grandfather, a wonderful man he were, would tell me -many a story of Sir Nat, as they called him, when I were a boy. Stories -my old granddad had from his father before him--well sir," Mr. Dalabey -paused, "well, sir, there it be, I've shewn you all there is to see, -hiding nothing, a rare lot of money'll be wanted to be spent on it, sir, -and there be no disguising the fact, nor have I attempted to disguise -it, as you'll bear witness, sir, but there be this Mr. Van Norden keen -set on the place and likely for to make up his mind any moment, -considering of it he is at this very time, I daresay!" - -"Who are the owners?" Allan asked. - -"A gentleman of the name of Stimpson be the owner, a distant relative of -the Elmacotts by marriage. I do understand, out in Canada he be, born -and bred there and never clapped eyes on the place, nor ever likely to. -I've got to get the best price I can for the place, seeing he be my -client, and the price I've asked Mr. Van Norden----" Dalabey paused. -He looked at Allan, he had no great opinion of Allan. "Queer and dreamy -like," Mr. Dalabey thought, "not businesslike, one of they sort who goes -through the world mooning----" - -"And the price?" Allan asked. - -"Er--thirty thousand pounds," said Dalabey. - -"It's a great deal of money," Allan said, he said it more for the sake -of saying something than for any other reason. Had Dalabey said fifty -thousand pounds, he would probably have said the same thing. - -"Open to an offer I be, but the offer's got to come quick and soon, or -Mr. Van Norden----" - -"I know, I know!" Allan stood and stared out over the garden. He -wondered at its strange fascination for him. Of course it had only been -a dream, yet a dream so strangely real, so clear cut, so logical and -why--why should it have come to him here in this old garden--why? - -Mr. Dalabey was staring at him. - -"Gone to sleep he hev seemingly." - -"Thirty thousand, sir, and that be no more than forty pounds an acre for -good Sussex land by my reckoning, to say nothing of the old house and -the buildings and a dozen cottages in the village wi' the alehouse, the -Elmacott Arms." - -"Yes, yes!" Allan said. "Yes! I am acting for my father. I have his -permission to--to settle--the house will cost a great deal to repair, a -great deal!" - -"I haven't disguised nothing from you and no one can say----" - -"I will offer you twenty-five thousand on my father's behalf!" - -"Oh sir, oh consider! A fine house her be and wunnerful good land the -best in all Sussex and twenty-five thousand b'ain't no more than about -thirty pounds an acre, a terribul little money that, sir, for land so -good and the historical association and all!" - -"Twenty-seven!" Allan said briefly. - -"There be Mr. Van Norden a considering of it at this very moment----" - -Allan hated bargaining, hated money. His life had been spent in an -atmosphere of money. He knew that above and before all he wanted to be -rid of this man, he wanted to go back to the old garden and sit there on -the sun warmed stone seat and see if his dream would not come back to -him. - -"Twenty-eight thousand, then, and no more, I have done, take it or leave -it!" - -"You'll like to see the cottages and the Inn, a wunnerful old Inn her be -with historical interest and----" - -"No!" said Allan. "No! do you take my offer, yes or no? Tell me now!" - -Mr. Balabey stroked his chin. He did not like to do business in this -way. True it was profitable business, for Mr. Van Norden was -considering the offer at twenty-five thousand. - -"Very well, sir, done and done!" said Mr. Dalabey. "Done with you, sir, -and I congratulate you on a rare bargain, I do, sir!" He held out his -large and moist hand. - -Allan took it. - -"Now," he said, "I will ask you to do me a favour! I have purchased the -place at twenty-eight thousand pounds. I have a cheque for five hundred -pounds as deposit in my pocket, if I had a pen----" - -"I've got a fountain pen with me, sir," said Dalabey, "always carry one -I du!" - -"Very well then, we will sit down here--and if you will lend me your -pen----?" - -They sat down on the old stone seat and Allan filled in the cheque. - -"Make it payable to me," Dalabey said. "Thomas J. Dalabey," which Allan -did. - -"And now," Allan said, "I'd like to look about the old place alone, take -the cheque and I will call at your office on my way back, you can then -give me the receipt." - -"To be sure and so I will, and once more congratulate you I do, and if -so be you'll honour me, sir, I'll have a cup of tea ready and waiting -for you when you come back!" - -"Thank you!" Allan said. "And now, one thing more, how is the old place -called, Mr. Dalabey?" - -"Why 'tis Homewood Manor, I thought as I mentioned the name in my -letter----" - -"No, you did not, though I remember someone else spoke of it to -me--Homewood Manor, that is strange!" - -"In the Parish of Homewood it be," said Dalabey, "just within, and the -next Parish be Little Stretton, but as this----" - -"I understand, I quite understand, but all the same it is curious!" - -"I don't see how," said Mr. Dalabey, "curious it 'ud be if it were -called anything else, sir!" - -"Look at the cheque, at the signature!" Allan said. - -Mr. Dalabey looked, he uttered an exclamation as he spelled out Josiah -Homewood's crabbed handwriting. - -"Very odd it be, I swear!" he said. "And very right and proper too, -come to that, nothing could be better! Mr. Homewood of Homewood Manor, -it sounds good, sir! And now I'll get back and a cup o' tea'll be ready -for you in say an hour's time----" - -"Say two----" Allan said, "and thank you!" - -So Dalabey hurried off to spread the news through Little Stretton. -Beaming with joy he was, as he cycled down the road. - -"Ah, Mrs. Hanson, there you be, Ma'am!" he shouted, slowing down by the -little cottage. "News I've got for 'ee and for that little gel o' -thine!" - -"News--hev the American----" - -"No, ma'am, he hasn't! Why, my maid, what be the matter wi' 'ee?" -Dalabey added, for he had caught sight of Betty's blooming face in the -window. - -And a pretty picture the girl made, her sweet face framed in the -clinging greenery and the roses on the point of breaking into bloom, but -the sweetest rose of all was there in the window. - -"Fair joyous you do look," said Dalabey, "joyous be the word, all -bubbling over wi' delight--and yet--you cannot have heard the news of -the selling yet?" - -"The--the selling--Mr. Dalabey, not--not the selling of--my--of--oh you -said--the American hasn't bought----" - -"Homewood Manor be sold, sold by I, this very day, Mrs. Hanson, sold by -I within the hour!" He rubbed his big red hands, "and a fair price, yes -I'll admit, a fair price as things go--but sold it be, sold and done -for, but not to the American gentleman--Why, Mrs. Hanson, what be the -matter wi' that gel o' thine?" - -For Betty had gone white, white as death, and the joy had gone out of -her face and her little red lips dragged down pitifully and into her -blue eyes had come tears, tears which all unnoticed trickled down her -pale cheeks. - -"Fair daft that maid be about that old garden!" said Mrs. Hanson. "And -glad I be, Mr. Dalabey, as the place be sold, and put to orders, I hope -it'll be, so this maid of mine will go no more roamin' where her haven't -no business to be!" - -"Ah yes, to be sure, to be sure!" Mr. Dalabey said. "To be sure," he -added, "well! sold it be and, strangest of all, to a young gentleman, -leastways his father, which be all the same, of the name of Homewood. -There, what do 'ee think of that now? Homewood Manor sold to a -Homewood, curious, eh? Well, well, I must be getting along!" - -"Sold it be and a dratted good job too!" Mrs. Hanson said. - -Betty crept away to her attic room under the thatched roof. Sold! Her -garden sold and for ever now barred against her! No more rambles in the -enchanted garden by moonlight, no more dreams in which she peopled the -old garden with all those strange folk, of whom she had seen visions. -And He--she would never see Him more, bending over the flower beds at -his work. He whose face she had hardly seen, and yet somehow she knew -that He meant so much to her. So the little maid crept to her room with -bursting heart. - -"Sold it be, sold it be," she whispered to herself. - - - - - *CHAPTER VI* - - *"I HATE HIM--HATE HIM I DU!"* - - -Allan sat on the old stone seat in the warm sunshine. He watched the -rioting weeds, the broken sundial, the long pathway of flagged stone -leading to the grim desolate house. - -He closed his eyes and opened them again, hoping to see that vision he -had seen, but it came to him no more. No! there were only the weeds and -the decay and the green moss. - -So he sat there for a full hour and tried to force that which would not -come. He could see her, in fancy, tripping down the flagged path to -him, with love and tenderness in her blue eyes, that dainty little -figure with the head of flaming gold and the white neck. But it was a -vision that could not be forced. - -So presently, disheartened and hopeless, he rose and went to the lake -and stared hard at the broken stone nymph and watched the great idle -fish and the sense of loss grew stronger and yet stronger on him. - -Who was she who had come out of the past to kiss his eyes and to tell -him that she loved him? Why should such dreams come to him? He had -never dreamed in all his life before, but she had been so real, even to -the little black lace mittens, black lace mittens such he had never seen -on a girl's hands before. Yet he had dreamed of her and the sweet voice -of her and the sweet Sussex speech and strangely enough, had he not -answered her in that same speech? He remembered it now with a sudden -start of surprise. - -Yes, he with Eton and Oxford behind him, had spoken as she had spoken, -as the old man who had told him about the broken Cross in Little -Stretton had spoken. - -He turned away, he made his way back through the garden. He wondered at -his seeming previous knowledge of it now, for that knowledge was gone, -it took him some time to find the gap where the broken wicket gate had -been, but he found it and went, blundering and uncertain, across the -grass grown stable yard. - -He locked the battered green door behind him and thrust the great key -into his coat pocket and went along the road, and on the way to the -village he passed a little thatched roofed cottage and under that -thatched roof a maid was lying on her little bed, face downward, weeping -her heart out for the thing that he had done, yet he could not know -that. How could he? He saw an old dame standing by the little gate, an -upright severe old dame, with white hair and a wrinkled face, and she -bobbed him a country curtsey. - -To her Allan lifted his hat politely. - -"A beautiful day!" he said. - -"And that it be, a wunnerful fine day and hot like for May her be, sir -and might--might I make bold----" she hesitated. - -Allan stopped and looked at her with kindly eyes. - -"You were going to ask me something?" - -"Cur-us I be, which be a besetting sin!" she admitted. "But Mr. Dalabey -he hev passed by just now when my maid and I--my granddarter her be, -were here and he told we as he hev sold the old Manor House and I were -thinking, sir, seeing the key was sticking out, of your pocket----" - -Allan laughed. "Yes," he said, "you are right, I have bought it, for my -father, that is----" - -"A wunnerful fine place it be!" she said. - -"And we shall be near neighbours, eh?" - -Again she dropped a curtsey. - -"'Tisn't for the like of we to be a neighbour to the like of gentry," -she added, "but if any little thing I can du----" - -"Be sure I will come and ask you Mrs.----" - -"Hanson be my name, sir, as anyone can tell 'ee. Old this cottage be, -but there never yet lived in it one whose name was not Hanson. 'Twere -Hansons lived here in the days when the Elmacotts lived at the Manor, -Hansons hev been servants there, always served the Elmacotts, they did, -and if, sir, there be any little thing that we can du----" - -"You are very good!" Allan said. - -"A dear talkative old soul," he thought; he held out a friendly hand to -her and she blushed at the honour and bobbed him a dozen curtseys as he -went his way. - -"Betty, Betty, my maid, Betty, come 'ee here, Betty, where be 'ee? Come -here!" cried Mrs. Hanson, when Allan had gone. - -"Here I be, Grandmother!" Betty came, a pale sorrowful faced little -maiden. - -"And crying 'ee've been, shame on 'ee my maid for to cry because that -dirty old place hev been sold and who do 'ee think I have been talkin' -wi'? Why bless 'ee wi' the young gentleman as hev bought her and a -proper young gentleman he be, not above shaking hands wi' an old body -like me and lifting of his hat to I, for all the world like I were a -fine lady! Bless 'ee my maid, a fine, upstanding, smart, young -gentleman he be, one of the quality too, aye of the quality, my maid, -for mark 'ee the real quality are never above shaking hands wi' a poor -body and talking pleasant to the likes o' we! 'Tis they upstarts and -nobodys as looks down on poor folks! When 'ee sees him Betty, -'ee'll----" - -"I never want to see him, never!" the girl cried, "Never, never, I hope -I never shall see him!" - -"Bless me what nonsense are 'ee talking now?" - -"I never want to see him, for--for if I du, I shall hate him, hate him, -aye, I hate him now, I du--hate him terribul bad, I du----" - -"For shame and to your room wi' 'ee till you du come to your senses--I -be ashamed o' you, Betty Hanson, that I be! Hate him indeed, hate him, a -fine upstanding----" - -"I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!" Betty said, and then once again, -with defiance and anger and sorrow too in her blue eyes, "I hate him, I -du, Grandmother!" - -Mrs. Hanson lifted a rigid arm, she pointed at the door. - -"To your room wi' 'ee, Betty Hanson," she said, "I be ashamed of 'ee, I -be, to your room, you perilous bad maid!" - - - - - *CHAPTER VII* - - *"HOW WONDERFUL--THE WAY OF THINGS"* - - -"Bless my soul!" Sir Josiah said, "Bless my soul!" He said it several -times, there was a look of astonishment on his red round face, "Bless my -soul, sir!" - -He walked up and down the large and imposing room, his hands behind his -back. - -"And how about the drains, did you make any enquiry about the drains? - -"No!" said Allan. - -"No, you wouldn't, nor about the water! Is water laid on, eh, answer me -that?" - -"I--I don't know, father, I am afraid I--I was a bad representative!" - -"It's enough to worry a man's head off," cried his father. "Here do I go -trusting you to go and--and--not a thing do you know! Hand over my -cheque for five hundred pounds like it was a bagatelle as the saying is. -You don't know anythin' about the title deeds, nothing about the drains, -nothing about the water, while you admit the state of repair of the -house is somethin' disgraceful!" - -"Father, I wish you had gone yourself, I told you----" - -"Yes, I know, you told me I know, you did--told me you weren't no good -at bargaining, and I'm afraid you were right! Here you go -and--and--and----" Sir Josiah paused, a little breathlessly. - -"Well, what's the place like? Just try my lad and pull yourself -together and describe it!" - -"Homewood Manor is----" - -"What Manor?" - -"Homewood--it bears the same name as we do, father!" - -Sir Josiah sat down, he sat down abruptly and stared wide eyed at his -son. - -"Homewood----" he gasped, "Little Stretton--Homewood Manor--well, well -if this don't beat anything--anything I've ever heard--Homewood----" - -"It is an odd coincidence," said Allan. - -"Odd coincidence, it's more--it's more. It is the very hand of Fate, -that's what it is, the hand of Fate, you don't understand of course you -don't----" he paused. "Allan, did you ever hear the name Pringle?" - -"Pringle?" asked Allan, puzzled, "of course I have heard it, but----" - -"Heard it, just heard it--eh? That's all, just heard it, mentioned and -nothing more, eh?" - -"It's a name I have heard, father, that's all!" - -"And don't signify anything to you, nothing particular, out of the way, -eh?" - -"Nothing, father!" - -"Bless me, bless me, you never heard me speak of Allan Pringle of The -Green Gate Inn in Aldgate?" - -Allan shook his head. - -"A wonderful man!" said Sir Josiah. "Allan, his name was, the same as -yours and Allan was his father before him and his father before him, yes -Allans all along the line, till they came to me, only me they called -Josiah, Josiah after Josiah Rodwell, my mother's father, hoping to get a -bit out of the old man, which they never did, bless me! and never heard -of Allan Pringle, you haven't? - -"Queer too," Josiah rambled on, "that he should be the kind of man he -was, they said of him as he could squeeze gold out of a stone and I -b'lieve he could. Coming from the country, a farm hand he was and his -father a gardener and his father's father a gardener, grubbing about in -the earth, Allan, and yet Allan Pringle came to London, a farmer's boy -and makes a little fortune!" - -"But who was he?" - -"My grandfather, Allan Pringle was. He laid the foundation of our -fortune! My father was keen and clever, not up to the old man though. -Still he did not do so badly, he left me forty thousand when he died, -that's what I've been building on, Allan, and now--now--maybe it's -nearer twenty times forty thousand, my boy! That comes of having a head -on you--a head which you haven't got and never will have!" - -"Then your name is--is Pringle?" - -"Was!" said Sir Josiah. "It was my father who took the name of Homewood -when he began to get on a bit and wanted to sink the aleshop, called -himself Homewood after the place where his father was born and where all -the family came from----" - -"And it is this very place that to-day----?" - -Sir Josiah nodded. "The very place!" he said. "Queer, isn't it, Allan? -Very queer! When I heard the name Little Stretton, it set me thinking, -but even then I didn't quite catch on. But now, Homewood Manor, why -bless me, boy--my grandfather, Allan Pringle's mother, was maid in that -very house and my great grandfather, Allan Pringle he was, Allan, the -same as you, he and she was sweethearting, her the lady's maid, he the -under gardener, and got married, they did. A wonderful pretty young -woman, so I've heard and a sad story if what one hears is true, hadn't -been married a year when she died when the boy was born, him as -afterwards kept the Green Gate Inn in Aldgate. And now, now after all -these years, Allan, here am I, buying the very house, the very house, my -boy, where my great-grandfather was under gardener and my -great-grandmother was lady's maid. Wonderful, isn't it? Wonderful the -way of things, Allan?" - -"Wonderful!" Allan said dreamily. "Very wonderful--the way of -things--Father----" He turned suddenly on Sir Josiah, "This--this -marriage of mine----" - -"Well, what about it?" - -"It--it must go on--there's no way----" - -Sir Josiah stared, his round face grew redder, it turned purple. "Way," -he shouted, "to what? Are you going to kick against it now? Are you -going to, to turn everything down now? But--but you can't do it--you -can't do it! If you do I'll never forgive you, never to my dying day -and after and then--think of her ladyship--Lady Kathleen, do you mean -you want to back out of it, Allan, now?" - -Allan did not answer, he stared out of the window, he did not see the -gloomy London Square, he saw a garden, sweet with flowers and down the -paved pathway a little maid with sunkissed hair and eyes as blue as the -Heavens came tripping towards him. - -"Allan, Allan," she said, "my dear, I love you so!" - -"Allan you--you can't do it!" Sir Josiah's old voice trembled, he came -and put a hand on Allan's shoulder. "It--it isn't as if it was only a -promise to me, to me now, it's a promise to her, you can't shame and -disgrace her--Lady Kathleen--you can't--by--by Heaven you can't! Allan, -it isn't a thing that even I'd do, much less a gentleman like you!" - -"I understand, father, I understand that, it--it must go on, I shall not -back out of it as you say--it shall go on!" - -"Ah!" Sir Josiah said, "ah, a lady, an Earl's daughter, Lady Kathleen -Homewood of Homewood Manor, that sounds good, Allan boy, eh? Sounds -good, don't it? I can hear myself saying it at the Club--my -daughter-in-law, Lady Kathleen Homewood! No, you can't back out of it -now, Allan, I'd never forgive you if you did--Besides, why should you? -Last night, you weren't against it, Allan----" - -"Last night," Allan said, "last night----" he paused. How far away -seemed last night! Sir Josiah was watching him anxiously and Allan -smiled. - -"Yes, I understand, it must go on now, but--last night--was last night!" - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII* - - *"KATHLEEN--DO YOU REMEMBER?"* - - -My lady sat with her chin in her hand, her dressing gown had slipped -over the polished loveliness of her white shoulders, on which the soft -dark brown of her hair fell in heavy glistening curls. - -She had sat here for many minutes, her thoughts away in the past. Now -she stirred, she sighed a little, she roused herself and laughed -wearily, then reached out a white hand and took a ring from the dressing -table. A magnificent ring, one of immense value, a ring worthy of her -and of the man who had put it on her finger, yet she doubted if Allan -had bought it. It looked in its ostentatious magnificence more like his -father, somehow, and she shivered suddenly and cast the ring aside. And -then laughed again a queer, uncertain, trembling little laugh that might -have sounded naturally enough from the lips of a maiden of eighteen, but -which came a little oddly from the lips of a woman of twenty-eight. - -But to-night her eyes were soft and misty. To-night memory was there, -tapping at the door of her soul. "You can't shut me out," it seemed to -say, "close the door, bolt it, bar it against me, but you can't shut out -memory, you never, never can! Fight against me, but I am always here, -always ready to come to you--a chance word, a chance gesture, the scent -of a flower or a perfume, the music of an old song and though you think -you have locked the door against me, see I am back again! Listen, even -the ticking of the clock--the little clock on your mantel. Kathleen, do -you remember how the clock ticked that night when you--you and he----" - -She threw out her hands suddenly, she rose, a tall, queenly young -figure. - -"The past is past, is dead and will remain dead!" she said, then she -crossed the room, and very resolutely she unlocked a drawer, from the -drawer took a little steel japanned box, she unlocked it and from it -took a packet of letters. - -Should she read them before she destroyed them? Should she? No, and -yet she hesitated--the strength and resolution of a moment ago were -gone, she sat down and toyed with the ribbon that held the papers -together. - -"Just for the last time," she said, "and then I shall forget them -utterly!" So she untied the ribbon and took the letters one by one and -read them and the misty look in her eyes seemed to grow more soft and -more gentle and there came a sweet womanly tenderness to her lips that -the world until now had thought a little hard and contemptuous. - -Is there not some little packet of old letters jealously hidden away in -your possession? Haven't you treasured just one or two? Open the -packet with reverent fingers, touch them gently, for here are holy -things! - -A child's unformed hand, the unsteady letters yet so neatly and so -carefully made. Can't you see him as he makes them? that little chubby -fist, that somehow cannot hold the pen in just the way the master says -it must be held. - -Can't you see the little curly head leaning a little to one side? -Slowly he forms the great round "Os" and fashions the long tailed "Ys" -and does his honest best to keep them fair and square upon the pencilled -line that even now you can see ruled faintly on the old paper? - -A child's letter, a little odd glove, a lock of yellow hair, his hair! -Only these, but they bring back memories, don't they? Do you -remember--? Ah, can you forget? When you held him so tightly in your -arms that day--when he went away for ever. Such a great strong fellow, -so brave, so confident of the future! How he looked into that future -with clear shining eyes, eyes that were unafraid. - -"Dear, it is all right, I shall come back to you, safe and sound!" So -he said, and then the waiting, the agony of it, the long suspense, the -silence, the hourly prayers to Almighty God that all might be well with -him--and then--then the news--that came at last! - -And all that you have now is the child's letter--the little glove and -the curl of yellow hair. - -And there are other letters, yours, Kathleen. I wonder did he think -when he wrote them ten long years ago that you would be sitting here -to-night reading them over yet once again? I wonder, did he think that -those letters of his could bring the tears to your eyes, Kathleen? Did -he dream when in his eagerness and his passion and his love for you, as -he penned them, never weighing his words, only eager to pour out his -soul to you, that you would keep them and cherish them all these years, -Kathleen, only to destroy them at last? - -The unsteady writing fades and is gone. Your eyes through a mist of -tears see a young, ardent, boyish face, you see eyes that plead and are -filled with a hope that fights valiantly against despair. Those hastily -scrawled, passionate words are as voices that come to you out of the -past, voices that remind you of how he loved you once--when you were but -eighteen! - -There came from the little clock on, the mantel a whirring sound, then -it struck One--Two--She lifted her head for a moment, there was a step -on the stairs outside, her father come home from the Club, he passed her -door. - -A mist was before her eyes, the letters were all blurred and indistinct, -the writing--she could no longer see, yet, she knew every word written -there. How many times had she read them over and over and yet over -again! - -And what need to read them when, she knew them so well? Would she ever -forget them? So many pages, so closely written and yet all that had -been said, could have been said in but three words, three short words, -"I love you!" - -So she sat there with the letters all in a heap in her lap, and her head -bowed. - -Memory--Memory was monarch of all to-night. Memory ruled and reigned -supreme. - -That night, do you remember, Kathleen? The night when the raindrops -pattered on the glossy leaves of the magnolia that grew beneath your -window? Do you remember how he stood there looking up at you, the light -from your lamp on his face? Do you remember? And that day, the day you -met him by the end of the lane and put your hand in his and went with -him down the long road? Do you remember? And then again---- - -She moved suddenly, she flung her head back, her face was white and -drawn and there was agony in her eyes. She rose suddenly and thrust the -letters into the empty grate, she bent over them and struck a match and -watched them burn. - -And then, when the last was turned to grey and black ash, she went back -to the table and took up the great expensive, glittering ring, the ring -that represented more money than He had ever owned. And so she turned -it over and over between her white fingers and laughed suddenly. But -the laughter was not good to hear. - - - - - *CHAPTER IX* - - *HOW SIR JOSIAH OPENED HIS PURSE* - - -Sir Josiah garaged his two thousand guinea car in the old coach house of -"The Fighting Cocks" Inn. He ordered a sumptuous repast in that antique -house of call, the best and the oldest wines must be brought up from the -cellars for him. - -A keen money getter, yet he was at heart a very generous man. The -respect, the bobbing curtseys, the doffed hats and smiling faces here at -Little Stretton delighted him. He felt just a thrill of regret that he -had bought the old place for Allan rather than for himself. He had an -idea that he would make a far better and more imposing Lord of the Manor -than Allan. - -In the City of London he was "somebody," but here in little quiet out of -the world Little Stretton, he was "everybody." - -Mr. Dalabey fawned on him, he fetched and carried, he was hat in hand. -A cunning, artful fellow Mr. Dalabey, he sized Sir Josiah up, he called -him "Squire," and Sir Josiah glowed with satisfaction. - -"A good feller, that Dalabey, a sensible man!" Sir Josiah said to Allan, -"a useful feller!" It puzzled the Baronet that his son refused to -accompany him on his many trips to Little Stretton and Homewood. Allan -went once, and on that once he was moody and silent. While his father -stamped about the house and thrust the blade of his pen-knife into -suspicious woodwork, Allen held aloof, he went out into the old garden -by himself and stood staring at the battered nymph, whose slim stone -figure was reflected in the dark pool. He sat down, on the old mossy -stone seat in the great circle about the sundial and stared at the weeds -and decay, and somehow the desolation of the place seemed to creep into -his heart. He was glad to get away. - -He loved his father, he knew what a fine old fellow he was at heart, -what noble and generous impulses he was capable of. But to-day his -father's loud self-confident voice, his intense self-satisfaction, his -huge importance, Dalabey's servility all irked him. He was intensely -glad to leave Homewood behind him and thereafter he always found some -excuse that prevented him from accompanying Sir Josiah on his many -visits to Homewood. - -So the Baronet came and gave his orders to Dalabey and to the builders -and decorators and the gardeners, and he spent money like water. - -"When I do things, I don't half do things, eh Dalabey?" Sir Josiah -enquired. - -"No, that you don't, Squire, beg your pardon, Sir Josiah!" said Dalabey. -"Never was such a free and open handed gentleman, sir!" - -"Your Mr. Van Norden wouldn't have done the thing in such style, eh?" -enquired Sir Josiah. - -"No, sir, not to be thought of, not for a moment, Squire!" - -It meant thousands, yet what did thousands matter to Sir Josiah with his -hundreds of thousands? He spent and spent, he was extravagant. Before, -as he said himself, one could say "Jack Robinson," he had an army of -workpeople slaving at the place, and he walked about the house and -garden and saw his men doing his work and drawing his pay, and for the -first time in his life he felt himself a really great man. - -And once--once his forebears had delved and dug this very soil that was -now his own! Once for a few miserable shillings a week had they turned -over the sweet brown earth over which he was lord and master. - -In Little Stretton, in Homewood, at Bargate and Bushcorner, and all the -little villages round about, there were smiling faces and curtseys for -him and he was utterly unconscious that one pair of blue eyes grew hard -and bitter and one red lipped mouth curled with contempt and dislike, -that in one soft little breast a usually tender little heart was filled -with hate for him. For this was the mab who had bought "her" garden, -and who was spoiling it, spoiling it so that it would never, never -again, be as it hud been. With one wave of his thick hand he had -banished all those dear ghosts of the past who had been her friends, -even more her friends than the honest, red faced rustics who were very -much real flesh and blood, and who regarded her with commiserating eyes -as a "queer" maid. - -Oozing satisfaction and gold, Sir Josiah was beloved of everyone save of -this unreasonable little maid, who hated his jolly round red face and -loathed the sound of his loud and domineering voice. - -"Get some of them old trees cut down and out of the way, Dalabey, get -all this tangle rooted out of it and get that wall pointed, yes that's -what it wants--pointing, make it look smart--and Dalabey----" - -"Yes, Squire?" - -"How about some broken class along the top of the walls? We don't want -people climbing over and trespassing, Dalabey!" - -"Certainly, Squire, broken glass!" - -So on moonlight nights broken glass, securely set in cement, glittered -and twinkled like a line of frost along the top of the walls and the -little maid looked at it with bursting heart and a terrible sense of -loss. - -"Very sullen, not to say quiet, my granddarter du be getting," said Mrs. -Hanson to Mrs. Colley, her neighbour. - -"Maids du get that way," said Mrs. Colley. "'Tis a home of her own her -be pining for--gone eighteen your maid be, Mrs. Hanson?" - -"Gone eighteen Feb'ry last," said Mrs. Hanson. - -"Then time it is her was married and in a home of her own, with, things -to look after to keep her hands and her mind full! Marriage be the -right and proper and nat'ral thing for young maids of her years----" - -"And her not wanting for chances," said Mrs. Hanson; "why she hev but to -hold up her finger and there be a dozen ready to run to she!" - -Mrs. Colley wagged her head. "And who be they?" she asked jealously, -for she had a granddaughter of her own who was as yet unappropriated. -"There be Tom Spinner, who du be spending his evenings in the bar of the -Three Ploughs, and Bob Domer, a nice ne'er-do-well he, and young Frank -Peasgood as du make eyes at every maid he sees. Why I did order him the -door myself when he would have come a-courting my 'Lizbeth." - -"And there be Abram Lestwick," said Mrs. Hanson, "who be a fine and -proper young man, reg'lar to Church, one as walks in fear of the Lord -and no beer drinker, nor smoker neither, and a steady worker with a nice -cottage of his own, and standing high with Farmer Patcham. Aye, there -be Abram Lestwick as would kneel down and kiss the very floor my maid -treads on!" - -Mrs. Colley sniffed. She had had designs on Abram Lestwick herself for -her 'Lizbeth, but Abram had always stolidly passed her inviting door by -and never had be given a second glance to sallow faced, black haired, -shrewish tempered 'Lizbeth Colley. - -"Too mysterious he be and too quiet and sullen like, I count him, for a -young man. I like young men as enjoys life, not such as walks about -with a book in his pocket and scarce ever takes his eyes from the -ground. Fair and square and open I du like young men to be, Mrs. -Hanson, and as for your Abram Lestwick, I give him to you, I du!" - -"Very gen'rous you be, givin' what bain't yours to give!" said Mrs. -Hanson with spirit; "and thank you kindly, I be sure, Mrs. Colley!" - -So they parted, not the best of friends, but into Mrs. Hanson's mind had -come an image of Betty settling down with Abram Lestwick as her partner, -and that same evening she opened fire on Betty with: - -"A very proper young man be Abram Lestwick, a pity 'tis there bain't a -few more like he!" - -Betty made no answer. - -"And very frequent he du pass this cottage, whiles round by Perry's -medder be the nearest and nighest way for he." - -"Well, what about Abram Lestwick, Grandmother?" - -"I du believe, Betty, he hev serious intentions," said the old lady, -"and a nice little cottage, well furnished and steady money coming in, -not less than thirty-five shillings every week, as would make a maid -happy and comfortable." - -Betty sprang to her feet, her face flushed, her eyes seemed to dart -points of light. - -"What do 'ee mean, Grandmother? Be 'ee goading I to marry Abram -Lestwick? Do 'ee want to get rid o' I, is that it?" - -"Bless me, my maid, what tantrums 'ee do fly into!" cried the astonished -old body. "Wherever did 'ee get thy temper from I don't know, a -peaceful soul thy mother was and thy father being my own son, was as -easy a man as ever trod and here be 'ee, my maid, with a hot temper, of -which I be ashamed, and down on your knees and ask God to forgive 'ee -and make a better maid of 'ee!" - -"I shan't!" said Betty. - -Mrs. Hanson rose: "'Tis the first time as ever 'ee said shan't to me, -Betty Hanson, and after this I be determined and my mind be made -up--marry Abram Lestwick 'ee shall!" - -"No, no!" - -"Or out through that door do 'ee go, never was there a maid so bad and -so ungrateful as 'ee be. Go to your room and consider of things, Betty -Hanson, till 'ee be come to a better frame of mind!" - - - - - *CHAPTER X* - - *CONFIDENCES* - - -When Sir Josiah had enquired of Mr. Dalabey how long it would take to -put Homewood into the order in which he desired to see it, Mr. Dalabey -had scratched his head. - -"Three months, maybe four, and I shouldn't he s'prised, seeing how -powerful a lot there du be to du, no I shouldn't be s'prised, Squire, if -it warn't five months, aye, all five months I should say it would be!" - -"And now, listen to me, Dalabey," said Sir Josiah, "two months I say, -and not a minute longer, two mouths I give you and if the last workman -isn't out of the house and the last bit of timber and papering and what -not in and done with, the garden straight and all the rest of it, then -I'll get someone else to do my work for me, Dalabey!" - -"Har!" said Dalabey. - -"And it's not money I'm stinting you of, my man, get twenty more men at -work on the place, I don't care, get as many as you can handle, but two -months is the time I give you and then I clear you all out, lock, stock -and barrel. So get busy, Dalabey my man, if you wish to remain in my -good graces." - -Dalabey got busy. He hired more painters and carpenters and joiners, -more labourers and gardeners, stone masons and brick layers till -Homewood was given over to a small industrial army, of which Dalabey was -the indefatigable general. - -There was no slacking at Homewood, Dalabey saw to that, he was here, -there and everywhere. He himself was doing very well, he had no cause -to complain, he charged his own time very handsomely and there were -other pickings besides. But he worked, he was honest at least in that, -and he made the others work. A week did wonders, a fortnight shewed an -amazing change, at the end of the first month Sir Josiah nodded -approval. - -"Getting to be something like shipshape, Dalabey," he said. "And you -got talking to me about five months, here we ain't been five weeks on -the job and look you----" - -"You be right, Squire, and I were wrong," said Dalabey humbly. - -In one thing at least Dalabey was to be highly complimented. He was out -to "restore" the old place, to make it look as nearly like it had been -in the time of the Elmacotts as possible. He introduced no newfangled -ideas and innovations, no modern improvements, except of course the -power plant and the dynamo and the huge collection of storage cells -which were to light the old house with electricity. Except for the -electric lighting outfit, the old house was to look so like its old own -and original self that had an eighteenth century Elmacott come to life -and walked in through the hall door, he would not have been in the least -surprised by anything he saw. - -In the garden Dalabey had a very able lieutenant in old Markabee. - -"Restore," said Dalabey, "find out all the lines of the old beds and -borders and replace 'em, clean up the stone work, but not too much. You -got to remember, Markabee, as time du meller things, an old garden this -be and an old garden it hev got to remain, mark that, Markabee. It have -got to look like, so be as if a gentleman in powdered wig and silk -stockings and maybe a sword at his side were to come strolling down yon -path, a-taking snuff out of his box and walking with a lady in hoops, -Markabee, and patches and her hair all done high and whitened, as--as -you wouldn't take, it to be the Fifth of November, Markabee, you get the -hang of my meaning?" - -"I du!" said Markabee, and he did his work well. - -Inch by inch the old ground was reclaimed, the old yew hedge was clipped -and trimmed, till it began to assume a faint suggestion of its once -fanciful shape, the grass was scythed and weeded and patched and rolled -and mowed. The weeds were torn up from the crevices in the old pathway -of stone, but Markabee was artist enough to leave many a flower blooming -where perhaps a flower should not have been. - -The stonemasons and the rest would have pulled down and replaced the -little stone nymph, but Dalabey ordered them off sternly. - -"You leave yon maid alone, her be in keeping wi' the old place, her be! -Too true some o' they weeds might be cleared off the pond, Markabee, but -there be a line beyond which no one must go, so let the stone maid -bide!" - -So the little nymph was left in her old place, and the sunlight kissed -her white stone shoulders, and dappled the slender little stone body -with splashes of vivid brightness, and, little by little, the old garden -came back to its own again. The weeds were all gone and the flowers -bloomed, and the June sunshine and the June showers made the grass green -and pleasant to the sight. - -Meanwhile Allan stayed away; he was in London and his time was not -unpleasantly employed. - -He was too healthy and too young to brood over what after all had been -merely a dream. It had been wonderfully real and wonderfully tender and -beautiful while it had lasted. He had come back to reality with a sense -of loss and a heartache for the little maid who had looked at him with -such love in her blue eyes, who had put her arms about, his neck and -called him her dear and kissed his eyes. Very, very real it had been -and for many a day and many a night he could not put it out of his -memory. - -But this was to-day and there was all the world about him and he was to -be married to a girl who was beautiful and good, and for whom he felt a -liking and admiration that bordered on real affection. - -Most of all he felt sorry for her, why he hardly knew, sometimes when -she did not know that he was looking at her, there was a sadness about -her eyes, a sad pensive little droop to her lips, which was gone all in -a moment if he spoke to her. - -There was a very comfortable understanding between them. They were going -to be man and wife very soon, in the natural course of events they would -have to live their lives together. They were beginning that life with -mutual regard, liking and friendship. Love and passion were entirely -absent. - -"I am old, Allan," Kathleen said, "much, much older than you dear, in -every way, not only in years, but----" she paused. - -"In suffering and knowledge!" she might have said, but did not. - -"You will never be old, I think," he said, he took her hand. "Kathleen, -we understand one another. I--I'm a clumsy fellow, clumsy and slow of -speech. I belong to a different world from yours!" - -She shook her head. - -"I am not going to apologise for my people, for in my heart I am proud -of them. They were nothing and nobodies and they have made a place for -themselves in the world--I love my father, honour and respect him, -though I know, I know that you in your heart cannot like him." - -"Your father is kind and generous, mine cynical and selfish, I think -that you are richer in this matter than I am, Allan, but----" - -It was the first night of a new play. London was still full, the season -had not waned, the new play was dull and lifeless, the audience was -yawning consumedly. These two had retired to the back of the box which -Lord Gowerhurst had quitted just now and found more interest in -discussing their own affairs than in following the fortunes of the -characters on the boards. - -Kathleen was looking wonderfully, regally beautifully to-night, and -Allan was looking--what he was--an honest, clean living, stalwart young -Englishman, whose dress clothes sat well on his shapely body. Son of -the people he might be, but he was not a man to feel shame for. - -"I do not disguise anything from myself, Allan, nor from you. I want to -feel that you are my friend, that you are the friend I can come to and -open my heart and speak to plainly as I might to one who is truly and -indeed my friend!" - -He pressed her hand by way of answer. - -"I've wanted this opportunity to speak to you, it has come unexpectedly, -but I shall speak now," she paused. "Our marriage was only a bargain, a -very sordid bargain, and it--it hurt me at first, it hurt me a great -deal. I--I hated myself, despised myself for agreeing to it, but since -then, since I have come to know you better and understand you better, -Allan, I think we can make something more of our lives than most others -similarly placed might. I do not love you, my dear, and I know that you -do not love me--No, don't speak yet, Allan, let me say what I have to -say! Years ago there was someone--I was scarcely more than a child and I -loved him very, very truly, very deeply. He was poor and so was I, -marriage was impossible. He--went, away, I have never seen him since -and I shall never see him again--the night we became engaged--you and -I--I burned his letters. It hurt a little, Allan, but I did it, dear, -because I want to come to you without a secret on my soul. I want to -lay my heart bare to you. I want to look you in the face, to take your -hand, knowing that I am keeping nothing back from you, knowing there is -no secret that might lead to bitterness and anger and perhaps even to -dislike. Though I feel very, very old sometimes, Allan, I know that I -am young yet; we are both young, there are many years before us in the -natural course of events. All those years we must spend together, so we -will be truthful and frank and honest with each other and keeping our -own self-respect, dear, we shall keep our respect for one another." - -He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. - -"You are a good, sweet, woman, Kathleen!" he said. - -She laughed a little, very softly, "And you, Allan, have you nothing to -tell me?" - -"Nothing!" he said, yet hesitated and smiled to himself. - -"I think there is something----" she said, "was there never even for a -little while, someone!" - -"Yes," he said, "a girl who called me her dear, who looked at me with -loving tender blue eyes, who put her arms about my neck and kissed -me----" - -"Oh Allan, and yet----" - -"Wait!" he said, he smiled, he still held her hand. "To me she was the -most wonderful, the most lovely thing I ever saw, I loved her with all -my heart----" - -Kathleen would have drawn her hand away, gently, yet have drawn it away, -but he, smiling down at her, would not let the little hand go. - -"But she was not real, she was only a dream maiden. I never thought to -tell anyone, Kathleen, but will you listen to me?" - -"Yes!" - -And so, still holding her hand, he told her. - -"That was a very wonderful dream, Allan," she said. - -"It was a very wonderful dream, and when I looked about me and saw all -the weeds and the desolation, then I felt as if I had lost something--as -if----" - -"I understand!" she said. She was pensive and thoughtful. "What can it -mean? Why should such a dream be sent to you? There was some meaning -behind it, something--I wish I knew!" - -"It was only a dream, and I am trying to forget it, perhaps I have -nearly forgotten it--the sense of loss is passing away--not quite----" - -She looked at him. "It will never quite pass, I think," she said. -"Allan," she hesitated, "Allan, if--if it ever became real, if someone -else, someone who awakened your heart ever came into your life----" - -"I should remember that you are----" - -"No, no, listen, I want you to promise me something, to promise me on -your honour, and I know that I can trust that--if such a thing comes to -you, if the real love that may come that comes into nearly every man's -life does come--Allan, will you tell me, frankly, as one friend to -another, will you tell me, dear?" - -"I promise," he said, "and you, Kathleen!" - -"It--it came--it can never come again--I was only a child, but he was -all my world. I have never seen him since and shall never see him -again----" - -"But if you did--then will you tell me, will you be less frank with me -than I with you?" - -"No!" she said. "I will tell you, I promise, if--but it never, never -will, still, if--if it should--then I promise, always we will be frank -with one another!" - -"Always!" he said. - -Lord Gowerhurst opened the door of the box and closed it very softly -behind him. - -"Ah!" he said, "quite so; you are wise, the play is not the thing--it is -rubbish--I am sorry for the author, I am sorry for the management, but -as usual I am sorry most of all for myself. You two young people have -something more interesting to discuss. I don't blame you! No, hang me, -I don't blame you! Now I'll confess, I met Lumeyer, an excellent -fellow, one who knows of good things, he put me on to one 'The Stelling -Reef Gold Mine,' shares bound to go up. I've a good mind to have a -flutter. By the way, Allan, where's your father? Our worthy and -excellent Baronet!" - -Allan flushed. He always did when his Lordship spoke of his father. -Unintentional it might be, but there was always a suggestion of a sneer -in the cultivated voice of the man whose pockets were at this moment -supplied with the Baronet's money. - -"My father is at Little Stretton to-day and staying over night, he is -very busy down there at Homewood, sir, our--my--our future home--he -takes a great interest in it and is doing the place up thoroughly!" - -"An excellent man, you're lucky to have such a father!" - -"I never lose sight of that fact, my lord!" Allan said gravely. - -"Quite right, quite right--would to Heaven----" his lordship said -tragically, "would to Heaven Kathleen could say the same! She can't, -she can't, sir, too deuced honest to tell lies! She is like her sainted -Mother! Bless me this drivel doesn't seem to be shaping for a finish. -Supposing we clear out, eh? What about a snack of supper at -Poligninis?" - -Kathleen rose, "I would prefer to go home," she said, "I am tired -to-night!" She looked at Allan, her eyes were very bright, very kind -and friendly. - -"My dear child," said his lordship, "at Poligninis they have some -eighty-seven Heidsick, which I regard practically as my own property. -It is never offered to casual customers. Polignini is an excellent -fellow who appreciates my taste and keeps it for me," he paused. - -"I am tired and I shall go home!" Kathleen said briefly. - -"I will see you home!" Allan said. - -His lordship shrugged his shoulders. "So be it, I will go to my lonely -caravanserie and a frugal meal. I'm an old fellow, an old fellow, I -realise that youth must be served!" He waved a white hand. "Youth, -youth!" he said. "How lightly we hold it when it is ours, how we even -resent it, and how, when it is lost to us forever, do we worship and -yearn and long for it. Oh the happy, goutless indigestionless days of -our long since fled youth, how precious they were! And how ill spent! -Give me my lost youth back again, as I think it was Faust, remarked, and -what would I do with it? I am afraid, my dears, I would do with it -exactly as I did with it before. We never learn wisdom! Adieu mes -enfants, bon repos, my Kathleen! May angels guard thee and bring happy -dreams! Allan, dear lad, good night, my respectful compliments to the -Baronet, an old man, my dears, and a lonely; I realise that youth is -impatient of garrulous though well intentioned age! Good night once -again!" He waved his hand and the box door closed on him, he was gone. - -Kathleen sighed a little, she looked at Allan with a queer smile on her -lips. - -"Yes, I think Allan," she said, "you are more fortunate than I, and now, -dear, I am tired, I am going home--to bed!" - - - - - *CHAPTER XI* - - *IN WHICH SIR JOSIAH PROVES HIMSELF A GENTLEMAN* - - -St. George's, Hanover Square, had always been at the back of Sir -Josiah's mind. His lordship had favoured St. Margaret's, Westminster. -July was nearly out, London was emptying, if not emptied of people who -really count, which was a great disappointment to Sir Josiah. But -Homewood was nearly complete, the old gentleman walked through the -transformed and glorious rooms, he looked through sound windows into a -garden that was a delight to see with never a weed to mar its -perfection. He took Montague Davenham, the celebrated art dealer, down -with him to see the place. - -"There you are, you ought to have seen it two months ago, you'd never -believe, a ruin it was!" said Sir Josiah. "Fairly hopeless it looked, -said I, keep to the old lines! It's an old house and you've got to make -it look like an old house, but a well kept one, renew and restore! If -you take away a piece of old moulding that's gone rotten, put back a new -piece shaped the same, nothing new, that was my instructions, and they -have carried 'em out, and now the rest's up to you, Mr. Davenham. I -don't pretend to know what I don't know. But I do know this, that if you -were to put say bamboo furniture and Japanese fans and umbrellas in this -here old room with that ceiling and them panelled walls, why they'd be -out of place, you wouldn't go and make a mistake like that! I've got -money, I don't deny, and this house has been a bit of a hobby with me. -I want to see it looking like it should look, so just take a look round, -make up your mind and put the right stuff into it!" - -"My dear sir, if every rich man were as wise as you, the world would -certainly look a great deal more pleasant than it does. The house will -form an admirable setting for furnishings of the right period. I -compliment you on the manner in which the work has been done. I -couldn't have done it better myself, the garden in particular is -delightful, simply delightful!" - -"Markabee here, done it, under Dalabey, a useful man. Dalabey, I don't -know what I'd done without him, but it's ready for you now. Mr. -Davenham, get ahead, get the place fixed up as it should be, the right -furniture, the right decorations. Keep the price reasonable, I don't -say stint, nor I don't say launch out too wildly. I leave it to you!" - -"It is a commission that I accept with a great deal of pleasure. I -think and hope that I shall please you and at a not too terrible -expenditure!" - -"Get ahead with it!" Sir Josiah said. - -"Fine feller Davenham!" he said to Allan. "Knows his business; one -thing you'll have a house that you needn't be ashamed to shew to anyone, -a fit setting, my boy, a fit setting for a very sweet and lovely young -lady, bless her heart, and a lucky fellow you are!" - -"To have such a father!" Allan said, in all honest sincerity. - -"Bless you, bless you, it's been a pleasure, I don't know when I've put -myself heart and soul into a thing like I've done into this! I'm almost -sorry I've put it in Davenham's hands now, but then he knows what's -right and I don't. Now about the wedding, Allan! His lordship and me -was talking last night. Something about St. Margaret's, Westminster, he -said. 'I beg your pardon, my lord,' I said. 'St. Georges, Hanover -Square, if you don't mind.' I've set my heart on it, Allan; I always -had an idea I'd like you to be married at Hanover Square; there's -something solid about the very name of it, right down respectable!" he -paused. "Then, for the reception afterwards, I'm for taking the -Whitehall Rooms at----" - -"Father, I want to speak to you!" Allan said. "I--I hate to disappoint -you, but in this matter I think the first person to be considered is -Kathleen!" - -"Bless me, and so it is! What she says goes!" - -"She wishes the wedding to be very quiet, very quiet indeed; she wants -only our own selves there, my father and hers and no one besides!" - -"Why--why, bless me, bless my soul! You don't mean to say----" Sir -Josiah's face was almost pitiful. - -"She asked me last night, she begged me to side with her and uphold her -wishes and I promised. I--I know, father, it's a disappointment to you, -but we can't go against her, can we?" - -"No, no, we can't go against her, that's right, right enough, no we -can't go against her--never think of such a thing, I wouldn't, but I'd a -thought that a young girl with all her friends would have liked----" - -"It cannot be too quiet for her! And I promised to speak to you about -it. Her father is very angry, unnecessarily angry, he spoke to her -sharply, almost rudely in my presence last night, in a way----" Allan -paused, "that my father would not have spoken to a woman!" he added -proudly. - -Sir Josiah gripped Allan's hand. "You--you're right, the little girl -shall have her way, tell her; give her my love, Allan, and tell her what -she says goes. As for his Lordship, his Lordship can--can go to the -Dickens----" - -Allan smiled. "I think his Lordship has been making for that quarter -all his life!" - -It was a bitter blow to the Baronet, but he took it like a man. He had -counted on a gorgeous spectacle, for which he had been very willing to -find the money. He had counted on portraits of the bride and bridegroom -and bridegroom's father, to say nothing of the bride's father in the -fashionable illustrated papers, as well as the daily illustrated press. -He had cut out paragraphs from the _Times_ and the _Morning Post_. - - -"A marriage has been arranged between Mr. Allan Homewood, only son of -Sir Josiah Homewood, Bart., of Homewood, Sussex, and the Lady Kathleen -Nora Stanwys, only daughter of the Earl of Gowerhurst." - - -He had cut out these news items and carried them about with him and -shewn them to Jobson and Cuttlewell and Smith and Priestly (of Priestly, -Nicholson and Coombe), and others of his City cronies. How proud he had -been of them, how he had beamed and swelled with pride! He had hinted -that he might ask--might possibly--ask Priestley and the rest to witness -the ceremony. It had not been an actual promise, but next door to it, -made by him in a moment of joyous enthusiasm following a good lunch and -a bottle of excellent port. - -And now the marriage was to be a small quiet affair, it was a blow, but -he took it like a man! He sought out Kathleen, he took her hand and -held it in his moist palm. - -"My dear, Allan's told me, he says you're all for a quiet wedding; well -I did reckon on something a bit slap up and stylish and like that, but -if you're set on a quiet wedding, my dear----" - -"I am, I want it very much, Allan understands," she said. - -"Then, bless you, my dear, so it shall be, as quiet as you like! It's -for you to say, what you say goes with me, Allan told you, that's -right--why tears--my dear? Tears! Bless me, my lady, my dear, don't -cry!" - -"You are very good to me, now I understand why Allan is--is what he is, -the fine man he is! He is like his father!" - -"Like--like me--bless my soul, Allan like me, my love! My lady I -mean--I'm a common old chap! Allan's a gentleman, I made up my mind I'd -do my best for him and I done it--I'm what I am, my King, God bless him, -saw fit to make a "Sir" of me, but that don't make a gentleman of me, my -dear, and I know it!" - -"I am going to be frank with you, truthful," Kathleen said. "I am going -to--to hurt you perhaps, and then I am going to try and make amends for -it--" She paused. "When my father first spoke of my marriage, my -marriage with Allan, I shuddered at the thought of it--not because of -Allan, but because of you!" - -"I know, I know," he said sadly. "I ain't everyone's money, but----" - -"No, listen, I looked down on you. I thought you were vulgar and -purseproud and boastful, and, oh, I thought a thousand evil things of -you and pretended to shudder when your name was mentioned!" - -"My dear, I know, I know; don't, tell me more--I know!" - -"But I am going to tell you more, I am going to tell you this!" She -caught his hand and held it. "It isn't what you have given and what you -are giving us, it isn't money--oh you know that, don't you? I was -wrong, wrong all the time! I know you better now and I like and respect -you and I envy Allan his father--yes, envy him his father and so I have -told him and--please kiss me because I am going to be your daughter, -aren't I? And because I want you to like me and be my friend!" - -"God bless me!" he said. "God bless my--oh, my lady, my, my dear--Kiss -you? I'd be proud and happy!" - -She laughed a little, she held up her face, there were tears on her -lashes. "Then kiss me, Allan's father!" she said. - -My Lord had counted on an expensive and fashionable wedding, even more -than Sir Josiah had. He had specially ordered a frock coat of a -peculiar and delicate shade of grey, which would become him handsomely. -That he would easily outshine everyone present he knew with certainty. -He would give his daughter away, everyone would remark on his -appearance, the exquisite sensibility that would mark his every action. -They would not compare him with the Baronet, it was no question of -comparison. People would see with their own eyes how immeasurably -superior he was to Sir Josiah. - -That the limelight would be mainly on himself, His Lordship had decided. -He had even rehearsed the part he would play. He would be the tender, -loving father, heart-broken and bereaved at losing his darling child, -and yet he would bear up bravely, carry himself proudly, with a touch of -tender gaiety. His speech at the reception he had written and -re-written--and now he was in a furious passion, shaking with rage, he -sought out Kathleen and swore viciously at her. - -"What devil's tomfoolery is this?" he shouted. "What new pose have we -here? What's this confounded rotten, absurd business about, a twopenny -ha'penny housemaid's wedding, hey? Haven't I asked, unofficially of -course, but asked all the same a hundred people? Haven't Bellendon and -the Cathcarts and--and George Royhills and his wife practically delayed -their departure from Town for this wedding, and now--now what rotten -nonsense have you got in your head now, hey?" - -She eyed him steadily. "Please don't swear at me, father?" she said. -"There is no need. I asked Allan----" - -"Asked Allan, hang and confound Allan! Ain't I anyone? Don't I count? -I'm only your father! Haven't I planned this for you, haven't I -cherished the idea of making you a rich woman, haven't I----?" He -paused, floundering wildly in his fury. - -"I asked Allan to humor me, I wanted a very quiet wedding, he was quite -willing, as eager as I almost. He spoke to his father and his father -has agreed----" - -"His father! that confounded old City shark, that common, vulgar old -brute, who--who----" - -"Whom you are very pleased and glad to take money from, who has treated -me with every kindness and respect and gave way at once to my wishes, -though they were opposed to his own. Yes, a common old man, but -generous and kind and good and--and I could wish, I could wish that my -father was as fine a gentleman!" And with a stately curtsey, she left -him. - -"Well, I'll be damned!" His Lordship said in utter amazement. - - - - - *CHAPTER XII* - - *THE HANDS OF ABRAM LESTWICK* - - -"You've got my wishes, Abram, you have!" said Mrs. Hanson. - -He nodded. "I know," he said gloomily. - -Abram Lestwick was of that curious, foreign type that one comes on -unexpectedly in our English country villages. He was about thirty-two -years of age, five feet nine in height and of a strong wiry build. His -complexion was swarthy, the skin sallow and drawn with a strange -suggestion of tightness, over the high and prominent cheek bones. The -eyes were small, black and very bright and deeply set beneath heavy -brows. No razor had ever touched the lower part of his face, which was -covered with a thin and straggling growth of coarse black hair, that -could scarcely be described as a "beard," for so thinly and far apart -did the hairs grow that the contour of a weak chin was clearly visible. - -The whole appearance of the man suggested nervous unquiet and -restlessness, which particularly found expression in the constant -agitation of his hands. He had a restless, nervous habit of fingering -things within his reach. - -At this moment he was sitting on the one "easy" chair at Mrs. Hanson's -little parlour. He had dragged down the antimacassar that usually -adorned the chair back and was plucking at the threads and rolling the -edge of it into a tight curl. Mrs. Hanson watched his face; she did not -look at his hands. There was something hateful about Abram Lestwick's -hands, the fingers were long, flexible and thin, save at the ends, where -they suddenly thickened out and flattened in a strange, unsightly -manner. But it was their restlessness, their never ceasing movement -that was so remarkable. Never for a moment were they still. - -Mrs. Hanson, favouring the young man, yet knew she hated his hands! - -"I feel, I du," she said to herself, "as I want to scream if I set and -watch them, but I du know he be a good man and a hard worker, with no -love for the alehouse and reg'lar to Church and like to make Betty a -good husband, and after all, what du a man's hands matter? So be as he -du work with them and earn his living honourable and upright in the -state of life which it du please God to call him!" - -"I've got your wishes, I hev," he said, "I know that, but what be the -use of your wishes to me, Mrs. Hanson, so I haven't got Betty's liking?" - -"You mustn't take too much notice of the maid; maids be strange and -fickle things, aye and vain they be! The man as praises a maid to her -face and tells her she be nice looking be the one as goes best with -they!" - -"What do 'ee want I to do?" he said sullenly. "I know there beain't a -maid to compare wi' Betty, there beain't one as be fit to tie her -shoes!" A dull red crept into his checks, his voice shook, his fingers -worked more nervously and more rapidly at the destruction of the -antimacassar. - -"Slow of speech I be," he said thickly, "and difficult it du be for me -to find words--there be a thousand things I would say to she--they be -here all in my brain, but my tongue won't utter them! I--I try--" he -paused, choking, "I try, I look at she dumblike and stupid and knowing -it, aye, curse it, knowing it!" His voice rose, he wrenched at the -antimacassar, he tore a piece away; his fingers were hideous to see at -this moment and Mrs. Hanson looked resolutely at his face. Yet she was -all the time conscious of the havoc his fingers were making. - -"Do 'ee think I don't want to tell she? I du! I du, I try to, but my -tongue won't do me sarvice. I love her!" He paused. "I love her!" He -said it again. "Love her, I mean to tell her, yet like as not her'll -laugh at me!" He stood up, he flung the antimacassar to the floor, his -hands worked up and down his coat, tearing and fingering at the buttons -and the buttonholes. - -"There bain't a maid in all the world like she, not a man fit to kiss -the grounds she treads on. If a man, a man in this village did look at -she wi' harmful eyes, I'd kill him!" He nodded. "Kill him!" He said. -"I'd get my hands on his throat and never let go! Sometimes when I -think of her I feel that I be going mad like, I see red--red passion -before my eyes. I tell 'ee, Mrs. Hanson, ma'am, I've got your wishes, I -know, I know! But I must hev that maid; no one else shall, as God hears -me, no one else shall!" - -He went to the door, swinging his arms violently, his fingers clenched -and unclenching. - -"I've got your wishes, I hev, I'm glad of them, ma'am. I thank 'ee, I -du--your good wishes, Ma'am, and I be obliged greatly, I be--and--please -don't mind my tempers! 'Tis thinking of the maid makes me so; a peaceful -man I be, and begging your pardon, Ma'am, that I did forget myself, but -'tis thinking of the maid that--that drives me like you see me, Ma'am! -But I beg your pardon I du, most politely!" - -He was gone and Mrs. Hanson sighed and stooped and picked up from the -ground the work of her own busy fingers--and his! She sighed again, -looking at the destruction of it. - -"A terribul man he be--in his wrath, fit to kill anyone belike!" she -said. "All tore it be, all tore and wrenched and broke apart--powerful -fingers he must hev! Ill would it go wi' man or maid that angered he -and did him hurt!" - -Down the road in a tempest of passion went Abram Lestwick, swinging his -arms and muttering to himself like a madman, and yet at Farmer Patchams, -where he worked, they counted him as a man of an even and equable -temper. A foreman, he never cursed and swore at those under him. Little -things moved him not; his grim, glum, gloomy face never darkened with -rage. A polite tongue he had, though a slow one, a steady man and -quiet, and yet he himself knew of the tempest of unbridled passion, the -mad tumult that his brain was capable of. - -Rarely did his passions master him before others. They had to-night, -before Mrs. Hanson, but he had her wishes, he was safe with her. - -"If any man did look at she wi' wishful eyes," he repeated, "by God's -Heaven I would kill him!" He clenched at the air with his nervously -working hands. "Get my hands on his throat and kill him, grip and crash -it till the life were gone out o' he, I would!" - -He stopped suddenly, bathed in perspiration, but the fury gone. She -stood before him in the gloaming of the evening. - -"I be come from your house, Betty," he said, and his voice was mild as a -voice may be. "A pleasant half hour I did have along wi' your -grandmother, Betty!" - -"I hope 'ee enjoyed yourself, Abram," she said with a little -contemptuous laugh. - -"Aye, I did in a way, for I were talking about 'ee, Betty!" - -She frowned. - -"Betty!" He felt as if he were suddenly choking, he lifted those -working, restless hands of his to his own throat. They made as to tear -open his shirt, so that he might breathe the more freely. - -"Betty, do 'ee know what I and your grandmother were talking about?" - -"I doan't and I bain't curus to hear!" she said. She made to pass him, -but he held his ground. - -"'Twere about 'ee!" - -"Then 'twere nothing good," she said. "My left ear were burning cruel -and now I know!" - -"Betty," he said, "wait, 'ee shall, 'ee shall I say, wait, there's -summut I must say to 'ee!" - -"Let me--pass!" - -"No, no." He caught her by the arm and held her. - -"Betty, I du love 'ee so, I want 'ee to wife! If I don't have 'ee no -one else shall, no one, I swear! Look at me, stubborn o' tongue I -be--and difficult it be for me to speak the words I want to say, but -'tis all in this: 'I love 'ee better than life, better than death. I -love 'ee mad; mad I be, I tell 'ee wi' love for 'ee! My maid, I'd die -for 'ee and live for 'ee and kill they as come between us! Betty, -Betty, give yourself to me--to--cherish--" He paused, the words of the -marriage service came to him uncertainly, "to hold and to keep, to -cherish until death us du part. Give yourself to me, for never and you -go through the whole world will 'ee find a man as loves 'ee half so -well!" - -"I bain't a marrying maid!" she said. "And I'll not marry 'ee or anyone -else and 'ee last and leastest of all, Abram Lcstwick. I'll never marry -'ee, never, never!" - -"And I swear by Heaven 'ee shall!" he cried. His fingers were at work -on her arm, she felt and hated the touch of them. Hateful fingers--long -and sinuous, with their horrible, spatulated tips, they reminded her of -writhing snakes, with their venomous, flattened heads, just that! She -tried to break away from him. - -"A great coward 'ee be, to so beset a maid. I hate 'ee, I du. Let me -be, let me be!" - -"I'll never let 'ee be, for I du love 'ee mad, mad," he cried, "and 'ee -shall never belong to anyone else, never and----" - -And then she broke from him, she lifted her strong young arm and smote -him across the face with all her strength. Abram Lestwick fell back -apace, his sallow skin went deathly white, he stood and stared at her. - -"'Ee, 'ee made me du it!" she panted. "I--I had to du it, Abram, I -didn't mean it, I be sorry in my heart, I did strike 'ee!" - -But he said nothing, he only looked at her, then without a word turned -and walked away down the road and she stood looking after him. Even now -she could see the restless, nervous working of his hands. - -"I hate--hate and I be afeared o' him tu!" she said. "I be terribul -afeared o' him!" She broke down, sobbing and crying. "'Tisn't fair as -a maid should be so bothered as I be! I don't want to marry anyone, -leastest of all he, for I du hate him most mortally, I du!" - -Her grandmother was waiting for her. - -"Did 'ee see Abram Lestwick down the road?" she asked. - -"Aye, I did see him!" - -"Well?" - -"Well?" - -"Didn't he speak to 'ee, tell 'ee his mind?" - -"Yes, he did and--and I hate him!" - -"Hate?" said Mrs. Hanson. "Still filled wi' hate, 'ee be, which bain't -seemly in a young maid! What wi' your hating first this one and then -t'other, fair fed up I be wi' your hates, my maid, and 'tis time to put -a stop to all such nonsense! Abram Lestwick hev been wi' me to-night -and talking wi' me he hev been, and about you--moreover. And he be -willing to marry 'ee and a good match it'll be, my maid, which Mrs. -Colley have been angling for for that putty-faced 'Lizbeth o' hers, -though Abram would never look twice at she. But 'tis you he be after, -an upright, godly young man with thirty-five shillings a week and a -cottage and all, and a rare chance for the likes of 'ee, Betty Hanson, -wi'out a shillin' to your name!" - -"I hate him and I'll never, never marry him; I hate him and am afeared -of him as well! And sooner than marry he I'd go and drownd myself in -the river, aye, that, I would, and that I will, for marry him I never -will!" - -"That's what 'ee say, but hark to me, marry him I say 'ee shall and I -have told him, he has my wishes!" - -A defiant white face, with big glittering eyes faced the wrinkled, angry -old face. - -"Drownd myself I will gladly and willingly afore I marry he!" - -"Go 'ee in!" said Mrs. Hanson. "A perilous bad maid 'ee be and 'shamed -of 'ee I be, and asking myself I be all the time--Be this my son Garge's -child, or be she a changeling? For such temper no Hanson ever did hev -yet--Go 'ee in, but mark this, marry him 'ee shall!" - -"Mark this!" Betty cried. "Marry him I never will! I'll drownd myself -first! Aye and blithely and gaily--for I du hate and fear him more than -any mortal man and they fingers o' his that touched me--ugh! That -touched me and--" And then suddenly she broke down in a passion of sobs -and ran into the house. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII* - - *THE HOMECOMING* - - -Sir Josiah was performing his last friendly offices. Davenham had -finished his part of the work and had done it, as the Baronet knew he -would, with a complete and thorough knowledge and good taste. - -Who, to look about one now, seeing those beautiful rooms with their -exquisite furnishing, that garden, a thing of delight and perfect -beauty, could reconcile it all with the desolate and derelict wilderness -of a place it had been three short months before? - -"I'd like that there Van Norden, or whatever his name is, to see it, I -would!" Sir Josiah thought. "Hang me, I'd like him to take a stroll -around now! Them Americans are smart and wonderful skilful, aye, and -what's more a fine nat'ral taste they've got, appreciating fine things -and old things more than we do! I say all that and admit all that, but -this here Van Norden, he couldn't have beat what I've done in the time, -he couldn't! He'd own it, too, for I've yet to meet the American who -wasn't frank to admit the truth!" - -Sir Josiah here was like a small king in great state. He was to -interview potential servants, advertisements appeared in the London and -the local papers, inviting cooks and housemaids, parlourmaids, footmen, -grooms, scullery maids, still room maids and the like to present -themselves at Homewood Manor on a certain day, when all their expenses -would be paid by Sir Josiah Homewood, who would engage the most suitable -persons. His own man Bletsoe was here to do honour to the occasion. - -"How many are there, Bletsoe?" - -"Nine young women, three old ones, two fellers and an old man as come -about the gardener's place, only I understand as you're keeping that old -feller, old Markabee, Sir Josiah!" - -"That's right, keeping him on I am, a sensible man and clever at his -work, that garden's a credit to him! Old very likely, but I've known -men as weren't old, yet fools, Bletsoe!" - -"Quite so, sir!" said Bletsoe. "And now about h'interviewing 'em?" - -Sir Josiah frowned to hide his nervousness. - -"How many old ones did you say, Bletsoe?" - -"Three, sir, and one of 'em with a wonderful fine moustache as I ever -see!" - -"There's the money, take it and settle with them, mark where they come -from and look up the fares in the A.B.C., Bletsoe, to see they don't -cheat you, then give 'em five shillings over and above. But pay 'em -their fares right and correct, not a penny more nor less, and Bletsoe, -when I say--ahem! like that, you'll know as that one's no good, you -see!" - -It was hard work and none too pleasant, but the house had to be staffed. -Allan and Lady Kathleen were married, they were spending a brief -honeymoon on the East Coast; they would be back here soon to take -possession and Allan's father was resolved that when they came they -would find everything complete. Had not he himself pried in the store -cupboards, which Messrs. Whiteley had obligingly stocked at his request? -He had satisfied himself that everything necessary was there, -everything, that is, of an unperishable nature. - -Salt and tea, sugar and pepper. He had been greatly disturbed in his -mind when he found that washing soda had been overlooked and he had -ordered a hundredweight forthwith. And now he was engaging servants. - -"I am Sir Josiah Homewood, this house belongs to my son, Mr. Allan -Homewood, at present away on his honeymoon with his wife, the Lady -Kathleen Homewood, daughter to the Earl of Gowerhurst. They are -returning in a week and I desire to have everything in readiness for -them. What might your age be and what are your references and who were -you with last? And why did you leave your last place?" - -"Begging your pardon, sir, my age, I respectfully beg to say, I don't -see hasn't nothing to do with the matter. As for my references, here -they are. I've lived in a Duke's family and there's but little I don't -know how to cook, even to peacocks, I have cooked, sir, and----" - -"Bless my soul, I didn't know people eat 'em!" said the Baronet. - -"Only the best of the quality, sir!" - -"Bless me, very well, hum, hah!" He looked through the references, he -made notes on a piece of paper. "Please settle with this lady, Bletsoe, -and give her, her out of pockets as according to arrangement--a--hem!" - -And so the fate of the lady with the moustache was sealed, though she -knew it not. - -Betty had heard of this reception that Sir Josiah was holding to-day. -Girls from Little Stretton, Bush Corner, and even from Gadsover and -Lindney, had come to offer themselves for hiring. Betty hesitated, -since that evening when she had defied her Grandmother life had not been -very happy at Mrs. Hanson's little cottage. Should she go with the rest -and offer herself for service in the house? But could she bear it, -could she bear to see her own beloved garden again as it was now, not as -she remembered it? All the dear trees cut down, or most of them, and -hideous new walls put up, and her little stone friend gone from the lake -and a great ugly stone fountain erected in her place, for so she had -heard. Could she bear to see it all as it was now? - -No, she could not, so she hesitated. The other girls went and were -engaged or not, as Sir Josiah decided, but Betty did not offer herself. - -For three days after that night when she had struck Abram Lestwick in -the face, she did not see him, but on the evening of the fourth day he -presented himself at the door of her grandmother's cottage. - -He said nothing of that last interview. His manner was nervous and -hesitating and without passion, his fingers worked incessantly, toying -and tearing at everything within his reach. He sat upright on a -horsehair-covered chair, and tore little hairs out of the cloth all the -evening. At a quarter to ten he rose and took his hat. - -"I'll be wishing you good night, Mrs. Hanson, ma'am!" he said. - -"Good night, Abram, and always glad to see you," said Mrs. Hanson -heartily. - -"I thank you, Ma'am, good night, Betty!" he said. - -"Go to the door, my maid, and see Abram off the step," said her -grandmother. - -Betty hesitated, then went, with her red-lipped mouth firmly compressed. - -On the step in the summer darkness Abram found his tongue. - -"Well?" he said. "When is it to be!" - -"When be, what to be?" - -"Our wedding?" - -"Didn't I tell 'ee?" - -"Aye, but 'ee didn't mean it, besides I hev made up my mind; when is it -to be?" - -"Never!" she said. "Never, never!" - -He laughed softly to himself as she closed the door in his face, but -to-night there was no passion, no tempest within him. He laughed again -as he walked down the road in the velvety blackness. - -There were lights in the Old Manor House, unfamiliar sight! He did not -ever remember seeing lights there before and strange lights they were, -very bright and brilliant, and so many of them. He stood still in the -road and stared at the house. - -Presently the little arched green door in the wall opened and a woman -scuttled out, carrying a bundle suspiciously. - -"Who be that? Law! How 'ee did frighten me!" she panted a little with -nervousness; perhaps that bundle had no right to be in her arms. "Be it -you, Abram Lestwick?" she asked, peering into the darkness. - -"Aye!" he said briefly. "It be me all right, Mother Colley. What be -'ee doing here to-night?" - -"'Tis the young new Squire, the old man's son, come home wi' his lady -wife. I see her for a minute, Abram, and a prettier creature I never -set eyes on, so kind and smiling her looks, too, and so mighty fond they -du seem to be of one another, arm in arm they was walking. 'Father,' he -were saying when I see him, 'Father have done wonders here, Kathleen! -You did ought to have seen the place no more than four months ago. -Father have worked wonderful, terribul hard for we!' he said." - -"Ah!" said Abram. - -"Yes," said Mrs. Colley, nodding her head, "and she wonderful sweet and -dainty her looked, I tell 'ee, Abram--'Wonderful kind and good he be, -Allan,' she says. And, Abram, why don't 'ee ever come in for a kindly -cup o' tea to our cottage? My maid 'Lizbeth continooally du ask me! A -clever maid her be wi' her fingers and a worker she, not like someone as -I could name, some as bain't too right in their mind!" - -"Who?" - -"I mention no names, Abram, only I say there be a kindly welcome and a -cup set for 'ee whenever 'ee do take the fancy and now I must be getting -along. A wonderful place they hev made o' it, and oh! the money it hev -cost! It fair sets me wondering how there ever du be so much money in -the world!" - -"And if," Abram thought, "all the money in the world were mine, I would -lay it at Betty's feet!" So he went on his way, for the man who rises -at four in the morning must to bed betimes. - - * * * * * - -Allan had been in no hurry for the honeymoon to end. Every day of their -companionship added to his liking and respect for Kathleen. Now that -she was away from her father, now that she had shaken herself free from -the old environment, she seemed to be a different woman. Her laughter -was more spontaneous; the sadness, for which in his heart he had pitied -her, was going, if not gone from her eyes. She was a charming -companion, her good temper and entire unselfishness were never failing. -What more could a man ask? - -He had rather dreaded the honeymoon, and now had come to realise that it -formed the most pleasant period of his life. But now that it had come to -its end, he felt a strange reluctance to go to Homewood. - -He was young and healthy minded; for such a man to brood over a dream or -a vision was impossible. The effect of that May day dream of his had -well nigh worn away, the vision of the girl who had come to him in the -old garden and kissed him had grown vague and shadowy. Like most -visions, it was slowly passing and presently, unless something happened -to revive it, it would pass into oblivion altogether. - -But this return to Homewood would and must revive it and bring back that -day and all that had happened on that day forcibly to mind once more. - -And he asked himself, did he wish to be reminded? Was he not well -enough content with life as it was? He was married to a girl for whom -he felt a great liking, a growing affection, and a respect, a woman whom -he realised was the sweetest and best woman he had ever known. - -It was not her beauty alone that attracted him, yet he could scarcely -repress a thrill of pride of possession that comes to many men when they -realise the envy of others and see the looks of admiration which were no -more than Kathleen's well deserved tribute. - -So the honeymoon had been a very pleasant and happy time. They were -frank with one another, the best of friends. They kissed one another -with a quiet, undemonstrative affection that was not feigned. There had -not been one breath to mar the perfect serenity of their lives. No -foolish trumpery quarrel, but always that complete understanding and -good faith that willingness to give and take unselfishly. - -Are honeymoons always such a success? When the passionate lovers are -united at last and drive away radiant and triumphant, amidst a shower of -rice and good wishes, who can tell what pitfalls her pretty little feet -may trip into, what obstacles he may go stumbling and floundering over? -They believed that they knew and understood one another so well, all -unconsciously perhaps they have kept up many pretences, have only -permitted one another to see the brighter side. - -But there is always the other and darker side, Romeo's temper the first -thing in the morning may not be everything that is desirable. When -Juliet finds that one of her dresses does not fit her quite so well as -it might, she must vent her annoyance on someone--and there is only -Romeo! - -The good ship of matrimony has scarcely weighed anchor and set sail and -the Captain and the Mate have yet to learn one another's characters, -perhaps they have even to decide who the Captain and who the Mate. -There are many little things to arrange, little difficulties to adjust. -Happy they who can do it all, with kindness and good temper, willing to -give freely and yet not asking for too much! - -It was in the dusk of the late July evening that Allan and Kathleen came -to Homewood. - -It was the last day of Sir Josiah's reign, and never a sovereign gave up -his sceptre with better grace. How he beamed, how he swelled with -visible pride, how he dragged them from room to room to see this and to -see that! - -"There you are, my boy, what do you think of it? Wouldn't know the -place, would you? You'd 'a fallen through this floor three months ago; -look at it now!" And the old gentleman jumped up and down to prove the -soundness of the joists and boards. - -"Well, my dear, and what do you think of it? Pretty, ain't it? -Davenham didn't let me down, there's nothing like going to the right -man! Davenham ain't cheap, but--" He caught himself up, this was no -time to talk of money and money matters. He had spent freely and -willingly. Perhaps never before in his life had he spent quite so -freely, quite so willingly. There was a heavy bill to meet, but what of -that? He could meet it! - -He had picked up a good deal from careful observations and from -listening to Davenham's learned talk. The names Hepplewhite and Adam, -Sheraton and Chippendale tripped glibly from his tongue. True, he -confused Hepplewhite and Adam, but what did that matter? Allan and -Kathleen did not mind, perhaps did not know, and the old fellow was -happy and smiling, though there was just a little ache at his heart, for -to-morrow his work would be done, to-morrow he would pack his traps, -order the car, tip the servants and say good-bye. His reign would be -ended! The villagers would give him their bobs and their smiles and -perhaps a cheer, Dalabey would come from his shop and grovel for a -moment as he passed and then--then life would of a sudden become -strangely empty, strangely without aim and object. - -"Can almost see 'em, can't you, Allan, my boy, those old Elmacotts; the -place must have looked very like this in their time. Lord, it's a pity -we've got into the way of dressing so plain and starchy like we do now! -But bless my soul! What would I look like in a flowered waistcoat and -powdered wig and silk stockings, eh? Ha, ha, ha! And how well she's -looking, how pretty she is, prettier'n ever, Allan, and what a lucky -fellow you are!" - -"The luckiest in the world and the happiest I think, father!" Allan said -very soberly. - -The old man nodded, "That's right, that's right, that's what I hoped to -hear. Now, take her and shew her round. It's a pity it's gone so dark, -so you can't see the gardens to-night. I tell you, Allan, the gardens -are even better than the house. You keep on that old Markabee, he knows -his job and you won't get no better man for thirty-seven and six a week, -cottage found!" - -In the dawn of the summer morning Allan wakened, his sleep had been -strangely disturbed. He had dreamed, yet now he was awake the dreams -were all vague, half forgotten and meaningless. He rose and went to the -open window and looked out into the garden. - -He saw it as he had seen it that day in May, in his dream, all trim and -fair, the weeds and the desolation gone, the flower beds all gay and -bright with bloom, the lawns--and how old Markabee and his men had -worked on these lawns! shaved and rolled and weeded. - -And though remembering it as he had seen it, with the desolation of -years over it all, it all looked unfamiliar to him now and yet -wonderfully, strangely familiar. - -Then suddenly there came to him with a sense of shock and anxiety a -question. What of the little stone nymph who had stood there in the -midst of the pool? Had they torn her from her pedestal and banished her -from the place she had held for centuries? Why had he never spoken of -her? Why had he never asked that she might be protected? Why--why above -all did he care? What had become of a little stone image with a broken -arm and a battered vase, and the slender little stone body all stained -green? - -But he did care, and he wanted to know what her fate was. He turned -back into the room and saw his wife sleeping there. The sunlight -slanted in through the uncurtained window and touched her face, and he -stood looking at her. - -Sleeping, she seemed, in spite of her eight and twenty years, to be such -a child. There was a smile on her lips, her face was pillowed on one -white bare arm, her hair fell about her on the pillow. - -He stretched out his hand and lifted one heavy lock and held it lightly, -letting it slip softly through his fingers till it fell to the pillow -again. - -And, watching her as she slept, he wondered why his heart did not throb, -why a great passionate love for her did not come--yet it did not! - -He dressed and went out into the garden. He was early, early even for -old Markabee, from whose little cottage even now the smoke was curling, -thin and blue, into the morning air. - -In spite of the panic of anxiety of a while ago, he had forgotten the -little stone maid. The enchantment of the garden was on him, his feet -trod the stone pathway, his hands were behind his back, his head bent a -little forward, yet he saw everything, the trim, carefully laid out -beds, the green grass, the foxglove and the hollyhock thrusting their -way to life and air and sun through the crevices in the old stone path. -So he stepped aside to avoid tramping on their loveliness, yet wondered -why they should be there. - -Was it right? What would my Lady say? And he? Was not he dallying here -when he should be at his work? - -What thoughts! What strange jumble of thoughts was this? - -Hoe and rake, he must get them from the shed; the shed there behind the -old red wall. So he turned and came to the place and found no shed, -then started and came back to life again and frowned at himself for his -folly. - -Was there some enchantment that brooded over the place, something that -held him in its grip when his feet trod the soil of this old garden? - -"Dreams!" he said aloud, and again, "Dreams!" And then laughed at -himself and turned back to the broad stone pathway, then suddenly -remembered the object of his quest, and hurried on to the lake. - -She was there, untouched! and he was conscious of a relief, a sense of -gladness--yet why? What did it matter? What would it have mattered had -they pulled her down and carried her away and used her to mend some -country road with and placed some fine marble fountain with basin all -complete in her place? Yet it did matter and he knew that it did! - -He turned, conscious of a relief and yet wondering at it and went back -along the path to where was the great circle in the middle of which -stood the sundial, and he noticed that some artificer had replaced the -long lost gnomon, so that once again the shadow might fall and tell the -passing of the hours. - -And there was the seat on which he had sat that day. Then it had been -half lost in a maze of tangle and growth. Now it had been cleaned and -even mended a little, the moss and green growth removed. - -Allan sat down, as he had sat down that day; he laid his arm along the -back of the stone seat, just as then, and as then presently, the reality -about him grew faint and uncertain, and he drifted into a light sleep. -But in that sleep no dreams came, no vision of a little figure tripping -down the stone pathway, no dainty little figure in her flowered gown, -with mob cap on her shining head. Instead he opened his eyes and looked -into the face of an ancient man, who pulled a scanty lock of hair at him -and wished him "Good marning!" in purest Sussex. - -"Good morning to you," said Allan and wondered for a moment who the old -man might be, then it dawned on him. - -"A wunnerful and powerful difference be here," said the old man, "which -you will hev noticed, so be as you hev seen the place before!" - -"I have seen it before, three months ago, and as you say a wonderful -difference is here," said Allan, "and you are----" - -"Markabee be my name," the old man said, "gardener I were at Lord -Reldewood's place, near Smarden in Kent, though I be Sussex born and -bred." - -There was interrogation in his still, bright eyes. - -"My name is Homewood, Allan Homewood!" - -"Then you be the young master, the old master be a proper fine man and a -thorough gentleman!" - -Allan laughed. "I hope that you will be able to say the same of me, -though I warn you, Markabee, I am not such a fine man nor so good a -gentleman as my father!" - -"That may be, that may be!" said Markabee. "One finds out, one does, -for one's self. But I be one as speaks as I du find and I say the old -gentleman be a proper fine man, free handed moreover and pleasant of -speech! - -"Very late in the season, it were," Markabee went on. "May, pretty nigh -out, when I du come to this garden. Powerful difficult it were to make -much of a show, as I did say to Mr. Dalabey. 'Never mind,' says he, 'du -your bestest, Markabee, for you be working for a proper fine gentleman -who don't mind a little bit of extry money here and there, so be he gets -what he du want!'" - -Allan nodded. Not for all the world would he hurt the old fellow's -feelings, but he could wish old Markabee safely off to his work in the -garden, leaving him here to his dreams in the sunshine. - -But not so Markabee. For he was old and had seen many things and many -gardens; old and garrulous was he and eager above all to make a good -impression on the young master! - -"Things I hev seen and changes," he said, "you wouldn't believe, and -now--how old might you take me to be, eh, young sir? What aged man -would you say I were?" He pulled himself up erect as a grenadier, and -his bright old eyes twinkled, while the long whisps of white hair fell -about his copper coloured face. - -"Now, sir, make a guess, how old might 'ee take me to be, eh?" - -"I should say--" said Allan cautiously, "that you might be sixty-five!" - -"Ha, ha, ha, that be a good 'un, sixty-five--ha, ha!" He laughed till -his voice cracked and he nearly choked. "Two and eighty years hev I -seen, two and eighty wi' never a lie, and look at me, fit for a long -day's work I be with the best and youngest on 'em! Ask anyone here, -young sir, ask what sort of worker be old Markabee, ask 'em to satisfy -yourself, sir! Yes, two and eighty summers and winters hev I -seen--sixty-five--ha, ha, ha! Sixty-five!" And, chuckling with -laughter, he saluted, drew his old body erect and went marching off down -the garden with a jaunty air, and yet in his heart a little quavering -wonder and anxious fear. - -"I wonder, du he think I be too old?" - -If spell there had been, old Markabee had broken it. So though he might -sit here on the old stone seat, no drowsiness came to him now. He -watched a bee, a great velvety bumble bee, with its lustrous black and -tan body hurrying, full of business, from flower to flower. The sun was -low yet, and cast slanting shadows all softly blue on the stone pathway. -The dew glinted and glistened in the cups of the flowers and in the -heart of the starry green leaves of the lupins. He looked along the -broad straight pathway to the house and saw it, so strangely like he had -seen it that day, the windows open, the dimity curtains moving lightly -in the soft breeze. And now came a maid servant, but no mob cap and -flowered gown wore she, and her hair was black and her eyes sleepy, nor -did she trip daintily, but shuffled in sluggard fashion and let down the -new sun blinds outside the windows with a rasping, creaking sound of -iron on iron. - -No dreams for him this day, nor did he want them? Why seek them, invite -them? For dreams would but bring him again to dissatisfaction and would -set him yearning and longing and even hoping for that which could never, -never come true. Allan rose and seemed to shake himself, though he -shook himself more mentally than physically, to lighten himself of these -fancies, which were idle and foolish and which he must not encourage nor -harbour. - -He smiled to himself as he set off for a ramble about the garden, for he -saw what he must do. He must prove to old Markabee and to all the rest -that he was a man worthy of being his father's son. - -"A proper fine man he be and a thorough gentleman," old Markabee had -said, and so he was. God bless him for a fine gentleman! - -And then suddenly and unexpectedly, for he had wandered far into a part -of the garden where he had never been before and where even old Markabee -and his merry men had not yet penetrated, he came on a little stream -that flowed rapidly and clearly between high banks of thick green growth -and at one place was a deep pool where the water swirled and eddied, -obstructed for the moment in its course by an abrupt turn in the winding -of the stream. About him were the trees and the greenery, an -impenetrable leafy screen and the silence; but for the birds there was -nothing to interrupt the solitude of the place. So off with his clothes -and then a header into the cool green water for a brisk swim. Here, -under the shade of the trees, the water ran cold and its coldness sent -the blood leaping and throbbing through his veins. - -A few minutes and he was out, glowing, dripping, a young giant in his -health and strength. Now he had put his clothes on caring nothing that -his skin was wet beneath them. - -Back through the garden and the sunshine he strode--dreams, what idle -things were dreams! Only a fool or a poet might sit there on that old -old stone seat trying to conjure up visions of a long dead past. His -body was in a glow, he was conscious of a great and voracious appetite. -He saw the girl who had pulled the sun blinds down and called to her. - -"What's your name?" he said. "Mary or Peggy, or Molly, eh?" he smiled -at her. - -"Ann is my name, sir!" she said. "Ann!" - -"You're not Sussex?" - -She tossed her head. "Not me, thank you, sir, I come from the Fulham -Road!" - -"Then, Ann, where you come from does not matter, but if you love me, get -me a cup of tea and--and--well anything--a good big hunk of bread and -butter will do, but see that it is big and that there is plenty of -butter on it and I'll wait here till you come back, Ann!" - -"What a very strange young gent," the girl thought. "If I love him -indeed! There's a nice way of talking!" She tossed her head, yet went -off to get the tea and the bread and butter. - -"If I love him indeed, well of all the impudence!" - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV* - - *"HIS SON'S WIFE"* - - -"Well, well, my boy, what do you think of it all? How do you think the -garden looks?" - -"Wonderful!" - -"Wonderful, yes, that old Markabee's a treasure; you won't part with -him, Allan?" - -"Nothing would induce me to, father. I hope he'll stay here another -twenty years at least!" - -"That'll make him a hundred and two, the old man is very proud of his -age, eighty something!" - -"Eighty-two and seems a mere boy!" Allan went to his father and put his -arms about the old man's shoulders. - -"I--I'm not going to try and thank you!" he said. - -"Don't, there's nothing to thank me for! I--I did it--I enjoyed doing -it, never enjoyed anything so much in my life, put myself into it heart -and soul. I'd like Cutler, you know Cutler, his daughter married the -Governor of somewhere or other--I'd like him to see this place!" - -"Then why not?" - -"Bless me--so I may--one day--I might bring him down, but, Allan, I'm -not going to interfere with you, not me! Two's company, three's none! -I know that! And--good morning, my dear, and I don't need to ask how -you slept! As fresh as a rose you look this morning, as fresh and as -handsome too!" - -And she did, her cheeks were glowing, her eyes were bright. Fresh from -her cold bath, she was a picture of glowing health and beauty. She went -to him and put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him. - -"And now I want to know what is the meaning of those horrible looking -bags and portmanteaux and things I saw on the landing?" - -"Why--why bless me--they are mine--I--I didn't mean to leave 'em about, -my dear. I'd never have forgiven myself if you'd tripped and fallen -over them, but----" - -"I don't mean that; what I want to know is: Why are they packed?" - -"Because--because there's my things in 'em and I'm off for London. -Bletsoe's got his orders and after breakfast I'll start----" - -"But supposing I don't mean to let you go?" - -"Thank you, my dear, thank you and God bless you! I--I know what you -mean, but thank you, my dear, all the same! I--I like to think that -you're not in a hurry to push the old fellow out! I'll be glad to -remember that!" His eyes shone. "Yes, my love, I'll be glad to -remember that, but----" - -"How are we going to manage without you?" she asked. "You have been so -clever, it's all so wonderful what you have done here. Allan told me -what a terrible, terrible state the place was in and how like a fairy, a -good fairy, you have touched it with your wand and it--is like it is -now! And we can't let our fairy go, can we?" - -"But he'll come back, my love, he'll come back!" The old man cried -happily. "But you and Allan have got to settle down and I--I know what -it is, my dear, when Allan's mother and me were married, settling down -is a bit difficult--I think you and Allan are best left to yourselves, -and then when you want me, why I'll come, I'll come, you won't have to -ask twice. You ought to have the telephone on--" he paused, took out -his pocketbook and made a rapid note, "arrange telephone, Homewood," -then you'll be able to ring me up and I'll be able to ring you up--now -and again, not that I want to be a nuisance or a worry to -you--but--but--what's that? What's that? Breakfast, eh?" - -"Yes, sir, breakfast!" said the manservant. - -Over breakfast they discussed an idea that had come to Kathleen. - -"We must have a house warming," she said, "you know the old -superstition, there'll be no luck about the house unless we have a -warming!" - -"To be sure!" said Sir Josiah, a little puzzled, "but I had the fires -lighted and kep' going for weeks and----" - -"I know!" she laughed. "But I mean a party, a house party, just a few -of our nearest and dearest. You, of course, first and before all and -my--" she hesitated, "my father, of course, and then you will have one -or two of your own friends, Sir Josiah, won't you? Friends of yours you -might like to bring down?" - -His eyes shone. "Cutler!" he said. "I'd like to bring him, take the -shine out of him, it will too. I'm fed up with Her Excellency, the -Governor's wife, that's Cutler's daughter. Why, my love, it'll stifle -him, that's what it will do! Why, of course, I'll come! And there'll be -a few things, wines and spirits and like that. I'll see about them, see -about 'em at once--and now----" - -And now the time for parting had come, the time he had dreaded, but it -must come; the car was at the door, the bags were put into the car. And -the owner of the car dallied, he was in the morning room and Kathleen -was with him. She put her hand on his arm and delayed him, she had -smiled a signal to Allan to go out and leave them together for a moment -or so, and Allan had gone. - -"You have been very, very good to us, you have given us this beautiful -home, you have given us more--I know--" she said and her eyes were very -bright and very kind, as she stood, a queenly young figure, with her -slim white hand resting on his arm--"And I want to tell you this--I want -to--to earn it all. I want to earn all your kindness and affection. I -want to prove myself worthy of it! You have given me all this and you -have given me your son and he--he is the best of all! A little while -ago I thought that I was an old, old woman; life seemed to hold very, -very little for me, my whole life was one long struggle, a struggle -between pride and poverty. I suffered--" she paused, "more than I can -ever tell. I knew what people said of me and of--" she paused, "of--of -me, and now all suddenly I seem to realise that I am not old, but that I -am young, and that I am not afraid of the years that lie before me. Our -marriage, Allan's and mine, was--was--at first sordid and mercenary, and -I hated it, but Allan and I talked about it and we agreed, long ago, -that we would make the best, the very, very best possible of our lives -and I think we are doing it. I know how you love him and I know how -deeply he loves you and so--so I wanted to tell you that Allan's wife -will try, with God's help, to be worthy of him and of you, that she will -be a good, true and faithful wife to him, helping him when she may help, -comforting him if he should need comfort. Perhaps--" she said softly, -"I am not a religious woman, I wish I were! But no religious woman -could have prayed to her God more fervently, more from her heart than I -have prayed from mine that I may never fail in my duty, that I shall be -all that he would have me, that I shall be a good, true and faithful -wife and friend to the man whose name I bear!" - -He did not speak, his lips trembled a little, he put his arms about her -and held her very tightly for a moment and then he went out, seeing -nothing very clearly, for the mist that was before his eyes. - -And as he drove through the little town and out into the white Sussex -roads, past the green fields and under the shadow of the Downs, he -remembered, not that his daughter was Lady Kathleen, daughter of the -Earl of Gowerhurst, but that she was the sweetest and the best woman he -had ever known. - - - - - *CHAPTER XV.* - - *"WILL YOU TAKE THIS MAN?"* - - -The kindly cup of tea of which Mrs. Colley had spoken to Abram Lestwick -must have grown cold or been replaced and renewed many times, but it was -not partaken of by him for whom it was so hospitably intended. - -Mrs. Colley, a short, little body, with a long, lean, bony face and -black hair, dragged back painfully from a protruding and shiny forehead, -watched for Abram as eagerly as ever a maid watched for the coming of -her lover. - -'Lizabeth, sallow faced, black haired like her grandmother, and with the -bad teeth possessed by too many country girls, tossed her head. - -"I don't go running after no man!" she said. "Abram Lestwick least of -all! I say if he doan't want our tea, let him stop away!" - -"You fool!" said her grandmother, "and there be that Mrs. Hanson forever -dangling after he. Would you be beat, 'Lizabeth, by a pink and white -dolly faced hussy like Mrs. Hanson's Betty? I'd have more pride, I -would!" - -"She be welcome to he!" said 'Lizabeth. "Too quiet and mum mouthed he -be to my liking and----" - -"There he be!" said Mrs. Colley. - -She bounded out of her chair and was across the little sitting room -kitchen and down the garden path to the gate all in a moment; a very -energetic woman, Mrs. Colley! - -"Oh, Abram!" she said a little breathlessly. "Funny me coming out this -moment and meeting 'ee promiscus like, but I did see a great slug -a-settling on my geraniums and just at this very moment 'Lizabeth be -laying the tea and a fresh biscuit she hev baked, all hot from the oven, -so du 'ee come in now, Abram, for there be a powerful lot of things I -want to speak wi' 'ee about!" - -"I be sorry," he said gloomily, "afraid I be I cannot stop!" - -"And the tea fresh brewed and on the hob and the water on it not more'n -three minutes, Abram, and the biscuit of 'Lizabeth's baking, a currant -biscuit, Abram!" - -He shook his head. "I wish 'ee good evening, Mrs. Colley," he said, -"and must be getting along!" He lifted his hat to her, a polite man, -Abram Lestwick, and went on. Mrs. Colley went back, beaten and angry. - -"She hev laid a spell on him, 'tis a good thing for Mother Hanson her -bain't living a hundred years ago, or burned for a witch her would be, -certain sure! And his coat buttons, I never see such a sight, -'Lizabeth!" - -"Drat his coat buttons! What be they to me?" - -"Two gone out of the four and two others hanging by threads, and him -working his fingers whiles he were talking wi' me, pulling they off, a -rare busy time wi' her needle will Abram Lestwick's wife hev! Wonderful -restless and nervis he be about the hands, 'Lizabeth!" - -"Drat his hands!" said Elizabeth Colley. "He doan't catch me sewing on -his buttons for him, no nor for the best man living neither, which Abram -Lestwick b'aint!" - -Down the road went Abram Lestwick, the weak chin under the straggling -growth of black hair looked a shade more resolute this evening, for he -had made up his mind. - -Was he, Abram Lestwick, the man to stand nonsense from a mere maid who -dared oppose his will with her own? No! Was he not Farmer Patcham's -foreman and first hand, looked up to and respected? He was! - -Had he not a cottage of four rooms of his own? He had! Was he not in -receipt of a steady income of thirty-five shillings a week, of which he -had no less than forty-three pounds ten saved and standing in the Post -Office Savings Bank to his credit? He was! - -Very well then! - -Down the road strode Abram Lestwick. - -"I'll put up wi' no more dilly dallying wi' she!" he said to himself, "I -be a strong intentioned man, not a boy like some, to be put off wi' a -grimace and a shake o' a head, and such like! And so I'll let her know -and I hev her grandmother's good wishes!" - -He did not falter, he flung open the little green painted gate of Mrs. -Hanson's front garden and trod manfully up the broken stone pathway to -the cottage door. - -"Why if it bain't Abram!" said Mrs. Hanson, in a tone of surprise, -though she had been watching the clock for him this past half hour. -Betty, pouring boiling water from the kettle into the brown teapot, -started, so that the hot water splashed on her hand, but she uttered no -sound. Her face turned white, perhaps it was the pain from the boiling -water, perhaps the sound of the man's voice! - -"Good evening!" he said. - -"Good evening to 'ee, Abram," said Mrs. Hanson. She looked across the -room to the girl. "Betty, here be Abram!" - -"Aye, I know!" - -Abram had taken off his hat, he was twisting it between his restless -fingers, plucking at the felt, bending the brim. Mrs. Hanson stared -resolutely at his face. - -"Wun't 'ee draw a chair and set down, Abram?" she said. "An' put your -hat down!" - -He nodded, he put his hat down and sat by the table. Betty's face was -white and set hard, her small round chin was thrust out obstinately. - -Abram looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. - -"I du hear good accounts of the new people at the Manor," he said. - -"Aye, a sweet and pleasant spoken lady and the daughter of a Lord!" said -Mrs. Hanson. "And Mr. Allan Homewood, who I did speak with the very day -he came here first, a very nicely spoken gentleman, I'm sure!" She -looked at Betty. - -Betty sat down, she stared straight before her, she knew that these were -but preliminaries, that which they were saying now mattered nothing at -all. Her grandmother poured out the tea. Abram took his cup, he -twisted it round and round in the saucer. - -"I see Mrs. Colley as I passed the door, picking slugs she were! She -asked me in to tea, she said there was a fresh biscuit of 'Lizbeth's -baking!" - -It was meant for conversation, and not as a reflection on the present -tea table, which was guiltless of a currant biscuit. - -"A wunnerful hand at cooking, 'Lizbeth Colley be!" he said. - -Mrs. Hanson shrugged her shoulders, "Hev you ever noticed her teeth, -Abram, terribul teeth they be!" - -"Terribul!" he agreed; he looked at the girl facing him. He could not -see her teeth, for her small rosebud mouth was tightly compressed, but -he had seen them and remembered them for the whitest pearls he had ever -seen. - -"A rare hand at fashioning and managing, 'Lizbeth Colley," he remarked. -He paused to drink with his mouth full of bread and butter. It was not -a pretty exhibition, but neither Mrs. Hanson nor Betty remarked it. -Bread and butter and tea taken at one meal had to mingle, sooner or -later; why not sooner than later? - -The meal went on, Abram smacked his lips noisily. Mrs. Hanson tried to -make conversation. - -"A bit of luck for an old man like Markabee getting a permanent job at -his time of life! I wonder how long du they think they'll keep he?" she -asked. - -"Ah!" - -"Though I du admit very agile he be for his years!" - -It was all idle, it was all eating up time, till the meal should be -over. These, as Betty knew, were merely preliminaries, presently the -real business would start. Her grandmother had warned her. - -"Ahram be here to-night, he be, to hev a direct answer and for 'ee to -make up thy mind and name the day!" said Mrs. Hanson. - -"He'll get his direct answer, he will! And as for naming the day, there -wun't he no day to name!" said Betty. - -"We'll see, my gell!" - -"Aye, we'll see!" said Betty. - -"I can't think what have come to that maid!" Mrs. Hanson thought. "All -contrairy and perilous defiant her be, and once----" - -"Help me clear they things!" Mrs. Hanson said. - -The meal was over at last. Abram brought out his pipe; he did not light -it, he did not even put it between his long, yellowish teeth. He held -it in his hand, he twisted it and turned it. He made of the bowl a -thimble, which he set on his finger; he picked at the thin silver mount -and all the time he watched Betty. And always that weak chin of his -under the coarse, sparse black hairs, seemed to grow stronger and more -protruberant, more pronounced. - -Mrs. Hanson spun out the washing up, but it was over at last and she -came back and took her usual seat by the fireplace. - -"And now, Abram?" she said. - -It was the signal, Betty stiffened up, she clenched her small hands; -Abram dropped the pipe and stooped to recover it. - -"Mrs. Hanson, Ma'am, and Betty, you both know full well why I be here -to-night," he said. "Terribul slow of speech I be--" He dropped the -pipe again and went in search of it; groping along the floor, again he -recovered it. - -"Why not put the pipe down, Abram?" Mrs. Hanson said. "Pipes be -terribul easy things to drop!" - -He nodded, he put the pipe down on the table and fell to plucking out -the horsehairs from the chair seat. - -"Terribul slow of speech I be!" he repeated. "But you, Ma'am, Mrs. -Hanson, know, I think, why I be here to'night! 'Tis about the maid, -Betty, your grand-darter, Ma'am!" - -"Ah!" said Mrs. Hanson. - -"What hev your visits to do wi' me?" Betty demanded, a spot of vivid -colour in her white cheeks. - -"I du love 'ee and want 'ee to marry me!" he said simply. - -"That be well spoken, straight and to the point, that be!" said Mrs. -Hanson. "No man could speak fairer!" - -"Then I will speak straight and to the point tu," Betty said. "I du not -love 'ee and will never marry 'ee! I would sooner be dead, and drownd -myself I will before I marry 'ee, Abram Lestwick!" - -"Ah!" he said, his eyes roved towards Mrs. Hanson. What had she to say -to that? - -"A perilous bad maid 'ee be!" said Mrs. Hanson. - -"So 'ee've told me till I be sick to death o' hearing it. Perilous bad -and wicked and ungrateful, I be--an all that's bad! Why do he come here -a persecutering me? Why doan't he leave I alone?" the girl cried -passionately. "I doan't ask him to--to foller me and worry me--why -doan't he go and marry 'Lizbeth Colley, wi' her currant biscuits? A -wonderful fashioner and manager she be! He said it, said it and I--I -wun't marry him. I'll die--die willing and glad, yes die! Yes, I'll -die!" - -She leaped to her feet, her face was burning, her eyes brilliant with -defiance and anger. - -"No one hasn't the right to so persecute a maid like he du persecute I! -I doan't want him here. I--I can't bear nor bide 'ee, Abram Lestwick, I -can't!" - -Her voice faltered. He sat there staring at her, never speaking a word -and his silence disconcerted her. - -"A perilous--" began Mrs. Hanson. - -"Say--say it again, say it again!" Betty panted, "And I'll scream, I'll -scream till I be dead. Say it, again!" - -"And 'ee be my son Garge's child. Garge as were ever mild and quiet, -and I be Garge's mother!" Up rose Mrs. Hanson. "I be Garge's mother -and thy grandmother and I be the one to speak, Betty Hanson, and speak I -will!" She lifted a strong arm and pointed a long, thick-jointed finger -at the girl. "Marry him 'ee shall, and I say it! And wi' a good grace -tu, and come to your senses, 'ee shall, my maid, if I break a stick over -your back! And I'll hev no more o' these tantrums, no more of them, I -say, a perilous bad and wicked maid 'ee be! Hev not Abram done we a -great honour? Hev he not----" - -"I'll kill myself before I marry him!" the girl said, but she said it -without passion, only with an immense certainty in her voice. - -Abram blinked, he stared at the ill smelling, newly lighted lamp. - -"Listen to me, Betty Hanson. Here be Abram asking 'ee to marry 'ee and -asking 'ee to name the day--answer!" - -"I hev answered!" - -"Answer as I order 'ee!" - -"I shan't!" - -Mrs. Hanson stalked across the room, she went to a corner by the -fireplace, in that corner stood the stout old stick that had supported -her husband's declining years. She had always kept that stick in the -corner, it was more homely to see it there. She took it now, she came -back to Betty. - -"Will 'ee marry this good man?" - -"No!" - -One, two, three, down came the stick, heavily across the slender -shoulders. The girl's eyes filled with tears, born of the smart of the -blows, but she kept her white teeth clenched. - -"I ask 'ee again, will 'ee name the day?" - -"No, never!" - -Thud, thud, thud! - -Ahram Lestwick leaned forward, he stared at them both. He was tearing -the threads out of the fringe of the cheap tablecloth now. He watched -Betty's face without emotion. "Dogged abst'nate her be!" he muttered. - -"Betty Hanson, my mind be made up! Will 'ee take this man to be your -lawful wedded husband, in sickness and in health, for better an' for -worser, till death du 'ee part?" - -"I wun't, I hate him!" - -Thud, thud, thud. - -"And I hate 'ee tu!" said Betty suddenly. - -"That be enough!" The stick fell. "'Ee've said it, Betty Hanson! Said -it! Said it past recall! Hate me, 'ee said it! And to-morrow 'ee go -out, go out, my maid, for I live in no house where hate du abide!" - -"I'll go and glad, glad!" the girl said. - -Abram rose slowly. - -"I beg to thank 'ee for a good tea, which I did enjoy, Mrs. Hanson, 'tis -time for me to be going!" he turned towards the door. "A very good -tea!" he said. "I bain't partial to new baked currant biscuits!" He -paused at the door and looked at Betty. - -"I'll ask 'ee to name the day some other time, my maid! I be a patient -man, a very patient man, I be in no hurry, no hurry at all! And I wish -'ee good night, Mrs. Hanson, and thank 'ee for your good tea once -again!" - -Betty stared at him, her eyes were wide, filled with terror. She lifted -her hands to her face, she gripped her face between them, the sharp -little nails dug into the soft, peach-like cheeks, but she felt no pain, -was unconscious of what she was doing. - -He looked at her and smiled, he backed out and closed the door, but she -did not move. She heard his steps outside, her breast was rising and -falling and when she spoke, she spoke in gasps, in short breathless -sentences. - -"Did 'ee see--grandmother, did 'ee see--his hands--his hateful hands? -Grandmother, did 'ee see? One day--he'll kill someone wi' they hands, -kill 'em--grandmother, maybe--maybe 'twill be--me!" - - - - - *CHAPTER XVI* - - *"MY LADY MERCIFUL"* - - -"I am glad Mr. Dalabey spared her," said Kathleen. - -She nodded towards the little figure of the nymph standing up from the -middle of the lake. - -"So am I!" Allan said. "But I've a great respect for Dalabey, he does -not look it, but he is an artist. He has a right perception, a sense of -fitness. Dalabey is a reader and a thinker, too. Kathleen, you would -be surprised by the depth of Dalabey's knowledge, for all that, he says -'I be' and 'Du 'ee?' Which, after all, may be better English than that -which you and I speak. You would hardly believe that Dalabey and Ruskin -have more than a nodding acquaintance, but so it is! Yes, I'm glad he -spared the little stone maid. Do you know the first morning we were -here, dear, I worried about her. I rose early and came out to see if -she were still here and there she was, a monument to Dalabey's good -sense! I've congratulated him since!" - -She was listening to him with a smile on her lips. Now she glanced at -him, at the tall, big young man by her side--her husband! - -"Allan," she said suddenly, "Allan, you seem to be very happy!" - -"Happy!" he was startled. "Of course I am happy. Why--why did you say -that? I am happy and content. I Have the dearest and best man in the -world for father. I have a wife who is friend and comrade----" he -pressed her hand. "I have a home, the like of which there is not to be -found in all England! Happy--why not, Kathleen?" - -She was silent for a moment. He had said the dearest father and his -wife--after all his wife was only friend and comrade--only! Why did she -feel vaguely dissatisfied, had she not set herself to be just that very -thing, that he said she was--friend, comrade, and now he had said it, -she felt a little regret. - -"And you would not have things different from what they are, Allan?" - -"No!" he said. "I'm very, very content, very proud and very happy, -Kathleen." - -"And the dream," she said, "the dream you told me of, Allan, the pretty -girl who came----" - -He laughed frankly, almost boyishly, a laugh so clear and so ringing -that it, was infectious. - -"Because I had a pleasant dream and dreamed a pretty girl was imprudent -enough to come and kiss me, shall I moon about disconsolate and unhappy, -my mind filled with stupid longing and foolish regrets, eh?" - -"But the dream did affect you for a time, Allan?" - -"For a time," he said, "it was so clear, so real, so strange, so--so -undreamlike that it must affect me! Kathleen, I never think of it now, -I've put it out of my mind, I've sat there a score of times on that very -seat and no dreams have come, I've smiled at the foolish fancy of it, -laughed it all to scorn--and forgotten it----" - -"But if it were not--all a dream, if one day she came into your -life--that girl----" - -He shook his head. "She was a dream and she doesn't exist, she never -will and never can--she came and she went--for good!" - -"And yet," she persisted, with a woman's strange persistence, "Allan, -if--if she came, if you saw her in life, if----" - -"Then," he said quietly and looked her full in the eyes, "you have my -promise, dear, just as I have yours, but it will never, never -be--Kathleen, shall I be truthful, honest, candid with, you? I never -want it to be, dear, I am well content! And now come----" he went on -gaily, "and we'll talk to old Markabee, that young fellow who refuses to -grow old! Come, dear and----" - -But she shook her head. "I am going to the village, Allan," she said, -"at least, not to the village, but to a little cottage between here and -Little Stretton, Mrs. Hanson's cottage." - -"Hanson, I remember a kindly talkative old dame who has always a smile -and a country bob for us." - -"I am afraid she is not as kindly as she looks!" Kathleen said. - -"Why, what has the wicked old body been doing?" - -"Ill-treating her granddaughter, so I have heard. It was Debly Cassons -who told me. She said she was passing Mrs. Hanson's cottage as she came -here last evening, and she heard the sound of beating and looking in -through the window saw that wicked old woman thrashing the girl with a -stick. And there----" Kathleen went on, "the girl was standing -accepting the blows without a sound, but later as Debly was going back, -she heard someone sobbing as thought her heart was breaking and she -found the girl lying on the grass in the little garden crying bitterly. -Debly is a kindly old soul and she tried to comfort her and find out -what the trouble was, but the girl would not answer, so----" - -"So my dear little Lady Bountiful, my Lady Merciful is going to carry -comfort to the ill-used child, eh?" - -He looked at Kathleen, then stretched out his hand and touched hers. -"Kathleen, you are a good woman," he said sincerely and gently, "I wish -I could think that I were worthy of you!" - -Kathleen shook her head, she did not speak. - -There was a trace of sadness in her eyes as she went back alone to the -house. It seemed to her that there was the chance of happiness of a -great and wonderful happiness, yet she could not stretch out her hand to -grasp it, could not because of memories, years old memories, memories of -another face and another voice, memories of a love that had filled her -life once. She had loved then, she told herself, as a woman loves but -once, as she could never love again. - -"Allan's happiness and mine," she said to herself, "is built not on -love, but on friendship and respect, perhaps it is the surest, the best -foundation," yet while she consoled herself, she sighed a little and the -sadness stayed in her eyes. - -Very grim and very silent was Mrs. Hanson this morning. Last night that -maid, the maid she had brought up from babyhood had told her that she -hated her, had said "shan't" to her, had defied her. - -Mrs. Hanson had had a strict upbringing herself, she had married Hanson -because he was in regular work and was drawing good pay, twelve -shillings a week, no less. Her parents had told her to marry Hanson and -she had married him. The marriage market has its branches in the -smallest of villages and marriages of convenience are not luxuries -enjoyed only by the rich and the wellborn. - -And she, in her turn, had found a very suitable husband for this wayward -maid who, lacking in duty and obedience, definitely refused to accept -that husband. - -Very well then! Mrs. Hanson had every reason to be hurt and aggrieved. - -Betty had risen early--as usual--had cleaned out the little cottage -kitchen, had polished the stove till it shone, had made the fire and had -prepared the breakfast just as usual, but all the time she was doing it, -she knew that she was doing it for the last time. - -Last night her grandmother had said to her, "You shall go!" - -Her grandmother never changed her mind, never relented, never altered. -Betty knew this of long, long experience, besides in any event she would -go, she would not stay--no, not even if her grandmother begged her to on -her bended knees, and that was not in the least likely. They had their -breakfast together in stony silence. After breakfast Mrs. Hanson spoke. - -"Wash they things and put them back on the dresser--for the last time!" -she added. - -Betty had washed the things, she had replaced them on the dresser, on to -the snowy white board of the dresser top she had permitted one large hot -tear to splash. - -Her grandmother sat stiffly upright in her chair by the window with the -huge family Bible open on the little rickety round table before her. - -Mrs. Hanson always turned to the Bible for comfort and for advice in -times of stress and doubt. She was reading stolidly through the story -of Naboth's Vineyard and was deriving much spiritual comfort from it. -Very stern and unrelenting she looked sitting primly bolt upright, her -hands resting on the book and her spectacles adjusted on the end of her -long and pointed nose. - -Now and again out of the corner of her eye she glanced at the girl who -was slowly putting the finishing touches to her work. In a little while -the girl must be gone, Mrs. Hanson was a stern and unrelenting woman. - -Where the girl would go to, Mrs. Hanson did not know, she never gave it -a thought. - -"She did say, she did hate me!" the old woman thought. "Hate--a perilous -wicked thing for a young gell to say--and to abide in a house of hatred, -I will not! There's the Bible for it--'Better a dinner of yarbs and -contentment therewith than a stalled ox in the house----'" Mrs. Hanson -looked up, a shadow had fallen across the window, there came a light -tapping on the door. - -"Bless me and bless my dear soul!" said Mrs. Hanson aloud, "if here -b'ain't my Lady Homewood, Betty quick--quickly open the door to Her -Ladyship, quick now! Do 'ee hear me speak?" - -The door was opened by Betty. Coming from the hot bright sunlight of -the outer world into the twilight of the little room, Kathleen could -only see a slight, slender figure in an old cotton gown, which figure -bobbed a deferential, yet it almost seemed a defiant little curtsey to -her. - -"This is Mrs. Hanson's cottage?" Kathleen asked. - -"Yes, my lady!" - -Mrs. Hanson had risen, she bobbed, it was no half hearted curtsey this -of hers, she seemed to sink into the floor to her middle and then rose -again, tall and lean and agitated. - -"Mrs. Hanson I be, my Lady, and proud I be to see your Ladyship -here--Betty, a chair for her Ladyship, my maid!" - -Betty brought a chair, she flicked it with a duster and placed it that -Kathleen might be seated. - -And now Kathleen, whose sight had grown accustomed to the dimmer light -of the room, could see the child plainly, and seeing her, wondered a -little at the loveliness of the little piteous face, the drawn mouth, -the big saddened eyes that had so evidently recently shed tears. - -Poor pretty little maid! Kathleen remembered what Debly had told her of -the child lying out in the grass, sobbing her heart out in the darkness -of the night. She looked at the stern puritanical looking old woman and -Kathleen, who was hot blooded and generous, felt instinctive dislike of -her, which dislike was unjust and ill placed. - -So, having come expressly about this girl with the golden hair and the -sweet oval face, Kathleen, being a very diplomatic young woman, spoke of -everything and anything else under the sun. She told Mrs. Hanson how -often she had admired the neatness and prettiness of the little front -garden. - -"It is so nice to see gardens so well kept, I am sure yours is a great -credit to you, and oh Mrs. Hanson, do please sit down, we can't talk -comfortably, can we, if you stand?" - -"Oh, my Lady, to sit in your presence!" - -"Then you will force me to stand too!" said Kathleen. - -So Mrs. Hanson sat down on the very edge of her hard chair and they -talked of the garden, that neat little garden with its flower beds, -surrounded by nice large flint stones which Betty whitened regularly -every Saturday, to make all prim and clean and spotless for the Sunday. - -"You have lived here many years?" Kathleen asked. - -"A Hanson hev always lived in this cottage, my Lady, from time out o' -mind. A Bifley were I born, my mother being a Pringle, and me married -to Amos Hanson when I were just turned seventeen." - -"Ah yes!" Kathleen said. "And this is your granddaughter?" - -"My granddarter her be," said Mrs. Hanson sternly. - -"And of course you need her here to help you in this little cottage?" -Kathleen hazarded. - -"I du not need she, my Lady, and her be going to leave me, her be, this -very day!" - -"To--to leave--you--you mean the child is going away? Where is she going -to?" - -Mrs. Hanson did not answer. The girl was still in the room, seemingly -busy at the dresser, but Kathleen looking could see the slender -shoulders shake and knew what a big fight the little maid was putting up -to keep herself from bursting into tears. - -What little village tragedy was here? she wondered. - -"Is she going to London?" Kathleen asked. - -"I du not know, my Lady!" - -"But----" Kathleen said. - -Mrs. Hanson rose, she was trembling. - -"My Lady, that I should hev to tell 'ee a stranger, yet with a face so -kind, that emboldened I be--my Lady--this maid, this perilous wicked -maid----" the old dame stopped for a moment, quivering and shaking, -"this perilous bad, wicked onnatchral maid did say to me--I hate 'ee, I -du! Said it my lady wi' her own lips and tongue, she did! And I said tu -her 'Betty Hanson, granddarter o' mine, 'ee may be, but never, never -will I abide in a house where hatred du exist, so out of this house du -'ee go for a bad perilous maid on the morrow!' And this be the morrow, -my Lady----" - -"But she is so young, only a child and surely you would not let her go -without, knowing she is going into safety and into the house of friends? -She is your granddaughter and you are responsible for her! Do you think -that you are acting rightly? Do you think--oh please don't think that I -am preaching to you--but she is so young and so pretty and to think of -her going--and never even knowing where the poor child is going to!" - -"I hev chose for she a good husband, a man wi' thirty-five shillings a -week coming in, a cottage too and of quiet ways!" - -"But if she does not love him?" Kathleen asked, and, remembering her own -marriage, blushed red as a rose. - -"Love him indeed, my lady, hev I not chose he for she? A good -upstanding, upright man as ever was, to Church reg'lar twice a Sundays, -walking in the fear of God, he du, and very respectable wi' never a word -to be heard against he--and--and----" Mrs. Hanson paused nervously and -exhausted for the moment. - -"But she is only a child! Betty, come here, Betty!" - -"Betty, du 'ee hear her Ladyship a-speaking to 'ee?" cried the -grandmother. - -But Betty at the dresser, her back obstinately turned, did not move. - -"There, there!" said Mrs. Hanson triumphantly, "'ee can see for -yourself, my Lady, how bad and de-fiant and obstinant her du be--Oh -Betty, shame on thee!" the old woman added, for Kathleen herself had -risen and had gone across the room to the lonely little figure and all -suddenly had put a kind arm about those heaving shoulders. - -"Betty, Betty child, come and tell me all about it!" she said in that -sweet gentle voice of hers that could break down any barrier of anger -and defiance. And then Betty, knowing, feeling that here was a friend, -broke down suddenly and giving way to the long threatening tears, laid -her head against Kathleen's breast and sobbed. - -"I hate him, I hate him I du and fear him I du, My--my lady and -grandmother be so bent on my marrying he and I, I can't! Oh, I can't -bear it, I can't and 'tis breaking my heart, it be, my--my Lady!" - -"Hush, little one, don't cry!" Kathleen said. - -"Betty, I be mortal ashamed of 'ee, I be!" said Mrs. Hanson. "Mortal -ashamed and all put about I be!" - -"Please, Mrs. Hanson, let me speak to her!" said Kathleen. She drew -Betty towards her chair, she sat down and held the girl's hot little -hand and looked into the pretty flushed tear stained face. Poor pretty -child! - -"How old are you, Betty?" she asked. - -"I be--be eighteen, my Lady!" - -"And behaving she be like she were but seven!" said Mrs. Hanson. "A -perilous bad----" she paused. - -"Your grandmother says you must go, Betty!" - -"Aye, I du, I du, and when I du say a thing, by that thing I du abide!" -said Mrs. Hanson. "Go, I said, and go she shall! A very unrelenting -woman I be!" - -And then at last came a flash of anger into Kathleen's eyes. - -"Yes, a very hard and unrelenting woman, I fear, Mrs. Hanson! Has this -child no other friends, no other relations, than you?" - -"Never a soul hev she got, and I hev brought she up!" - -"And now would turn her out of the house, knowing that she had no one to -go to, no one to keep and protect her, for shame, Mrs. Hanson!" cried -Kathleen in just indignation. Mrs. Hanson said nothing, she quivered and -shook. Perhaps in her heart of hearts she wanted to give way, but she -had said it, a stern and unrelenting woman was she, and prided herself -on it. - -"And where will you go to, Betty, when you leave your grandmother's -cottage?" - -"Oh my lady, I du not know, indeed I du not! For I hev not thought of -it, but I wouldn't mind where I did go, so be it was not to Abram -Lestwick, who I du hate and of whom I be in most mortal terror, my--my -lady!" - -"Then you shall not go to him, you shall come to me, Betty, and you -shall be my little maid!" Kathleen said. - -"To--to the Manor House, my--my lady?" Betty stammered, "Oh my Lady, -to--to the Manor House?" - -"Why, of course, child, for I live there!" - -"Oh my Lady, I--I couldn't, don't ask me--I couldn't bear to--to go -there and see it all--all as it be now--I couldn't my Lady, 'twould -break my heart!" - -Kathleen looked at her in amazement. "But why, Betty?" she said. "I -don't understand!" - -"My Lady," interposed Mrs. Hanson, "if so be as I may be allowed to -speak----" she paused, quivering with indignation, "'tis but right I -should tell 'ee this, that this wayward, obstinate, perilous gel was -forever in they old gardens before Mr. Homewood bought the old place, -forever she was, spite of all I did say to she. Sometimes of nights I -du verily believe she would rise and go stealing off to they gardens, a -terribul state they was in too, and coming back wi' her frock all -covered wi' green like and sometimes tored by the wall over which she -did climb most shameful----" - -Kathleen heard, she looked at the girl who stood with bowed head before -her. - -"Why did you go to the garden, Betty?" she asked softly. - -"Because--oh I--I don't know, because--I can't--can't tell 'ee, my Lady, -I can't tell 'ee, but it be all changed and altered now wi' great fences -put up and--and my stone maid gone and 'twould break my heart, my Lady -to go there and not see she, my stone maid, any more!" - -"The stone maid is not gone, Betty, and the gardens have not been -altered, but only made beautiful and they tell me that they must be just -as they were in the old days!" - -"I wonder, my Lady, as 'ee have the patience to talk wi' she!" said Mrs. -Hanson. - -But Kathleen took no notice. "So, Betty, will you come to me and be my -little maid?" - -"And glad and grateful!" said Mrs. Hanson. "Say it!" she commanded. -"Elizabeth Hanson, say it, yes--and glad and grateful I du be, my Lady, -to 'ee for your great kindness, and drop my Lady a curtsey, 'ee -unmannerly maid, as I be sore ashamed of!" - -"If only----" Kathleen thought, "if only the old woman would leave the -child alone, poor Betty, I can see why that little spirit of hers was -goaded into rebellion at last!" - -"I need no thanks!" Kathleen said, "I only want Betty to say that she -will come; you will come, child?" - -How kind were those eyes that looked into hers, how sweet a smile there -was on her Ladyship's beautiful face! It must have melted a heart of -stone and Betty's warm passionate little heart was not of stone. So she -broke down, sobbing and crying, she would come and glad and grateful she -was, and come she would that very day if her Ladyship would but have -her. - -"Pack your little box, Betty," Kathleen said, "and I will send one of -the men presently to fetch it for you and I think and hope you will be -happy and--and maybe Betty, you will not find the old garden so changed -after all. I will answer for it there are no ugly fences and the stone -maid stands where she did in the middle of the lake, Betty, so--go come -and see your little friend again!" She held out her kind hand, but -Betty did not take it, instead she dropped suddenly onto her knees and -kissed that white hand as if it had been the hand of a Queen, and so -like a queen was Kathleen to the country maid, a Queen all beautiful, -all generous, all kind. Queen! No, an angel from Heaven rather! And -when she had gone Betty stood there, all unmindful that her grandmother -was here and she spoke her thoughts aloud. - -"Very willing and glad I would be," she said slowly, "very willing and -glad to die for she, I would!" - -Mrs. Hanson sniffed, she had no patience with such outrageous and -exaggerated statements. - -"Get 'ee off and pack your box," she said sharply, "and think yourself -lucky, Betty Hanson, as 'ee hev found another home, and a kind mistress, -too kind I be afeared! Too kind and lenient like wi' 'ee and your -folly, my maid!" - - - - - *CHAPTER XVII* - - *HAROLD SCARSDALE RETURNS* - - -Kathleen's face was very thoughtful, a little sad even, as she walked -back along the white dusty road. She hardly saw the village folk, who -bobbed and curtseyed to her as she passed. She saw only a sweet oval -face, a glorious head of glittering hair, a pair of sad, wistful blue -eyes. - -"So these people do, as their betters!" she thought. "They drive and -goad their children into unhappy marriages! My Lord's daughter must be -made to marry thirty thousand a year, as little Betty, Mrs. Hanson's -granddaughter, is to be forced into marriage with thirty shillings a -week! How wrong and what a shame it all is! Money, rank, position and -interest! Is there no such thing as love left in the world at all? May -not a man choose his mate, a woman choose for herself from among all -men, the one she loves? It seems not, in village or in city, in cottage -or in palace, and I----" she paused. "I did as I was bidden and I am -happier perhaps than I deserve to be!" - -Kathleen, unlike other well born young ladies of Society, had had no -maid, in the old days she could not afford one. Amy, the parlour maid, -had assisted her into the dresses that were so very seldom paid for, and -Kathleen had long since adopted the unladylike practice of doing her own -hair. So when she came to Homewood she had decided to continue without -a maid, though the funds were not lacking now and the dresses were -certainly paid for. - -Of course little Betty Hanson would not know a tithe of those things -that a good and practiced lady's maid should know. She would not be -able to do her ladyship's hair in the latest and most becoming style. -She would not be able to select gowns suitable for special occasions. -She would not be able to massage my lady's white hands and perhaps her -face. She would not be able to flatter and fawn and sponge and perhaps -rob and lie. No, Betty Hanson was not likely to have any of these -desirable accomplishments. - -Kathleen had an honest admiration for beauty. She was one of those rare -women who can see and appreciate beauty in another woman. She would -have everything about her beautiful if she could. She feared that -perhaps to those who were unbeautiful, she was a little unjust. To Ann, -the very plain housemaid who came from the Fulham Road, for instance, -Kathleen was more than unusually kind and generous, because in her heart -of hearts she did not like Ann. And she believed that she did not like -Ann because Ann had a sallow, greasy skin, a misshapen nose and small -mean eyes, set too closely together and a loose, nondescript kind of -mouth. - -Ann, as a matter of fact, was a stupid, blundering creature, who forgot -to do one half of what she was told and deliberately neglected to do the -other half, who generally did everything badly, and had a habit of -breaking the most expensive things she could put her clumsy hands on. -Once Kathleen, goaded and irritated by Ann's hopeless imbecility had -spoken sharply--sharply for her--to the girl and had promptly repented -of it and had given Ann five shillings and begged a half day off for her -from Mrs. Crozier, the housekeeper. - -But that was like Kathleen and that was why the servants adored her. - -But Kathleen was a little disturbed in her mind. She found herself -wondering, remembering and wondering--what was this about this child -haunting the old garden at the Manor House, climbing the high brick wall -and entering into that place of desolation and solitude, called thither, -who knows by what strange voices? What was this about her going there -of nights to wander about the black solitudes of tangle and weed? -Surely it was not right, it was not canny. She smiled at the word, the -word that she had heard her old Scottish nurse use years and years ago. -Yet it was the right word, it was not canny that a young and pretty girl -should have so strange a love for solitudes and weed grown gardens. - -"Could it--could it have been she?" What mad nonsense, what folly was -this? Kathleen wondered at her own thoughts. How could it have been -this girl whom Allan had seen there that day? He had said it was a -dream, it must have been a dream--this girl was no dream, but living -reality. And then Allan had told her that the girl of his dream had been -dressed all in some strange, old world costume, how the garden about her -had been in bloom and all so trim and neat and tidy, how the old house, -a place of desolation, had been bright and gay with its open windows and -blowing curtains, and how the girl herself had gone to him and had -kissed him and had put her little mittened hands--mittened hands--had -little Betty Hanson ever owned a pair of mittens in her life? No, no -those things had gone out in Betty's great-grandmother's time, what mad -nonsense it all was! So Kathleen laughed merrily and laughed the ideas -and the notions all away. - -She went to find Mrs. Crozier--Mrs. Crozier, the elderly, kindly -autocrat of the house, Mrs. Crozier who had been housekeeper in a far -finer and more magnificent mansion than this, no less a place than -Dwennington Hall, the seat of the Duke of Grandon. - -"Mrs. Crozier, I have engaged a young village girl, Betty Hanson, -granddaughter of Mrs. Hanson, who lives in the cottage up the road -towards Little Stretton, she is to be my lady's maid. She is only a -child and she will feel strange here at first so----" - -"I quite understand, my lady, I'll look after the little thing and make -her feel quite at home!" - -"Thank you, you do so readily understand me, Mrs. Crozier." - -"It's easy enough to understand your Ladyship," Mrs. Crozier said. -"There is always some kindly thought in your head, my lady, for -others--I know Mrs. Hanson slightly, a good and very respectable woman!" - -"Will you send one of the men for Betty Hanson's box presently? And oh -Mrs. Crozier, about the fourteenth----" - -"I'm making all preparations, my lady, Sir Josiah will be coming of -course!" Mrs. Crozier smiled, she held Sir Josiah in very high esteem. - -"Not a highly educated gentleman, perhaps," Mrs. Crozier had said over a -cup of tea to Mrs. Parsmon, the doctor's wife, "but one of the kind, -Mrs. Parsmon that I call Nature's gentlemen! That is my opinion of Sir -Josiah Homewood!" So when Mrs. Crozier mentioned his name to Sir -Josiah's daughter-in-law, she smiled in a very kindly way. - -"Sir Josiah will bring a friend, perhaps two, and my father will come of -course," Kathleen's voice changed a little, as it always did in some -subtle manner when she spoke of her father. Her face seemed to grow a -shade colder, then the cloud passed and she was smiling and thanking -Mrs. Crozier again, for her intended kindness to Betty Hanson. - -"I'll see her in the morning," she said, "let her come up to me after -breakfast and I'll have a long talk with her, and O Mrs. Crozier, as she -is leaving her grandmother so suddenly, she may need some things, -clothes I mean--I know it is not always easy for a young girl to get all -the clothes she needs"--there was a sad reminiscent smile on Kathleen's -face, "so will you get anything for her she may require and let me -know?" - -"I will do everything, my lady." - -The fourteenth was the date fixed for the house warming, that event that -had a little puzzled Sir Josiah. But he quite understood what it meant -now, and he was looking forward to it with much the same feeling as a -schoolboy has regarding the coming summer holidays. - -At the old fashioned chop house in the City, a table was regularly -reserved for Sir Josiah, which he sometimes shared with Cutler and -sometimes with Jobson or Cuttlewell, or Priestly (of Priestly, -Nicholson, and Coombe, those famous contractors). At that same table -now, Sir Josiah bragged and boasted of the glories of Homewood, of his -daughter-in-law, Lord Gowerhurst's only child. How he told them of his -work at Homewood and of the wonders of the place. "Historical, it is!" -he said. "And that feller Davenham, I put him in charge. I know my -limitations, Cuttlewell, no man better, when it comes to furnishing in -the Period style I'll own I'm beat, but Davenham knows, an expensive man -I'll admit, but what's money, what's money?" - -What was money indeed! Had not Sir Josiah been in pursuit of it all his -life, had he not seemed to worship it? Had not those plump knees of his -been for ever bent to the Golden Calf? - -"What's money, hey?" he cried. "Ho! William, William! Mr. Cuttlewell -will take a glass of that old port with me!" - -And William, the antique waiter, of the white side whiskers and the -ancient evening dress suit and the large sized, untidy feet, shuffled -away to fill the order, for their best and most respected customer. - -"I'd like you to see the place, I should, Priestly, my boy! My -daughter-in-law, Lady Kathleen, is giving a house warming on the -fourteenth. Cutler's running down with me--going to take him down in -the car. Hang it, Priestly, you shall come! My daughter-in-law, Lady -Kathleen, says all my friends are her friends, and she means it, she's -that sort. God bless her! There isn't a truer, sweeter woman on earth -and so--so I say God bless her!" The tears came into his eyes, they -trickled down his cheek. - -Here was honest pride, honest and unfeigned! He lifted his glass of -port, he beamed on them and gave them the toast from his heart. "My -daughter-in-law, Lady Kathleen Homewood, God bless her!" - -They smiled at him, they took it good naturedly, they knew his worth, a -sound man Sir Josiah, good for at least a couple or three hundred -thousand and very likely for a good deal more. When a man has a credit -good for anything from two to four hundred thousand, who will not put up -with his little ways, even though it might be a trifle boring for those -who had not the pleasure of Lady Kathleen's acquaintance? So Priestly -was asked and Cutler and Cuttlewell too, only unfortunately Cuttlewell -could not come, but Jobson could and would! - -When the expansive moment was past, Sir Josiah felt a little nervous. -Had he overstepped the limits? Had he gone too far; would it not be -encroaching on Kathleen's goodness? Conscience smote him. That he had -bought and paid for the house, that he was sending down cases of wines -regardless of cost, that he was ordering at the big London Stores with -the most lavish hand and purse in the world, all that mattered nothing -at all! But would Kathleen be annoyed? He wrote to her and received a -letter that made his cheeks flush like those of a school miss of -sixteen. - -"Your friends are mine, bring them all, you cannot bring too many, -especially if they are like you. Only let me know how many rooms you -want, dear, and believe me to be your affectionate and grateful -Kathleen." - -"God bless her!" he said. "God bless her!" And that day he added -Coombe to the list. What a time they would all have on the fourteenth! -How he talked and bragged and boasted, yet strangely enough a change had -come over his boasting, it was not of his Lordship the Earl, and her -"Ladyship, the Earl's daughter, it was not of the "historical" mansion, -and the period rooms and Davenham's whole hearted expenditure in the -matter of furnishing the place, it was of "My daughter-in-law, -Kathleen." - -"Beautiful, ha, ha!" he laughed. "I'll shew you real beauty! You think -Lesbia Carter and Sybil Montgomery, those actress girls, are beautiful -and so they are, sweetly pretty girls they are, and I don't say one word -against 'em, not me! But when you see my daughter Kathleen--Lady -Kathleen, then you'll see beauty, then you'll see goodness and sweet -gracious womanliness, my boy!" - -Cutler and Jobson laughed, they had their little jokes together. "The -old boy ought to have married her himself! I'll bet you he's more in -love with her than Allan, his son, is!" - -"I know Gowerhurst," said Coombe. Coombe was a large man who smoked -expensive cigars, with the bands on them, for effect. - -"Know him, I should think I do. He owes me a bit now! I'll bet you if -he hears I'm going to--what's the name of the place--Homewood--he won't -turn up--catch him!" - -Lord Gowerhurst had received his invitation. He had not been down to -Homewood, he had no love for the country, ancient historical houses and -early English gardens did not appeal to him. The house that found the -most favour in his sight was his favourite and particular Club, and he -preferred the card room there or the billiard room to any garden that -ever bloomed. But he must go, he must offer himself up as a sacrifice. -Old Homewood would be there of course and his Lordship was not quite -easy in his mind about certain speculations into which he had been led. -Lumeyer had induced him to put five of the twelve thousand he had -obtained from Homewood into the Stelling Reef Gold Mine and his Lordship -had heard bad accounts of that same concern. He had tried to sell out -and had tried vainly. - -Lumeyer, a densely black bearded man, with cherry lips, had told him all -would be well, but his Lordship did not believe it. It might -conceivably be possible that presently he would need old Homewood's help -again. - -"Doosid bore and beastly nuisance!" he said. "But I'll have to go, I -hate family parties and that kind of thing and Kathleen hasn't mentioned -if there's a billiard room. Let me see--the fourteenth will be Friday. -I'll leave a telegram with Parsons, the hall porter here, to send on to -me the first thing Monday morning, demanding my presence in Town. -Kathleen's done well, doosid well, thanks to me! I don't like the tone -of her letter, though, no, hang me, I don't like the tone of her letter! -Cold and formal, but that's Kathleen, takes after her mother! Doosid -cold and doosid formal, well, well!" He paused. "Whatever happens I'll -be able to say I did the best possible for my daughter. A man's got to -consider his family, I've considered mine, no one can say to the -contrary!" - -It was in the dining room during luncheon time at his Club that his -Lordship was holding communion with his own thoughts. He started now at -the sight of a tall elderly, white haired, soldierly man who came in, -followed by a somewhat younger man--it was the younger man who claimed -his Lordship's attention. - -"Who's that?" he asked himself. "Seen that face before--who the doose -is it now? Not a member----" - -"Here Paul!" - -"Yes, my Lord?" - -"Paul, did you see that gentleman come in? Who is he?" - -"Sir Andrew Moly----" - -"Yes, yes, I don't mean the old one, I mean the younger one with him!" - -"Don't know, my Lord, can't say! I haven't seen the gentleman before!" - -"Then find out!" The man scuttled off. - -"I--I know that face, hang me if I don't--wonder who he is?" His -Lordship frowned, he adjusted his eyeglass and gazed across to the -little table where Sir Andrew Molyneux and his companion were seated. - -"Confoundedly annoying to see a fellow's face and not know who the doose -he is!" His Lordship thought. "Hello, Paul, well? Have you found out?" - -"Yes, my Lord, I did, I took the liberty of asking Mr. Marsmith. I -noticed Mr. Marsmith bow to the gentleman as he came in and I took the -liberty----" - -"Yes, yes, but who is the fellow?" - -"A very important gentleman, Governor of some place as I didn't catch -the name of, my Lord, somewhere in America, I should think or the -Indies--I don't know my Lord, anyhow he is Sir Harold Scarsdale, a very -rich----" - -"Bless--my--soul!" his Lordship said. "Thanks, that will do, Paul, that -will do!" - -Paul went away. - -"Harold Scarsdale--bless my soul!" He sat and looked at the younger -man. - -"Altered, confoundedly altered, looks twenty years older, and it is only -ten! Let me see, he can't be a day over thirty-five and the fellow -looks forty-five. By George, there was that love affair between him and -Kathleen. I remember it well, Old Scarsdale, our Rector at Benningley's -son. I remember, by George I do, had a few words with the young fellow, -called him a presumptuous puppy if I remember right, so he was, by -George! But byegones--eh--byegones can be byegones--Kathleen was too -sensible and too cold, yes by George, too cold to make a fool of -herself, turned him down, very rightly and properly, I remember it all, -remember catching him in the garden at Bishopsholme, I remember a letter -I got hold of, of his, asking Kathleen to run away with him, the young -fool. By George if I remember right, I made it warm for him! And he -cleared out, left the country, he seems to have done well for himself, -knighted, eh? Well, well, things change, the wheel goes round, one man -gets carried up, t'others get taken down. I'm t'other," he smiled -grimly. "I'm down! I think--I think----" he paused. "I shall -recall--why not? A rich man, Paul said so, sensible fellow Paul. He -knows I always like to understand the financial position of other -folk--I shall certainly, yes certainly, recall our earlier -acquaintance!" - -His Lordship bided his time. He waited, he had finished his own -luncheon some time since, but he timed his retirement from the dining -room to synchronise with that of the other two. - -"Why, bless my soul, surely I am not mistaken?" - -Sir Andrew turned to look at his Lordship, but this expression of -astonishment was not for him. - -The other man had halted, seemed to draw back, his face stern and grave, -a handsome face, seemed to harden a shade as the Earl thrust himself -forward. - -"I surely am not mistaking my old friend's son, Harold Scarsdale. If I -am, then believe me I offer my sincere apologies, but I can hardly make -a mistake!" - -"My name is Scarsdale, and----" - -"Then you don't remember me, bless my soul, you don't remember me, my -name is Gowerhurst!" - -"I remember your Lordship perfectly!" - -"My dear fellow, I am delighted to see you, it quite takes me back. -Come, come, we must have a long talk, a long talk together, eh? How's -the world been treating you? Well, I hope, if I can be of service to -you, command me! By George, Harold, I always had a sneaking affection -for you!" - -"You managed to hide it very cleverly, my Lord, ten years ago! - -"Ha, ha! Had to, you know, had to! Doting father, that sort of thing, -couldn't let my little girl make a bad match! Hang it, if I'd been a -rich man, ha, ha, I wouldn't have stood in your way, but I wasn't; I -was, and am, come to that, doosid poor, and a father's feelings, Harold, -my boy, as you'll know when you are a father yourself, unless----" - -"I am not married!" said Scarsdale quietly. - -"No, no, quite right. Well as I was saying, a father must consider his -child. I may have seemed hard, a little hard perhaps, to you that day, -I remember it perfectly well, but I liked you, my dear fellow, all the -time my heart was bleeding for you, bleeding, sir! I said to myself, -can I, dare I? No, by George, I can't and daren't! I can't see my girl -scrubbing her own doorstep and--and turning her dresses and making her -own bonnets--I can't think of it! So I nerved myself to be stern, -nerved myself, Harold, and all the time my heart bled for you, my dear -lad!" - -"I remember very well," Scarsdale said quietly, "that you on that -occasion called me a cunning, scheming, blackguardly young adventurer, -who had dared to presume to look far too high, and you were right, as to -the last, my lord, but not as to the first. For I was not cunning or -scheming, I--I loved her, worshipped her and forgot everything else----" - -"By George! and so you did, so you did! But I was her father, I had to -consider ways and means, eh? You'd do the same yourself, you'd have to! -But we can't talk here!" - -"I am with Sir Andrew Molyneux, an old friend of my father." - -"Ah! And your father, dear old fellow, how is he now, eh?" - -"He has been dead four years, my Lord, and if you will excuse me----" - -"Positively I must see you and have a chat with you over things, Harold. -You'll dine with me to-night? Say yes!" Lord Gowerhurst wrung the -young man's hand. "Come, come, I can't take no--I positively refuse to -take no! Hang it, after all these years old friends and that sort of -thing, we can't pass like ships in the confounded night, can we, eh?" - -Sir Harold Scarsdale smiled. He had a stern, grave face, but the smile -lighted it up. - -"To-night then, my Lord, since you wish it, here--at what time?" - -"Eight o'clock," his Lordship said briskly, "and I shall look for you, -it's been a delight, a sheer delight to see you again!" - - - - - *CHAPTER XVIII* - - *IN THE DAWN* - - -My dear Kathleen, I am looking forward with keen enjoyment to my coming -visit to your charming home. That I have not come before you will easily -understand, my love. I am an old fellow and my ways are not your ways. -I am sensitive, very sensitive, as I think you know. To have felt -myself de trop would have been a cause of pain to me. I felt I could -not do it and though my heart was yearning for you and though I have -often, a thousand times, pictured your beautiful home, its master and -mistress, though I, in my solitary and none too comfortable rooms, have -often visioned to myself your delightful life at Homewood, yet I have -never intruded. I have been tempted many times. I have said to myself, -I will run down just for the day, then I hesitated. Should I be -welcome? I know, I know, my love, that my dear daughter's heart is -always affectionately inclined to her doting father, yet in your new -life, with your new interests, with your young husband, I have wondered, -is there a place, some nook, some corner for the old fellow to stow -himself away in? - -"But bless me, how I ramble on? I live a very quiet and uneventful -life, my appetite is not what it was. I sometimes walk round to the -Club and try and peck a morsel for lunch, but I am not my own man. I -think I feel my loneliness. Well, well, my dear, I look forward, as I -say, to the fourteenth of this month, with great expectation and -happiness. Now I shall behold you in your own home. I shall behold my -dear daughter, mistress of a good house, dispensing her and her -husband's hospitality with the gracious courtesy that is the birthright -only of a woman of breeding. Give my kindly remembrance to your husband -and believe me, my dear Kathleen, ever your fond and devoted Father, -Gowerhurst. - -"P.S. I am taking the liberty of bringing an old friend down with me. I -know in such a mansion as Homewood, there are many rooms, may I hope -that I am not encroaching in asking that one may be reserved for one for -whom you once had a kindly feeling." - -Kathleen smiled a little and frowned a little over this letter. It was -like her father, he wrote as he spoke. But who was the friend? She -hardly gave it a thought, there were so many old friends, was there one -for whom she had once had a kindly feeling? She doubted it. Her -father, in the old days, had commanded her ready affection at all times -for any opulent acquaintance from whom he was hopeful of extracting -money. This was in all probability another victim. So Kathleen put the -letter aside and forgot all about it, except that she asked Mrs. Crozier -to have another room prepared. - -She told Mrs. Crozier now, lest she might forget it. - -"Oh, my lady," said the housekeeper, "there's that little Betty Hanson -who came yesterday, she is waiting your ladyship's pleasure." - -"I had not forgotten," Kathleen said. "Will you send her up to my -room?" - -She smiled at Allan. "My new maid," she said, "the one I told you -about, the little girl from the cottage down the road, such a pretty -little thing, I am sure you will admire her!" - -Allan smiled when she had gone out, he wondered if other wives bespoke -their husband's admiration for new maids in this way? Then his smile -drifted away and he frowned a little, had Kathleen loved him--she would -have been more jealous of his admiration--loved him! How good she was, -what a sweet, lovely nature hers was, and how utterly unworthy of her -was he! - -Had she loved him? Yet, why should he wish for her love when he had -given her none of his own? None? No, he did not love her, not as a man -should love the wife he has married. He liked her, admired her, -respected her, above all living women. She shared with his father the -whole of his heart, but it was not "the love," not the passion of young -manhood, the worshipping, devouring, all selfish and yet all unselfish -love that surely she was worthy to awaken in his breast. - -"Betty!" Who had said "Betty"? Who had uttered that name? Mrs. -Crozier of course, she had told Kathleen that Betty Hanson was here, but -the name awakened memories, memories of that dream. "Her" name had been -Betty, had she not told him with her red lips, "Thy Betty," she had -said, and he had been "her Allan." - -Betty, nonsense! This Betty would be a big bouncing, red cheeked, bold -eyed, healthy country girl! As for Betty of his dreams, there was no -place for her now in his busy life. There was much to be done. He had -taken up farming wholeheartedly, not for ever would he live on his -father's bounty. He would improve the place, make it almost -self-supporting. He would prove to his father and Kathleen that there -was something in him and that he was not merely an idler and a dreamer. -So he filled his pipe and lighted it and went out to have a long talk -with old Custance at One Tree Hill Farm. For Custance, though old, -seemed to be the most progressive man in the place and already he and -Allan had laid their heads together and had discussed ways and means to -wring money from the fertile soil. - -Mrs. Crozier had been very kind to the timid and shy girl. She had had -Betty to tea with her in her own private room, she had introduced her to -the other servants, and had kept a motherly eye on Betty till the time -came for Betty to retire to her own small room in the servant's -quarters. - -And she was here! actually here, sleeping in this old house, which she -had seen so often, watched so often by sunlight and moonlight. She -remembered it as it had been then, with its broken windows, with the ivy -and the creepers growing over it in one great tangle. - -But the garden, she had not seen the garden yet! How would it look when -she saw it? What terrible changes would there be there? Her dear -garden, what harm had they done to it? How strange and altered would it -be? - -She could not sleep that night, she lay awake on the strange unfamiliar -bed, tossing restlessly. - -Her ladyship had said, and how sweet and good was her ladyship, she had -said that the stone maiden was still there in the old lake, so she would -find one familiar friend. - -After a long, sleepless, troubled night for Betty, the daylight dawned -at last, and then she rose and dressed very quietly and before the other -servants were waking, she crept down the steep stairs to the kitchen. - -She did not hesitate for a moment, she seemed to know her way perfectly, -yet she had never been inside the house before. The House had always -repelled her, its gloom and its silence and its dust had forbidden any -desire on her part to explore it. Yet now she made her way unerringly -through the great kitchen through the vast and cold scullery, down a -long passage till she came to a little door, a door that she knew must -be there. And it was there and then she drew a ponderous bolt that had -been fashioned by a hand that had been dust for two centuries. She -unfastened a huge lock, by a key that required all her strength to turn, -and so she opened the door and stepped out into the garden as the rising -sun flung its first ray of primrose and gold across the heavens. - -Only two steps Betty took, then stood still. The light was dim yet, yet -through the grey mists she could see it--not as she had seen it -last--yet as she had seen it perhaps in her dreams. It was all so -familiar, not as she had dreaded, strange and cold, but it, was as the -face of an old friend suddenly grown young again, young and beautiful -and sweet. - -Her garden--yes it was hers! Changed and yet not changed, even more -hers, it seemed to her, now, than had been the weed grown, tangled -desert she remembered. Yet she remembered that she had seen it thus in -dreams and now, as the sun rose, as the sky was flooded with the glory -of the dawn, she saw her garden in all its beauty, in all its reality, -as sometimes she had seen it in those strange dreams that had come to -her. - -Had she not seen it like this when those figures, those strange, -beautiful, unreal figures of her imagination had promenaded these old -walks, those gracious ladies with their strange old world costumes, -their hair dressed so high on their heads, their tiny slim waists, their -great bell-like skirts and their little red heeled shoes. Those men in -their rich deep skirted coats, their stockinged legs, their swords, -their wigs--all those visions that had come to her in dreams, had they -not moved and lived in a garden like this, this same garden as it was -now, all trim and sweet and gay with flowers? - -She felt her heart pounding, throbbing, beating as it had never beat -before. She hurried on and on, down the broad stone pathway to the lake -and there she saw her little friend, just the same as always, the broken -pitcher on her shoulder. - -So while the sun rose higher and higher, Betty stood there and nodded -solemnly to the little stone figure, who never nodded back. And then, -turning to go back to the house before the others should know that she -had come here unpermitted, she stopped suddenly and uttered a little -choking cry of wonder and amazement. For from here she could see the -house, a place of the living, no longer a place of the dead. She could -see the curtains fluttering in the breeze at the many open windows, she -could see the signs of life there, the primness and neatness of it all! - -And it was all familiar, there was no strangeness to her here, she was -looking at that which her eyes had seen before and yet how could it be, -since she had not entered this place, since those days before the -workmen had come to alter it all? How could it be? and yet it was! And -then suddenly she turned and did not know why, and looked at an old -stone seat that stood on the edge of the great ring about the sundial. -Why had she looked at it? What had she expected to see there? What she -saw was an old, old stone seat, grey and brown and green in the shadows, -golden white where the sun's rays touched it. - -And then, filled with wonder, filled with a strange sense of fear, she -ran to the house and so back through the door which she bolted and -barred after her, and up the steep stairs to her own little room and to -sit on the bed with her hands clasped and her eyes staring into vacancy, -a vacancy which yet seemed to hold many things, and one thing she saw -very plainly, a man who was young, a man whom she knew instantly as he -whom she had seen so often at his work in the old garden. But now she -saw his face, and he smiled at her, a lean, strong, sunburned face, with -eyes as blue as her own! How often in those strange dreams had she seen -him, quaintly dressed in a suit of snuff coloured brown, toiling at his -work with spade and hoe. "Allan!" she said suddenly. "Allan!" And -then she uttered a cry, she hid her face in her hands and shivered -suddenly, for she was conscious of a strange feeling of fear, for here -was something she could not understand. "Allan!" Why had she said that -name? What had put it into her mind and brought it to her lips? - - - - - *CHAPTER XIX* - - *THE DREAM MAIDEN* - - -If Allan Homewood, Esquire, should by chance meet his wife's maid or any -other servant on the stairs, or in one of the innumerable passages of -the old fashioned house, it was scarcely likely that he would give more -than a passing glance and more than a passing thought to the domestic. -If little Betty Hanson should happen suddenly on the master of the house -at a turn in the passageway, what more becoming than she should drop her -eyes demurely and go on her way? - -So while Allan and Betty Hanson had met perhaps a dozen times or more, -neither had really seen the other. - -Allan was vaguely conscious of a small trim figure, and a wealth of -golden hair, which figure when he came tapping at the door of his wife's -room usually flitted out by another door. - -Betty took kindly to her new duties, she was intelligent, she was quick -and she was very eager to be of service to her mistress. Because she -was eager to learn she learned rapidly. Kathleen was a gentle mistress, -who never lost her temper and saw something rather pitiful in the young -girl's evident desire to please. - -"Poor little thing!" she said, "she is grateful!" So she was more than -usually kind to Betty and the girl whose heart was bursting with love -and gratitude, would very willingly have lain down and allowed Kathleen -to trample on her. - -"What do you think of my little maid, Allan? Don't you think the child -is pretty?" - -"Eh, your maid? Oh yes!" Allan said. "Quite a pretty little thing!" -He was thinking of something else, the fourteenth of the month was -weighing rather heavily on him and his spirits. - -If it had only been his father who was coming, or only Kathleen's, but -that both should come, that both should bring friends of their own -troubled Allan. He knew that his father's friends were not likely to -find much favour with his Lordship. Allan had met most of them, he knew -Cutler, a prosy, self sufficient, middle aged bore. Jobson was another -of the same type. Coombe was a big man with a loud voice and vulgar -aggressive manner. He told interminable stories without wit or point. -They were sound men in the City, very likely, but he dreaded their -advent here. For his father he felt nothing but pride and affection. -He knew the old man's goodness of heart, his generous nature, his -simplicity, for these he loved him and honoured him above all men. Let -my Lord Gowerhurst sneer at that good honest man if he dared--if he -dared--in his, Allan's presence. It was not of his father, but of -Cutler, Jobson, Coombe and Company that Allan felt nervous and whom he -worried about. - -Kathleen had told him that her father was bringing a friend. - -"Who?" Allan asked. - -"I don't know, Allan, he writes, an old friend of mine--but I doubt it, -very few of my father's friends were mine--I am sorry," she said -frankly, "that he is coming. I know that you do not like him, Allan, I -cannot wonder that you do not!" She sighed and her head drooped a -little. - -And Allan, looking at her, felt his heart swell with pity, for he knew -what that proud spirit of hers had been called on to suffer because of -her father, the Earl. - -But was it pity only that made his heart swell, that made him take a -step towards her, then stand hesitating? - -He turned abruptly and went out into the garden. He was puzzled, -uneasy, uncertain--Life had seemed so placid, the future as well as the -present had seemed so certain, as certain as anything human could be. -He and Kathleen understood one another so perfectly, were such firm -friends, such tried companions; yet did they understand one another -after all? Did he even understand himself? - -He flung himself down onto the stone seat facing the sundial. He had -never been in love in his life, and therefore told himself that he knew -all about it. Love, he believed, came like a tempest, it swept a man -off his feet, it robbed him of his appetite. It caused him sleepless -nights, it drove him to a thousand and one follies. Such mad, -passionate, foolish love had never assailed him. He had a good appetite -and he slept well of nights, he did not write poetry, though he was -rather fond of reading it, if it were good. So emphatically he could -not be in love and certainly not in love with his own wife! - -He laughed at the thought, but the laughter was a little uncertain, a -little shaky. - -"I am," he said aloud, "no more in love with her than she with me. We -are the best of friends, our lives together are practically ideal, we -have not had one quarrel in all these weeks, we are not likely to have; -how could one quarrel with a woman so gracious, so sweet, so good as -Kathleen?" - -He thrust his hands into his pockets and stretched out his long legs and -stared hard at his boots. - -In love? certainly not! and most assuredly not with Kathleen, yet -supposing she were to leave him, supposing he must suddenly face life -without her? He shuddered at the thought. - -Then he refused to consider the matter, to-morrow was the fourteenth, -to-morrow would come his father, God bless him, with his beaming face, -his car probably packed full of little delicacies and little presents, -as well as of City friends, whose coming Allan distinctly dreaded, yet -his father should not be made aware of that. There would be a royal -welcome for Coombe and Cutler and Jobson, for the sake of the dear old -man who brought them. - -A telegram had been delivered by the red cheeked messenger from the -Little Stretton Telegraph office. - -It was carried up to My Lady's room, as Mr. Homewood himself was not -visible. - -Kathleen tore open the envelope, it was from her father. - -Womanlike she glanced at the signature "Gowerhurst" first and a faint -hope came that it was to say his Lordship would not be able to come, but -he was coming. - -"Find trains serve badly, can you send a car to meet us three fifteen -Longworthy Station. Gowerhurst." - -Of course they could and must. Kathleen sighed a little, she glanced -through the window and saw Allan sprawling on the old stone seat by the -sundial. - -"Betty," she said, "take this telegram down to Mr. Homewood and ask him -if he will kindly arrange about it." - -Nothing was farther from Allan's thoughts, at this moment, than dreams, -or memories of dreams. He had put all that nonsense behind him, long -since; he had laughed frankly and whole heartedly when the merest memory -of that strangely lifelike dream had come into his mind. If it had -affected him--and it had--it affected him no longer. - -He was thinking particularly of Coombe, if only his father had contented -himself with Cutler and Jobson! They were at least quiet and -unobtrusive, while Coombe--Allan looked up. - -Down the wide flagged pathway a girl was coming to him. About her was -the old world garden, all bright and gay with its flowers, and the trim -emerald green lawn, all dappled with sunlight and shadows. Behind her -was the old house, the casement curtains fluttering in the gentle breeze -and the girl herself dainty and light footed. - -Why did he start? Why did he catch his breath suddenly? Why did his -eyes dilate? She wore no quaint old-world cap on her gleaming little -head of golden hair, she wore no flowered gown, high waisted and cut low -to show the white neck. No, she wore a very simple, plain black frock -with a dainty white apron. But he knew her! He knew her and his heart -seemed to stand still as he watched her, wide eyed with amazement. His -outflung hand gripped the back of the stone seat. - -So she came towards him, then as suddenly stopped, she stood there -looking, looking at him with the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He saw a -little hand go to her breast as into her childlike face there came a -look of wonder and of fear. - -"Betty!" he said. "Betty!" And scarcely knew that he had said it. - -"Allan, oh Allan, I----" and then flashed into her face a crimson tide -of shame, she dropped her eyes, she stood before him, trembling and -abashed. - -What had possessed her? What madness was this? Allan--she had dared so -to call him, him the master of the house--my lady's husband! - -So the man sat, gripping the old seat, and the girl stood there, covered -with shame and confusion, not daring to lift her eyes, and silence fell -on them both. - -What strange mad fantasy was this? Should he waken in a moment to hear -Dalabey's voice, as once before? But no, she was real at least, this -little maid in her black dress and her head crowned with its shining -glory. - -But she had called him Allan, the name had seemed to come spontaneously -from her lips, as he had called her Betty! He felt shaken, life had -suddenly become fantastic to him, nothing seemed very real. It was -after all a world of dreams; this too, was a dream. He could almost -have welcomed the voice of Dalabey, but it did not come. So she stood -there, with bent head and he saw something fluttering in her little -hand. - -"You--you have brought me a message?" he said, and his voice sounded -strangely hoarse and discordant. - -"Yes, sir, from--from my Lady!" She dropped him a little curtsey, he -could see the flush still in her cheeks, could see that it even stained -her white neck and her little ears. He rose and went to her and -stretched out his hand. He hoped that she would look up but she did -not, never once were the blue eyes lifted to his own. Why had she come, -why had she come? He had not wanted her to come, yet she had come into -his life after all. She was here, standing before him, not in the -picturesque trappings of a byegone century, but in her modern dress, -still he knew her well enough. - -"Betty, Betty!" Betty who had kissed him, who had told him that she -loved him. - -He had hoped once that he might meet her in real life. He had pictured -her, tried to dream that dream again, yet had never succeeded. And now -that at last he saw her, could stretch out his hand and touch her, he -knew that it were better that she had not come. - -He put out his hand and took the telegram from her, yet did not look at -her. - -"You are--Betty Hanson, my wife's maid?" - -The little head seemed to droop lower, he could see the childish breast -heaving under the pretty white apron. She dropped him a curtsey humbly. - -"You are Betty!" he said. "And you called me----" - -He paused. - -"Oh sir, oh sir forgive me. Indeed--indeed I du not know what made me, -sir!" Now the blue eyes were lifted to him in pitiful appeal. - -"Indeed--oh indeed, sir, I didn't know what I were saying! 'Twasn't as -if I myself spoke, 'twas as if--if summut in me made me say it--oh -sir--indeed, I couldn't help it! I--I don't know what made me du it!" - -How blue her eyes were, how they shone and glittered now with the tears -that clung to the sweeping, upturned lashes, how pitiful in its appeal -for pardon was the little face! He looked at her with a feeling of -pity, and yet not of pity only. It was she! the girl of his dreams, the -girl who had come to him and called him "Allan, her Allan," this girl a -servant in the house, who had come to him this day in real life and had -called him by his name. - -What meaning, what strange, unknown, force was behind it all? How could -he tell, still less, poor maid, how could she? - -"I am not angry, Betty," he said, "indeed, why should I be angry--with -you--for I called you Betty, knowing it to be your name, though I did -not recognise you as Betty Hanson, my wife's maid. Don't think of it -again, child, and do not let it trouble you! Perhaps you are right, it -was not you yourself who spoke----" - -"And you bain't angry wi' me, sir?" she asked. - -He shook his head and smiled. Angry--angry with her--yet had she not -once before asked him that selfsame question? Strangely he remembered -clearly and distinctly the very words "Allan, Allan, be you still angry -wi' your Betty now?" - -Perhaps unconsciously he had muttered them aloud, for he was startled to -see the look in her face, the wonder, the and excitement. - -"What--what made 'ee say those words?" she gasped. "Oh, what made 'ee -say 'em?" - -"I don't know, I don't know," he said. "Betty, Betty, child, go back, -forget all this, it is nonsense--some foolish dream that you and I seem -to have shared. Go back, little maid, to your mistress and your work -and forget---" he paused, "forget that you knew my name to be Allan and -that I knew you for Betty! Believe me it is better, far, far better -so!" He smiled at her kindly. "Don't think that I am angry, why should -I be angry? It seems to me, child, that fate is playing some strange -trick with us, that is far, far beyond understanding. We must not try -to understand it. Betty, better put it out of your mind and forget -it----" - -"If--if I could!" she whispered. "Oh if I could!" - -"We must, both of us," he said sternly. "We must forget what we should -never know!" - -How pretty she was--and now that the colour was in her cheeks, how -lovely she looked in the sunlight with the old garden all about her! -Kathleen was right--a rarely lovely little maid was Mrs. Hanson's -granddaughter! And as she was, so had been that other maid, the maid of -his dream, the same gleaming, golden hair, the same delicate arched -brows--the deep blue eyes--with their wealth of uplifted lashes, the -fair oval of her cheeks, and the red lipped dainty little mouth that -once had smiled on him so kindly and not smiled only, but had come so -willingly to meet his own lips. - -"Betty, there are some things that it is not given to us to understand, -perhaps now and again in the lives of some mortals the curtain is for a -moment lifted. It may have been so with us, lifted and then, allowed to -fall again--and when it has been lifted only for a moment, Betty, it is -better that we who have been granted a sight beyond it, should forget -what we have seen and never let it influence our thoughts or our lives. -Can you understand me, Betty?" - -She nodded silently, she looked at him with her glorious eyes and in -them he saw to his dismay, his terror almost, the same light, the light -of the love he had seen shining in the eyes of his dream maiden. - -But now she broke the spell, she dropped him a curtsey, she was turning -away. - -"Be there any answer to my lady's message, sir?" she asked. - -"No!" he said. "No, there is no answer!" - -He went back to the stone seat and sat there, conscious that life and -the world had changed suddenly for him. He dropped his chin onto his -hand and sat staring, staring and seeing nothing. - -He knew that once he had hoped that she might come and she had come and -now he knew he was sorry and yet glad, with a strange gladness. - -"Betty!" he said and said it aloud. "Betty----!" And saw her, not as -he had seen her but a moment ago, but as he had seen her that first time -in her picturesque flowered gown, so quaintly high waisted, the neck cut -low to shew her slender white throat, the little mittened hands and the -mob cap on her shining head. - -But the face, the eyes, the lips, ah! they were the same! - -He rose suddenly and seemed to shake himself mentally and physically. -This was real life, this was the world all about him. There was no time -for folly and for dreams--to-morrow the old house would be filled with -visitors. He remembered the telegram suddenly and found it crushed into -a ball in his hand. He opened it and smoothed it out and read it. - -"It is from my wife's father," he said aloud, and then repeated the -words as of some set meaning and for some known purpose, "my wife's -father!" - - - - - *CHAPTER XX* - - *THE ROAD TO HOMEWOOD* - - -Long ago before their marriage, Allan had promised to tell Kathleen if -his dream maiden should ever come to him in real life. And she had -come, yet he had not told his wife. To-morrow the old house would be -filled with guests. Kathleen had much to do and much to think about, -why trouble her now with this foolish story? After all the visitors -were gone--why then--perhaps--but not now! - -Then they would have the old house to themselves, then would be the time -for confidences, and such foolish confidences after all, why tax her -patience with them now? - -As for Betty, it was likely that he would see the child again, yet when -he saw her, what then? He would not speak to her. Yet at the very -thought of that fair, flowerlike face, those deep blue eyes, something -seemed to stir within him, the blood seemed to run more quickly in his -veins, he was conscious of a heart throb, of a subdued excitement. - -And now that she was not here before his eyes, he pictured her, not as -he had seen her last, but as he had seen her for the first time, in -quaint gown and mob cap, with mittened hands. - -No! when the visitors were all gone, when her father and his had taken -their departure, when they had the house to themselves once again--then -he would tell her and ask her opinion and advice. Perhaps she would -send the child away, women did such things he knew, he hoped that -Kathleen would not. On the whole he did not think she would. Kathleen -could not be guilty of anything that was small and mean. - -She looked up at him now as he came in with the same frank kindly smile -as always. - -"You had my father's telegram, Allan?" she said. "Did you arrange about -a car?" - -"Yes!" - -"Allan, it's very, very wrong of me, yet when I saw the message was from -my father I almost hoped that it was to say he could not come!" - -He did not answer and she went on. - -"He has taken so little interest in us and the house, he has not thought -it worth his while to run down, even for an hour to see us, all these -weeks, while your father----" she paused. - -"I wish," he said, "that my father was not bringing so many of his City -friends, I am afraid that his Lordship will not approve of them!" - -"Your father surely has a right to bring whom he pleases to this house?" - -"Yes, dear, but----" - -"I wrote to him. I did not tell you at the time, I told him that all -his friends were welcome here, Allan, if we can give him any little -pleasure; could we deny it to him, after all that he has given to us and -done for us? And, oh! I feel so humble when I think of him and his -goodness. I remember what I used to think of him, what I used to permit -myself to say of him, before I knew him as I know him now. I feel that -I can never sufficiently make amends for that!" - -All that evening she talked to him of the visitors who were coming. She -herself had seen to Sir Josiah's room, she had arranged vases for the -flowers that she would not cut until the morning, so that they should be -fresh. It was a sense of duty rather than a feeling of love that caused -her to put flowers in her own father's room too, for one thing she knew -that he would not appreciate them. That night Allan lay wakeful. He -thought of Betty and thought of her with a sense of shame, yet with a -strange joy. - -Why should it have been as it had? What meaning was behind it all? Was -there a meaning that he would ever understand? He remembered what his -father had told him of a Pringle--an Allan Pringle who had married a -Betty, maid to the then mistress of the house. It had been a sad story, -his father had said, the girl had died, poor Betty! He listened to -Kathleen's sweet regular breathing, he lifted himself on his arm and -watched her sleeping face in the moonlight that came in through the -widely opened window. - -How good she was, how white and pure she looked lying here in her sleep! -He was strangely moved, his mind was filled with a great reverence for -her, he bent to her, he touched her cheeks with his lips, so lightly as -not to waken her, then he lay down again and slept. - -No holiday maker ever set out for a day's pleasuring with keener -anticipation than did Sir Josiah this bright September morning. He was -to call for Cutler on the way. Coombe was driving his own car and would -pick up Jobson, they were to meet at the Chequers at Horley, should they -not happen on one another on the road. - -There were a thousand and one things to remember, a dozen packages to -stow away. - -"Mind that there one, Bletsoe, my man, go lightly now!" - -"Very good, Sir Josiah!" - -"And see Mr. Cutler don't go and put his foot on it," said Sir Josiah, -"and let me see, one, two, three, four, that's all right! One moment!" -Back into the house he dashed, to reappear with more parcels. - -"Reg'lar old Santy Claus," muttered Bletsoe, with a kindly smile, "like -a blooming great kid he is, going to 'ave a day's outing!" - -"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven--seven's right, and eight, -that's in my pocket; what's the time, Bletsoe?" - -"Gone ten, sir!" - -"Bless my soul and I promised to be at Cutler's at ten--all right now, -Bletsoe, let her go!" - -How he had racked his brain, what shops had he not rummaged, what -shopmen and shop maidens had he not pestered. He had sent down cases -from the wine merchant, stores from Messrs. Whiteley, hundred weights of -pate de foie gras, Strasbourg pies, chocolates and Heaven knew what -besides from Messrs. Fortum and Mason's. That lengthy and evidently -fragile parcel he had been so careful about was a beautiful and costly -vase. Something of the Ming Period or the Chang Dynasty, he was not -very sure what, but it cost a great deal. That soft and pliable looking -parcel was a silken kimono of rare and wonderful workmanship. Those -square parcels were cigars and cigarettes for Allan and Allan's friends. -There he sat, this red faced, jolly old gentleman, with a great cigar in -the corner of his mouth and he beamed on the world as his magnificent -car whirled him up one street and down another. - -And here was Cutler actually ready, standing in his open doorway, Cutler -in a new and rather becoming tweed suit, and a soft felt hat, an -unfamiliar Cutler, for Sir Josiah had never seen him in anything but a -silk hat and a correct black coat in the City. - -"Hallo Cutler, here we are, a bit late, mind the parcels! Bletsoe, take -Mr. Cutler's suitcase, here we are, my boy, lovely morning, looking -forward to a delightful run, picking up Coombe and Jobson at Horley. -Get in, get in! Have a cigar, no you prefer a pipe. I don't know that -you ain't right!" - -And now they were really off and away. How nimbly the big car twisted -in and out the traffic, how it dodged cumbersome, road monopolising -trams, how it slipped round the unwieldy omnibuses! Then away southward -Streatham was passed--here was Croydon with its narrow congested -streets, past Purley and Redhill, down the long hill somewhere near the -foot of which lies the village of Horley and its well known Inn, where -Coombe and Jobson would be waiting. - -What a morning, what sunshine, what a breeze! - -"Does one good, Cutler. Blows the cobwebs away! Better than all your -Doctor's stuffs, my boy!" - -"My daughter," said Cutler, "tells me that in Demauritius, of which her -husband is Governor, they have some extraordinarily beautiful country -and she constantly----" - -But Cutler's reminiscences are cut short, here is the Chequers, and here -is Coombe with a tankard of beer in his hand. He waves the tankard to -Sir Josiah unblushingly and drinks his jolly good health. - -"And your jolly good health too, Coombe, my boy, what a morning! What's -the time! Eleven--Bless me, we must have dawdled on the way! Beer! the -air's good enough for me--like wine, sir, wine--the finest wine in the -world!" - -"Race you to Crawley for a fiver," says Coombe. - -"I--I trust--Sir Josiah," says Jobson, "you will not agree, believe me -Coombe needs no inducement at all to be reckless, he nearly ran over an -old lady in Streatham a very respectable looking old lady, in Croydon he -butted into a tram standard, and it is a mercy we were not all killed, -and then at Purley Corner--a butcher's cart----" - -But Coombe's beer is finished, Jobson is bundled into the car, Coombe -starts her up, climbs over Jobson and tramples on his feet, seizes the -wheel and away they go. - -For all Coombe's boasting and reckless driving, Sir Josiah and Cutler -are in Crawley first. Here they swing away to the right to Horsham and -leave the Brighton road for good. From now on, their road takes them -through the heart of Sussex, Sussex of the quaint wayside cottages, with -gardens all blooming and fragrant, Sussex of the chalky white roads, the -great undulating sweeps of noble hills. Sing of Devon who will, but can -Devon shew such cottage gardens, can she shew anything to compare with -yonder glorious range of downs? Green downs on which the passing clouds -cast moving shadows of purple and blue, and here and there a gleam of -purest white, where the sunlight strikes on to the bare white chalk of -some cliff or cutting. Where in all the world grows turf so dense, so -fine, so short and sweet and perfect as here upon these rolling hills of -chalk. Under the hills the trees are all glowing red and bronze and -orange. The car wheels swish among the fallen leaves, the children come -running out of the cottages and cling to the gates to watch as the cars -go whirling by. - -But they are going at a more sober pace now, the country is all too -lovely under the September sunshine to rattle through in a cloud of -chalky dust. Sir Josiah, eager as he is, calls on Bletsoe to go more -quietly, and it is luncheon time when they cross the river and run up -into Arundel Town, so luncheon they have in the old Inn and walk up the -hill to have a look at the castle, the home of the Howards, while the -steak is grilling. - -And then the last stage of the journey, along the pleasant road to -Chichester, Chichester of the old market cross, and here the cars swing -to the right towards Midhurst, but the end of the journey is very near -now. The Midhurst Road is left behind, up hill and down dale sweeps the -narrower bye-way. - -"Here we are, this is Little Stretton!" said Sir Josiah. "That's the -Fighting Cocks, many a good meal I've had there--hello Dalabey, how are -you? Hello Crabb, hello Monson!" He waves his hand, there are smiles -and bobs and greetings for him. Dalabey could not bow more profoundly -if it had been a Royal Duke, and he could not have felt more honest -respect for so exalted a personage than he did for the red faced old -fellow who waved to him so pleasantly from the splendid car. - -"We're getting near, see that wall, that long wall, that's Homewood, see -them--those gates--those are the Homewood gates, they are open, they are -expecting us of course! Drive in Bletsoe, drive right in, blow the horn -Bletsoe, here we are!" - -His face is beaming. It has been a jolly journey, a rare holiday in the -September sunshine, but perhaps this is the most pleasant part of it -all. Here is Homewood, the gates stand open, they drive through, the -hall door stands open too! - -And here is Kathleen; she has heard the wheels, she comes hurrying out. -No servants shall open the hall door to Sir Josiah and carry Sir -Josiah's card to the lady of the house, that would be but a poor -welcome. So my Lady Kathleen, all smiling and dimpling, runs down the -steps and springs lightly onto the running board of the car and puts her -arms around his neck and kisses him before them all. - -"Welcome," she says, "welcome, I've been watching for you for hours!" - -Yes, this is the pleasantest part of the whole journey after all! - - - - - *CHAPTER XXI* - - *AFTER TEN YEARS* - - -Kathleen had looked forward to conducting Sir Josiah and his friends -around the house and grounds. But though she knew that he was pleased -and happy to have her with them, though he took a delight in her -company, yet her presence embarrassed them all a little, even Sir Josiah -himself. How could he be the showman when she was near? How could he -tell Coombe how much money he had spent on this and that? How crush -Cutler with the magnificence of the rooms and dazzle Jobson with the -extent and the beauty of the gardens? - -Kathleen, with her rare tact and intelligence saw it in a moment. -Coombe had allowed his cigar to go out, Jobson looked nervous. Sir -Josiah, while he beamed on her, had scarce a word to say. Only Cutler -seemed to be at his ease and was telling her about his daughter's -establishment in Demauritius, in which island she was the Lady of the -Governor. - -Kathleen put her hand through Sir Josiah's arm, she drew him aside a -little. - -"I want you to shew them round, shew them everything, you know so much -more about it all than I do! It is all your doing, you knew it as it -was, you can describe it so much better than I can, and besides I'm -terribly busy," she smiled at him. "You know my father is coming and -he's bringing some other guest who I do not know. Allan will be back -soon, he is terribly busy these days," she laughed softly. "He is at -One Tree Hill Farm with old Mr. Custance; they have great schemes; Allan -is going to make his fortune!" - -"Bless me!" said Sir Josiah. "Allan is!--well, well!" - -"So I must run away," she said. She smiled at him and hurried into the -house. - -But from the window she watched them with bright eyes, she saw Sir -Josiah stretch his hand, pointing this way and that. - -"You ought to have seen it, you ought, Coombe. Derelict wasn't the word -for it. Weeds that high, my boy; now look, look at it. Jobson, what do -you say to this for a garden, hey? and you, Cutler, you wait till you -see the house. It's something to see I promise you, and six months ago, -six months ago, my boy, you ought to have seen it, then." - -The old man was himself again, that tender, kindly, loving greeting had -warmed his heart. - -"I'll bet it was her thought, keeping the gates open," he thought to -himself. "It's like her to think of little things like that. Things -that make just all the difference." - -"Tidy place," said Coombe, "good taste, too; shouldn't be surprised if -her Ladyship had a good deal to say in the management of this garden." - -"Her ladyship has a good deal to say in the management of everything," -said Sir Josiah, "and quite right she should. A place like this is a -natural environment for her, while for me and my boy Allan, though he's -twice--" he paused, "twice the gentleman I am--" he had been going to -say, but these were Jobson, Cutler and Coombe, men he kept up his -dignity with to a certain extent. - -"What's the old boy say to it, hey?" asked Coombe. - -"Old boy?" - -"The Earl--Gowerhurst--what's he say to it all, hey?" - -"Oh he--I don't think he's been down yet, but he's coming, they are -expecting him to-day." - -"I'll lay he don't know that I'm here," Coombe said. "If he did he -wouldn't show up, not he." - -"And why not?" asked Sir Josiah. "Why not, Coombe? I'd like to know." - -"Money, my boy, money! I've had dealings with his Lordship before. His -Lordship knows me well enough; bet you a fiver, Homewood, when the old -boy sees me he'll turn green." - -"I hope," said Sir Josiah with great dignity, "that here in my -daughter-in-law's house there is not going to be any discussion about -money matters. No shop, Coombe, no shop. We owe it at least to Lady -Kathleen to behave like gentlemen when we are her guests." - -Coombe looked at the old gentleman out of the corner of his eyes. -"Quite right, Homewood, I should be sorry to be guilty of any disrespect -to so charming and kind hearted a young lady I'm sure. The only wonder -to me is that such a father should have such a child." Coombe winked -broadly at Jobson, a very humorous man, Mr. Coombe, and fond of his -little joke. - -And now came Allan, who had been delayed by the garrulous but competent -Mr. Custance. He gripped his father by the hand and thrust his hand -through the old gentleman's arm. - -He was kindly and courteous to Coombe, whom he did not like, and to -Jobson and Cutler, whom he esteemed because they were his father's -friends. - -"You've seen Kathleen, father?" - -"Seen her, yes, why bless her she was waiting on the steps to welcome -us, that's what I call a welcome, Allan. None of your Society manners -with Kathleen, no sending in of cards and being ushered in by servants. -There she was, bless her pretty face, watching for us and ran down the -steps, she did, and--and well, where have you been, Allan, hey? I hear -you are going to make your fortune." - -"I'm going to have a good try at earning a bit of money, father, and it -can be done; I'll talk to you about it later. Now come in and have a -look at the house, Mr. Coombe, I am sure would like something." - -"Ha, ha!" said Coombe. "Guessed it at once, Allan, my boy! I've just -been wondering how long it would be before someone made the suggestion." - -"I am sorry," Allan said reddening. - -They went in. Kathleen saw them come, but she was watching for the -other visitor, the other guest, whom she told herself, she would not be -half so pleased to see as the guest who had already arrived. - -She took herself to task and yet she knew that she could not try and -cheat herself. Her father was her father. It was Fate--respect for him -she had none--that she could not respect him had been one of the -greatest sorrows of her life. Affection for him she had but very little. -She knew him too well, could read him too easily, understood his -thoughts too clearly and she pitied him for his utter selfishness. - -She knew, for she had been old enough to know, something of her mother's -sufferings before death came, not unwelcomed. He had never been anything -to his wife in the presence of others except polite and courteous, then -he treated her with his usual charm of manner, on which he prided -himself. - -He had neglected her, ignored her when alone; he stung her and wounded -her with his sneers, his poisoned darts of contempt and contumely. He -had never lifted his hand to her, yet he had killed her in the end as -surely as the drunken tinker slays the wife of his bosom with a boot -heel or the kitchen poker. - -And Kathleen knew much of this, not quite all perhaps, but she -remembered the suffering of the quiet, pale-faced, cowed woman whom the -young girl had surrounded with a worshipping, adoring love. - -So she stood watching and listening for the coming of the car. Who the -other guest might be, she did not speculate on. It was someone in whom -she felt not the slightest interest. In a way she was glad that her -father was bringing a friend of his own choice. It would be someone for -him to talk to. Coombe, Jobson and Cutler would hardly prove to be -associates of whom his lordship would approve. She knew his feelings -toward Sir Josiah and she felt a twinge of shame, for in a way she had -shared those feelings in the past. - -His lordship was in an ill humour. He disliked the country intensely. -The only occasions when he found the country at all bearable was, when -one of a large house party, there was some shooting to be done in the -daytime and unlimited bridge, billiards or baccarat to while away the -night. That he would not find these amusements waiting him at Homewood -he was fully aware. - -During the journey from London Bridge to Longworthy, he was fidgety and -faultfinding. The carriage when the window was up was too hot; when it -was down the carriage was draughty, the seats were dusty, "a disgrace to -the Railway Company." The line, he maintained, was the very worst laid -line in the Kingdom. He was jolted to pieces, carriages worse sprung -than this he had never ridden in. - -"We might have come by car," Scarsdale said. - -"I hate cars, nasty draughty things, I dislike the smell of the petrol, -the hot oil, the dust, I hate running over children and dogs. I'm -deuced unlucky in a car--never go out in one unless there's an accident; -ran over a child last time when I was with Lysart, shook my nerves up -most confoundedly. By George, Harold, I blame myself, yes, I take blame -to myself, I do by Gad!" - -"For running over the child?" - -"No, I'm thinking of Kathleen's marriage. I was anxious about her, -deucedly anxious. Kathleen was getting on, I don't tell everyone, but -you know, you the friend of her childhood, that Kathleen isn't so young -as she was. Not that she's gone off, not a bit of it. I consider -Kathleen more handsome to-day than ever in her life. She comes of the -right stock, Harold, the Stanwys wear well, the men and the women. My -grandmother, begad, was a toast when she was fifty-five and they say she -did not look a day over thirty. She was a Stanwys by birth, Arabella -Stanwys, daughter of Francis--but this don't interest you. No, I was -speaking of Kathleen. I say that I take blame to myself that I hurried -on the wedding, hurried it on. I'll admit it frankly. Thoughts of -Kathleen caused me sleepless nights. I'm naturally an affectionate man, -a man on whom responsibility weighs heavily. I realised my position, -Harold. 'When I am dead and gone, Begad!' I said to myself, 'what of -Kathleen? What of my poor, dear child?' You'd have said the same had -you been in my place. Then I fell in with Homewood in connection with a -Company, common old fellow; you'll dislike him intensely as I do, by -gad!" - -"And so you married Kathleen to his son?" - -"Yes, yes, I felt I had to. The girl's future troubled me, worried me -to death, Harold. How was I to know that you'd come back; how the deuce -was I to know that you hadn't married and settled down; how was I to -know that you----?" - -"That I had succeeded in life and was in a position to offer Kathleen a -home?" Scarsdale asked. - -"That's it, that's it, begad. The very words I was going to say. How -could I know all that? I did not, I saw the chance. Allan Homewood -isn't a bad fellow, not a gentleman of course; how could he be with such -a father? But quiet and unassuming, decently educated, sensible. I was -torn, Harold, torn, I confess now that I thought of you--" the tears -came into his lordship's fine eyes, he leaned forward and gripped -Scarsdale's hand. "I thought of you, I thought to myself, 'If ever that -fine young fellow comes back, what a blow to him, what a blow!' Yet how -did I know you were coming back?" - -"No, you were not to know." Harold Scarsdale stared out of the window. -"I wish, Heaven knows, for many reasons, I had not come back. I might -have known that Kathleen could not have waited, yet I watched the -papers, I saw no engagement, no marriage announced and I clung to hope, -then--" he laughed shortly. "I ought not to be here now, Lord -Gowerhurst, it's the weakest, most foolish thing I have ever done, yet -you say you wrote and told Kathleen." - -"I did, I did, 'pon my honour I did, wrote to her and said I was -bringing you down and she wrote and said she'd be delighted to see you." - -"Which was very kind and very friendly of her," said Scarsdale with a -bitter sneer, "and proves that she doesn't care a hang for me now, and -in all probability never did." He laughed again and his lordship, not -quite knowing why, laughed too. - -Kathleen was waiting, she heard the car wheels, the hoot of the horn as -the car swung in through the open gateway. She could do no less to -welcome her own father than she had done to welcome Allan's. She -hurried out, and descended the steps, there was a smile on her face, her -hand was held out, then suddenly she stopped. The smile seemed to set -on her face, which had grown rigid, and suddenly very white; the -outstretched hand shook and fell to her side. - -So for a moment she stood there, wide eyed, conscious of the violent -throbbing of her heart. - -After--ten years--and so they faced one another again. And the man knew -that her father had lied to him and that his coming was all unexpected -by her. - -But it was only for a moment, just one moment, that was yet enough to -betray her to those keen, eager, watchful eyes. Then she came forward, -calmly, with an artificial smile on her lips. She took her father's -hand, she kissed him, what she said she hardly knew, she touched the -other man's hand. She told him that his coming was an unexpected -pleasure. - -Jardine, the chauffeur, holding open the door of the car saw nothing out -of the common. James, the footman, coming down the steps to take the -rugs and handbags, little dreamed that here was a meeting between lovers -who ten years ago had parted in tears and an agony of heartbroken -hopelessness. - -For Lady Kathleen was herself again, she was smiling, and if the colour -had not yet returned to her cheeks, who was to notice so insignificant a -fact? Not James and Jardine, not Lord Gowerhurst certainly. - -"And so this is Homewood, eh Kathleen? Quite a nice little place; -reminds me a little of--of Clamberwick, Normandyke'a seat in Cumberland, -but smaller of course, a great deal smaller. Had some deuced good -fishing there I remember. Thought you'd like to see Harold again, hey? -By the way he is Sir Harold now, Governor of somewhere or other. The -world's treated him decently, yes decently, eh Harold? And quite right -too, I like to see a man work his way up in the world." - -"I am glad to hear it," Kathleen said. "I am sure that any fortune that -has come to Mr. Scar--to Sir Harold Scarsdale, has been fairly and -honestly won--and thoroughly deserved." - -"Ha, ha, nicely put, very simply and nicely put, eh Scarsdale?" said his -lordship. "Give me your arm, my dear, I'm confoundedly cramped, getting -to be an old fellow now. One of these days I may ask my daughter to -find some corner, some out of-the-way corner by the fire for the old -man, eh? Some obscure place where the old man may sit and dream away -his last days. It's the fall of the leaf, my dear, the fall of the -leaf. As I rode through your beautiful country a while ago, I saw the -leaves all strewn on the road and I thought--as with the year, so with -me--my leaves are falling, all wrinkled and brown. And yet it seems but -yesterday since I put them on so fresh and green, hey, so fresh and -green and--and----" - -He was talking the arrant nonsense he loved, in the self-pitying style -Kathleen knew only too well. She shivered, but not with her usual -impatience of the humbug of it. How had he dared--dared to bring this -man? How had he dared to make friendly overtures to one whom he had -grossly and cruelly insulted ten years ago? And Harold himself? It -shocked her to think that he could come here--that he could bring -himself to accept her and Allan's hospitality. She had not looked at -him since that first quick glance, and short though that had been, it -had shewn her the change in him. The boy she had known--and loved--was -gone--this man, she felt, she hardly knew. She asked herself even now, -had she foolishly made an ideal of that lad, or had she idealised her -love for him? she wondered--but it hurt her that he was here now. - -Lord Gowerhurst, leaning far more heavily than he need on her arm, -entered the house. He betrayed no interest in it. The finely panelled -walls, the carefully selected and diligently sought after "Period" -furniture, the vista from the windows of the wonderful old English -garden in its autumnal glory, interested him not at all. He was talking -of himself, which was the most interesting topic he could think of. - -"I'm not eating too well, my dear, a bad sign, hey, a bad sign, and my -sleep is broken--terribly broken. I never was one of the "fat kine" my -love, but I'm growing noticeably thinner. I declare to you that -Crombie, my man, is positively shocked at the falling off in my girth -and Darbey, my tailor, poor fellow, is getting quite anxious about me." - -Kathleen told herself that she ought to have known, ought to have -anticipated it, yet she felt hurt that he took so little interest in her -home. He never looked at anything; he sat down in a delightful -Hepplewhite chair, a chair that the great Davenham had undertaken a -seventy-five mile journey to secure. He sat down in the chair and -stared at the very pointed toes of his exquisite boots. - -"I'm not my own man, no, my love, I don't wish to pain you, I know how -sensitive you are, what a loving heart my child has; I don't wish to -rouse one anxiety in your mind, my love, but I feel age, old age -creeping on." - -Kathleen sat facing him, there was a set smile on her white lips. She -heard him and did not realise one word that he was uttering, perhaps she -had heard it all so often before that it was not worth listening to now. - -"He is here, he is here. Here under this roof, here in this very room." -The man who had written her those passionate love letters, letters which -she had blistered with her tears, letters which she had destroyed at -last with an aching heart and feelings of reverence and solemnity. How -often, his voice calling to her, had come up out of the past, "Kathleen, -I love you. Kathleen, come with me, risk all, give all, dare all, but -come--come with me because I love you so." - -And how nearly, how nearly she had said yes. Sometimes she wondered why -she had not said yes, for it was in her heart to listen and to go--yet -she had not, and now he was here. - -Was she glad? No, no, no! Yet was she sorry? How could she answer, -how could she tell? - -"Darbey, of Dover Street, you remember, my love, my tailor, though -Heaven knows I don't patronise the poor fellow one half as much as he -deserves. I tell you Darbey was shocked; he said to me, almost with -tears in his eyes and his voice shaking with emotion, 'My lord,' he -said, 'I'm sorry to tell your lordship that your present measurements -shew a falling off of two and a half inches at the waist, it's a serious -thing.' He begged and besought me to consult a physician, but I did -not. No, no, what does it matter after all? When I look about me and -see your charming home--" he had not looked about him in the slightest -degree, "then I realise that I have done what I could. I have seen to -it that my child is--Don't I hear voices, hey, Kathleen?" - -He certainly did, from the adjoining room came Coombe's big bass voice: - -"Sir Josiah Homewood is here and he has brought some friends----" - -"Friends, eh! bless me, friends of Homewood, very interesting." His -lordship laughed a thin, cackling, unpleasant laugh. "My dear Harold, I -think I can promise you some amusement, Sir Josiah Homewood is----" - -"Is my husband's father," Kathleen said, and her cheeks suddenly blazed -with generous colour. "He is also my very dear friend." - -"And therefore entitled to the respect and esteem of all men," said -Scarsdale quietly. - -She turned to him for the first time, looked at him, and saw the many -changes in him. She looked for some sign, something that would recall -the boy lover of long ago, and it seemed to her that she looked in vain. - -"My husband's father has been very kind, very generous and good to us," -she said. "There are few for whom I have a greater esteem and a deeper -affection than I have for him." - -Coombe, putting down his empty glass, looked out of the window and saw -the empty car turning towards the Garage. He gripped Jobson's arm. - -"The nobility and gentry have now arrived," he whispered. "This is going -to be as good as a play, Jobson. Keep your eye on me and watch old -Gowerhurst, I'll bet it'll be amusing, you watch out, Jobson, he, he. -Watch him turn green. Last time I saw the old boy he tried to borrow a -couple of thousand, but no thanks, not taking any, said I. Securities -too deuced rotten--rotten as his own confounded reputation. Almost wept -to me, the old fellow did, but once bitten--twice shy--he had four -hundred out of me once and I'd like to see the colour of my money; a -shark, a confounded oily slimy old leech, that's what he is. Button -your pockets up, Jobson, my son, when his nobility, the Earl of -Gowerhurst, is about the premises." - -All this was in an undertone to Jobson, who looked and felt very -uncomfortable. - -Allan and his father had been talking in a low voice, and now Allan -turned. - -"I think my wife is with her father in the drawing room; shall we go -in?" he asked. - -"Yes, yes, let's go in," Sir Josiah said. "It's a long time since I saw -his lordship; I trust his lordship is quite well." - -"His lordship won't be so jolly well presently," whispered Coombe to -Jobson, "it's going to be as good as a play, watch the fun." And Coombe -winked at Jobson knowingly. - -And now the door of the drawing room opened and Allan, holding his -father's arm, came in, followed by Jobson, Cutler and Coombe. - -"The old fat common fellow;" thought his lordship, then suddenly -remembering that in the very near future he would in all probability -require the assistance of the "old fat common fellow," he rose and held -out a friendly generous hand. - -"Delighted to see you, Homewood. Looking well, positively well, you -are, ha, ha, you busy men with interests in life, you're much to be -envied." - -"Allan," Kathleen touched his arm. "Allan, I want to present you to -a--a friend, an old friend whom my father has brought down with him." -Her voice shook, yet so little that Allan, unobservant as he was, -noticed nothing. - -"Sir Harold Scarsdale. My husband!" - -Allan's hand was thrust out, his face lighted with pleasure and frank -and friendly welcome. - -"I'm delighted to see you, Sir Harold," he said, "it's kind of you to -come to such an out-of-the-world place as this." - -"I've been out of England for many years, and it's a great pleasure to -me to see my own country again and--and my old friends." Scarsdale's -voice shook a little. Why had he come, why had he come? Gowerhurst had -lied to him vilely, when he had told him that Kathleen was expecting him -and had expressed pleasure at the thought of seeing him; what a liar the -man was. - -And Kathleen, how little she had altered. The years had robbed her of -nothing, he remembered her as a sweet faced, lovely girl; he saw her now -a radiantly beautiful woman. Yes, the years had been kind to her. How -often had he thought of her, pictured her to himself. How had he, many -a time, lain awake in the sweltering heat of the tropical nights and -tried to picture her, and yet the reality, how immeasurably superior it -was to the vision his dreams had conjured up. And while he was thinking -these things, he was talking to her husband. - -His lordship's calm superiority always made Sir Josiah feel a little -nervous, made him realise his own inferior station in life. He was -feeling it now, he was conscious of a sensation of undue heat. He had -been cool enough five minutes ago in the dining room, now he was visibly -perspiring. - -"Yes, her Ladyship, Lady Kathleen, was so kind as to ask us to run down, -me and a few friends, ha, ha. As your lordship says we busy City men -are much to be envied in one way, but when it comes to a holiday--ha, -ha." He paused nervously. "We're always glad to get a week-end off, -ain't we, Cutler? Let me introduce you, my lord." - -His lordship frowned. He was not accustomed to be introduced to common -persons like Cutler; Cutler, the common person, should have been -presented to him. - -"Mr. Cutler, Senior Partner of Cutler, Cutler and Wakethorpe, his -daughter is Governor of--of--I forget the name. Jobson, let me introduce -Lord Gowerhurst--" Sir Josiah went on, persisting in doing the honours -the wrong way about. - -Monied men no doubt, rich, opulent men, Lord Gowerhurst thought; just as -well to keep in with them, one never knows. - -"How de do Mr.--er--Johnson." He held out a finger and Jobson took it -and shook it solemnly. - -"Coombe," said Sir Josiah, "my friend, Mr. Coombe, my lord." - -"Ah! ha!" said Coombe, "I've had the pleasure of meeting his lordship -before; how de do, my lord? Hope I see you well?" He held out a large, -red and moist hand. - -Now was the moment, the moment for Jobson to hold his sides, the moment -to witness the discomfiture of this Peer of the Realm. Did his lordship -start? Did he turn pale? Did he tremble and turn green, as Coombe had -prophesied? - -No, he did not; he looked at Coombe, he put his monocle very slowly and -deliberately in his eye and took another look. - -"'Pon my soul, Mr.--er--Groom, did you say Groom, Sir Josiah?" - -"Coombe," said Sir Josiah. - -"I beg your pardon, Mr.--er--Coombe, 'pon my soul, I don't recall the -pleasure." Very insolently his lordship looked Mr. Coombe up and down -and Mr. Coombe turned red; the joke was not so good as he had thought it -would be. - -"Langworthy," he said, "you remember Langworthy's business, my Lord?" - -"Langworthy, really did I meet you at Hansbar, my friend, Sir George -Langworthy's house? I haven't been there, let me see, for three years, -and the last time----" - -"No, it wasn't there neither," said Coombe angrily. "It was in my City -Office I met your lordship and it wasn't Sir George Langworthy, it was -quite a different Langworthy." - -"Indeed?" said his lordship politely, "indeed?" - -Mr. Coombe's hot hand dropped to his side. - -"I don't recall your face, 'pon my soul I am afraid I don't. But one -sees so many faces, hey? And now--my dear Homewood, tell me all about -the wonderful things you have been doing here." And his lordship turned -his back on Mr. Coombe with marked deliberation. - -Coombe clenched his fists. - -"Supercilious beast!" he muttered. "I'll teach him, I ain't done with -him yet, not by a long sight, I haven't. You wait, Jobson----" - -But Jobson turned and stared out into the garden through the window. He -was losing faith in the ability of Coombe to make Peers of the Realm -feel unhappy. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXII* - - *MR. COOMBE WEARS A WHITE TIE* - - -Kathleen had given them tea, she had chatted and laughed, she had -concealed every feeling and every thought with that skill that is -acquired by every intelligent, well educated woman. - -How daintily she presided over the tea tray. Her white hand never -trembled--was it three lumps or only two that Sir Josiah took? What a -kind, friendly glance she flashed at Allan as he took his father's cup -from her hand. How should Allan know, how should anyone in that room, -save perhaps one, know that every nerve in her delicate body was -quivering, that in her heart there was a mingled fear and joy, gladness -and sorrow, anxiety for the future, and regret for the past. - -"No tea for me, child, the doctor positively forbids it, positively," -his lordship said; he sighed. "No one appreciates a cup of tea more -than I, but I am obliged to forego it. One has to give up many things, -eh Sir Josiah, the falling leaf must not be too roughly dealt with, else -perhaps it will fall even before its time. No, no tea for me, my love, -but if I might beg a glass of soda water--just a glass of plain soda -water--with perhaps the merest, the very merest touch of brandy, hey -Allan, just to take the bite off the soda water, so to speak?" - -Coombe, sipping tea which he had no love for, eyed his enemy the peer, -malevolently. His lordship, he noticed, reversed the programme, it was -the merest touch of the soda water to take the bite off the brandy. - -"Owes me four hundred and treats me like dirt, hanged if I don't bung a -writ into him!" thought Coombe. - -He happened to be sitting near to Lord Gowerhurst and presently his -lordship adjusted his monocle and stared at Coombe. - -"Ah, ha, Mr. Groom, I think that you were telling me just now that we -had met at Hansbar, Langworthy's place in Somerset? Have you known the -Langworthys long, eh?" - -"I didn't say anything of the kind," Coombe growled sullenly. "I -said----" - -"Oh, yes, I remember, some other Langworthy, quite so." - -"I'll bet a shilling," Coombe whispered under his breath, "I'll bet a -shilling, my lord, as you remember me a sight better than you pretend -you do." - -Gowerhurst regarded Coombe's hot red face coldly and critically. - -"I never, I never remember anyone I prefer to forget, my dear Mr. -Groom," he said. "It's an excellent plan--eh? An excellent plan, saves -a great deal of trouble and annoyance, eh?" - -And now Kathleen was alone, she had come to her room, she had locked the -door on herself. She sat down by the window and put her elbows on the -sill and rested her chin on her hands. - -He had come back. - -It had almost stunned her, its unexpectedness and suddenness. She had -not had time to realise what it all meant, all that she could realise -was, that he was here. - -She saw herself now, as she had been, a girl of eighteen, a girl deeply, -desperately in love; she remembered how she had lain through long, -sleepless nights, tossing on her pillow. How willingly in those days she -would have gone with him into direst poverty, the deeper the poverty how -much more would she have gloried in it. To tramp the roads by his side, -to sing in the streets with him, to crouch beside him under some -friendly hedge for the night--yes, she would have done that very -willingly and yet--yet perhaps common sense, perhaps the hereditary -instinct of her kind had kept her from such folly. - -But she had loved him. Now, sitting here, she was realising that -perhaps she had loved him more--more after he had gone and left her as -she believed forever, than she had actually loved him while he was yet -with her. - -It is often the way, when the beloved object ceases to be real and -tangible, when he becomes a memory--with what virtues can we clothe him? -In memory we only recall all the good, the best that was in him--memory -charitably forgets the numerous little faults, the tiny acts of -selfishness, the little outbursts of foolish temper. No, they are all -gone. So, because he was the beloved object, memory is eager to idealise -him. - -Perhaps it had been so with her--yet she had loved him--she had thrilled -to the passion in his boyish voice, to the love in his boyish, ardent -eyes. A child's love, a school girl's love, her father had said. "My -dear child, I'm a man of the world and you are a young Miss who has only -just learned to do her back hair up; accept it from me, the person who -marries his or her first love lives to regret it. First love is merely -a kind of preliminary canter, it's good exercise, provided you don't -take it too seriously, but if you do take it seriously why then it is -the deuce and all." - -She smiled to herself, recalling her father's words. It had been her -first love and her only love, it had lived with her for ten years and -during those ten years it had seemed to her to have grown stronger, -better, purer. It had perhaps made her a little cold to the world about -her, yet in reality it had made her heart more tender, had made her more -prone to sympathy and tenderness and kindness. - -Why had he come, why had he come back? She clenched her hands tightly. - -The few short months of her married life with Allan had been quiet and -peaceful, uneventful, happy, yes happy! she had always liked him, she -liked him better now than she had before he had given his name to her. - -She liked him better and yet better every day, she liked him because he -confided in her, because he was honest and open with her, because while -he lavished no caresses on her, for would not caresses have been humbug -and hypocrisy, he gave her a quiet affection and respect that won her -heart to him. He had told her of his plans with old Custance, how he -would make money and help repay his father a little of the much that his -father had done for them both. - -And then he had promised once that if ever--ever love came to him, the -love that nearly always comes knocking at a man's heart at some time in -his life, he would tell her candidly and truthfully and they would face -the fact together. And she for her part had promised that she would -tell him if--the lover of long ago should come back into her life. - -And he had come, and so she must tell him, as she had promised to do; -she must be honest and truthful with Allan, surely he deserved that of -her. - -There was a tap on the door and Kathleen rose and opened it. - -"My lady, 'ee'll be wanting me? I've been waiting for the bell, my -lady, but 'ee didn't ring it." - -"No, Betty, I didn't ring, but--but come in. Betty, what is the -matter?" - -"Matter? Oh, my lady, nothing du be the matter wi' I." - -"But your face is white, child, and your eyes look red from crying. Is -there anything wrong, Betty? Have you seen your grandmother and is she -still angry with you?" - -"I bain't seen her, my--my lady, and I du not care whether her be still -angry wi' me or not--for it be all the same to I." - -"You shouldn't say that, child." - -"For never, never will I marry Abram, my--my lady, never will I. Sooner -would I drownd myself in the river, which I would du gaily, aye gaily, -my lady, than--than marry Abram who I never could abide." - -Kathleen smiled. "There need be no talk of that now, Betty, surely?" - -"No, my lady, but I can't help thinking about it, specially when I du -see Abram loitering about the green gate, my lady, and know he du be -waiting for I." - -"Then I will see that he is not permitted to loiter there, as you -dislike him so much, Betty." - -"I hate him, I du, I hate him mortally, my lady, I du. Oh, my lady, his -hands du be terribul, terribul; if 'ee did see 'em they would make you -shudder like they do I." - -"But perhaps you dislike this poor Abram so much, Betty, because there -is someone else?" Kathleen asked. "Is that the truth, my little maid?" - -"Oh, my lady, I--I doan't know, I doan't know. No, no, there bain't -anyone else, no one else--I promise, I swear, my lady, there bain't, -there couldn't be! How could there be?" - -Kathleen took her hand, she held it, it was very hot, this small hand of -the girl's. - -"Betty, child," she said, "you are not well this evening, your hand is -hot and--" she lifted her hand to Betty's forehead, that cool, white, -slender hand of hers, and let it rest there for a moment. - -"And your head is hot, too, child, you had better go to bed and -presently I will ring and ask that something is taken to you. No, -Betty, don't wait, I can manage quite well to-night; go to bed, child, -and go to sleep and forget all your troubles, and if you don't want -Abram, why then, Betty, you shall not have Abram and no one shall force -you to." She pushed the silken fair hair back from the girl's forehead; -she smiled af her. - -"Now to bed, Betty, and to sleep and forget all your little troubles, -child, and to-morrow come to me with a smile on your lips as I would -have you." - -"Oh--my lady, if--if I could only dare--dare tell--'ee," Betty cried -passionately. She caught Kathleen's hand and held it with both her own. -"If only I could dare----" - -"Dare what? Betty, tell me, child, if there is anything----?" - -"No, no, I can't, I be mad to speak of it even--I think I be going mad -altogether, my lady, sometimes I du think I bain't like other maids wi' -such foolish strange notions that I get. I can't--can't tell 'ee, my -lady, doan't ask me, for I can't--I can't." And then Betty flung the -kind hand away and rushed to the door, fumbled for a moment with the -lock, and then opened the door, fled. - -"And so," Kathleen said, "we all have our troubles, our fears and our -loves, Betty and I and all Eve's daughters." - -She dressed herself, it was no hardship or novelty to her. - -She looked at herself in the glass without vanity, but rather with a -curious interest. - -"I'm twenty-eight," she said, "in a few months I shall be -twenty-nine--yet I have no wrinkles and there are no silver threads -yet--I wonder--I wonder does he think me much changed? He is changed, -greatly changed, yet I knew him, of course I knew him; I should have -known him among ten thousand, I should have known him had he come in -rags and poverty, just as I knew him, now he has come to me in his -prosperity and health and strength." - -She went down the stairs, she went into the drawing room and found, as -she had almost feared she would find, that he was there alone. He came -forward eagerly to greet her. - -"Kathleen, are you angry with me?" - -"Why should I be angry, Harold?" - -"For coming." - -"It would have been better, kinder to me if--if you had stayed away." - -"And kinder to myself," he said bitterly. "Kathleen, do--do you think -that this does not mean suffering to me?" - -"Why did you come?" - -"Your father told me you--you knew and approved, that you would be glad -to welcome me." - -She did not answer. - -"But now I know that that was untrue; you did not know that I was -coming----" - -"I did not know," she said. "No, I did not know." - -"Kathleen, Kathleen, you waited so long, all--all those years and yet -not quite long enough; another few months, if only you had waited -another few months, Kathleen." - -She turned to him suddenly, her face bright, her cheeks flushed. - -"You--you have seen him, my husband, you have taken his hand, you--you -are here, his guest--our honoured guest--the past is dead and gone; I -waited--ten years--" her voice broke for a moment, "then I looked at -your letters for the last time and--and burned them all, and when I saw -their black ashes in the grate, I knew that from that moment my new life -began, a life that could not, must not, hold memories of a past. It was -Fate and we--we must accept it; I have accepted it--so we--you and I--we -meet again--as friends--" She held out her hand to him, she smiled at -him. - -He took her hand and held it tightly, he looked into her eyes, then he -groaned, he bent his head and kissed the hand before he let it go, and -then from beyond the door there came the sound of voices, Coombe's loud -and dominant, argumentative. - -"Not wear a white tie with a dinner jacket, Jobson? I tell you I'll -wear any tie I like--and if people don't like it, they can do the other -thing. A black tie makes me look like a waiter, by George, and I won't -wear 'em. And if I want to wear a pink or a sky blue tie, why hang it, -I'll wear it. And if it isn't the fashion, well I'll make the fashion -like that fellow Beau--Beau Brummagem, or whatever his confounded name -was." - -All unknowingly Coombe had struck the right note, he had done Kathleen a -service. A dead and gone love, burned love-letters, ten long years of -waiting, of hoping and praying and nothing to reward the faithfulness -and the loyalty--what mattered all that? Away with melancholy thoughts, -away with sadness and regrets--poor Romance must fly for the moment and -hide her diminished head before the advance of a stout gentleman in -evening dress, wearing a white tie. Kathleen smiled. Honest Mr. Coombe -little knew how grateful his hostess felt to him at that moment. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIII* - - *"I BELONG TO THEE"* - - -Lord Gowerhurst justly prided himself on the "Stanwys manner" which he -had to perfection. If he were formal he carried his formality with -grace, he was studiously polite, he was courteous, urbane--and a wet -blanket. - -He crushed utterly those four jolly City gentlemen, who would have been -ten times happier if his lordship and his manner had not been there. -Sir Josiah, seated on the right hand of his daughter-in-law, perspired -freely from sheer nervousness, mingled with a kind of admiration and -awe. Jobson and Cutler were noticeably ill at ease, and consumed by -anxiety lest they might say or do the wrong thing. Mr. Coombe was -resentful and would have been sarcastic had he dared. - -That man, sitting facing Mr. Coombe, fingering the stem of his wineglass -with his delicate white fingers, monopolising the conversation with his -confounded drawling aristocratic voice and his infernal air of -superiority, who was he? Was not he the same man who one day had come -cringing into his, Coombe's, office hoping to raise a loan of two -thousand on some rotten securities; was not he the same man who had well -nigh wept when the loan had not materialised? - -"And there he sits," thought Coombe, "there he sits, treating us all as -if we were dirt, looking down on us, the rotten, humbugging, insolvent -old--old--beast." - -No one could find fault with the dinner, indeed his lordship gracefully -congratulated his daughter on the excellence of her chef. Good Mrs. -Crozier had watched over everything and had seen to everything, and a -lady of her experience was scarcely likely to allow a dinner to go to -table that would not be a credit to the household over which she ruled. - -The wines, too, were above reproach, Sir Josiah had spared no expense in -this matter, but there was something wrong with the atmosphere, yes the -atmosphere was all wrong. Sir Josiah could not find one word to say. -Even Cutler was unable to introduce an observation concerning the island -of Demauritius, its Governor and the Governor's wife, his daughter. -Jobson was frankly and noticeably unhappy, and in his agitation had -splashed his white shirt front with gravy. Coombe was oppressed, angry -and bitter, trying hard to find something to say that would take the -wind out of the sails of that drawling, dandified, supercilious -aristocrat on the other side of the table. - -Kathleen had her own thoughts and the subject of them was sitting beside -her on her left, facing Sir Josiah. She could feel his eyes on her now -and again, she tried to laugh and to talk frankly and freely, but she -was conscious of a weight, of a fear, of joy, she hardly knew what. - -And Allan, too, his thoughts had strayed away from that unhappy dining -table. They were out in the garden, not in the garden as it was now, -all shrouded in the soft darkness of the summer night, but in a garden -filled with sunshine, sunshine that touched and glorified a little head -of gold, that lighted up a sweet, oval face and glistened on eyes as -blue as the skies. - -Why, why, why? He asked himself and could scarce frame the question. -How much less the answer to it. Better that she should go, but poor -child, how unfair to her. Yet he could not go; how could he? And to -live here, under the same roof, to see her, perhaps every day, to have -that strange memory, which was yet no memory, recalled every time he saw -her. How could it be, how could he be loyal to Kathleen? Why should -that girl, that child whom he had seen but once, mean so much to him? -How were their lives connected; what could some unknown past have held, -a past that affected their present and their future so greatly? - -Coombe had grasped the opportunity. There had come a lull, Coombe -seized on it, he began a story in a loud voice. It was about a deal in -some shares. Coombe, in his eagerness to talk, grew involved, he -floundered. He appealed to Sir Josiah, Sir Josiah who frowned, -remembering that he had instructed Coombe that there was to be no -"shop." Coombe saw the frown and got more mixed than before, Sir Josiah -had let him down. He turned to Jobson, but Jobson had no help to offer. - -"Anyhow, there it was, Munston bought seven thousand and fifty and -Lockyer I forget how many, and the bottom fell out of the market see, -ha, ha." - -"Now that is very interesting, very interesting indeed, -Mr.--er--Groom--my dear Allan, you and I are not business men, Mr. Groom -here is a business man, it is quite interesting to hear these stories, -eh? Of course we don't understand 'em, Allan, because, as I say, we are -not business men. I have no doubt but that it is an excellent story, -but I don't understand it, no, be gad, I don't see the point. It's the -same with golfing stories, they may be deuced funny, but when you don't -understand them, well you don't, and that's all there is to say to it. -Which reminds me of Normandyke--you remember the Duke of Normandyke, my -love? His place at Clamberwick was recalled to me by this little place -of yours. Of course your home, elegant though it is, is a mere cottage -in comparison; Clamberwick is one of the great houses--" and so on and -so on, belittling his daughter's house with cheerful patronage and -intense superiority, till the colour flamed into Kathleen's cheeks, born -of the generous indignation in her heart. She slipped her hand under -the table and her cool white fingers closed round Sir Josiah's thick old -hand, and pressed it in silent sympathy, love and gratitude. - -"I understand, my dear, I understand," the old gentleman whispered. -"This Clamberwick may be a great place, my dear, and beyond an old -fellow like me, but I'd give you ten such places if I could, and you'd -be fit to reign over the lot of 'em." - -"I--I wouldn't exchange Homewood for all the Clamberwicks in the world. -You made it for us and gave it to us, and I love it for its own and the -giver's sake." - -She would not tell Allan to-night, she watched Allan. He looked, she -thought, a little unhappy, this house party was weighing on his mind. -No, she would not tell him to-night, she would wait till after they were -all gone. She would keep her promise, of course, and when Harold -Scarsdale had gone, when they had bidden one another farewell, and it -would be for the last time, she would tell him that it must be for the -last time, and as he was a gentleman he would understand and so--so when -she told Allan, she would be able to tell him that she had seen the man -again, that he had come and gone, and this time forever. - -She felt easier, lighter and happier now she had made up her mind. She -went to the drawing room and played and sang. Scarsdale, beside the -piano, watched her, he turned her music. Now and again he spoke to her, -reminding her of some song that called up the past. - -"Won't you sing one of them to me, Kathleen?" - -"No, no, not to-night, please don't ask me, I--I don't want to think of -the past. I told you--there is no past--I burned it with the old -letters--it is ashes now." Her lips trembled as she looked up at him -and smiled at him. "It is better so, is it not? You know it is. So -to-night I shall sing the new songs, the old ones belong to the past and -are dead with it." - -"If I could only think as you think, or do you think as you speak, -Kathleen, do you believe what you say?" - -"Yes, I believe it, I know it, it is true." - -His lordship, having made a very good dinner, had selected the easiest -chair in the room and settled himself down comfortably. Sir Josiah and -his friends drifted to the smoking room and their cigars and their talk. - -His lordship, taking his ease in his chair, had fallen into a sweet, -refreshing slumber, for which he would have to pay presently when -bed-time came. Kathleen was singing at the piano with this old friend -of hers. Allan looked at them both. He did not quite know what to make -of this old friend of Kathleen's, this man Scarsdale. He had not summed -him up yet; on the whole he thought he did not much like him. To-night -Allan felt in no mood to join his father and his friends, had Sir Josiah -been alone it would have been different. Kathleen was interested in her -friend. His lordship was asleep, Allan crossed the room quietly, opened -a French window, and passed out into the garden. - -When a man is face to face with a problem, he must wrestle with it, find -an answer to it and act on his own finding. A man who thrusts the thing -behind him and leaves it all in the hands of Fate is little better than -a coward, and Allan Homewood was no coward. - -In this garden he had dreamed a dream and in that dream there had come -to him the sweetest little maid on whom the sun had ever shone, and -though his eyes had never beheld her before, yet he knew that she came -to him as no stranger, but rather as some sweet vision or memory out of -a past, which past had never been, in this life at least, and when the -dream had gone he had awakened with a feeling of loss that had stayed -with him for many days till at last he had managed to banish that -feeling. - -And now, now a living girl, the very maid of his dreams, had come to him -and he had looked at her and known her for the same, and all the old -tenderness, the love for her had come welling up in his heart again. -And she, strangely, seemed to know him even as he knew her. Had she not -called him Allan? Had she not looked at him with that same strange -light in her blue eyes as had shone in those of the little maid of his -dreams? - -"What does it mean?" he whispered. "And what am I to do? Send her -away? That would be cruel and unkind, poor little soul." Where had she -to go to; why banish her for no fault of her own? And yet how -impossible for him to go. But to meet her every day, to see those blue -eyes of hers with their strange expression, half pleading, half -fearful--to know, for he did know, and must know that this little maid -for some strange reason loved him, as he must love her. What should he -do? Would Kathleen help him when he told her as tell her he must--yes, -he would rely on her sane judgment, on her generous nature, on her sweet -womanliness. She would know how to act; he would place it all in -Kathleen's hands and all would be well. - -He felt relieved to think that he had arrived at some definite -conclusion. Kathleen would--he paused suddenly and lifted his head. - -From the soft darkness there came to him a sound, the sound of sobbing, -as of some child weeping bitterly in its loneliness. It touched him, -for he was tender hearted to a fault. Who was it? He went on quickly, -yet softly, so as not to frighten or disturb the child. And then he -found her, crouching on the stone seat, near the sundial, the slender -body bent, the little hands clasped over her face. He knew her at once, -he saw the sheen of her hair in the dim light and stood still for a -moment, yet the piteous sobbing, the heaving of the shoulders hurt him -and he stretched out his hand and touched her gently. - -"Betty," he said, "Betty, why are you here and crying, child?" - -She did not start, she lifted her head slowly, her hands dropped, he -could see her face dimly, white in the starlight. - -"Why do I find you here alone, Betty, and weeping?" he asked gently. -"Are you in some trouble or suffering?" - -She shook her head in silence. - -"Then why?" - -"Oh, I doan't know, I doan't know," she cried suddenly, she flung out -her arms with a gesture of despair. "I doan't understand it all, and it -du frighten me, it du. Oh, I be terribul frightened of it all, I be, -frightened and yet--glad." She looked up at him. He could see the oval -face more clearly now, the shining eyes and the trembling red lips. - -He took both her hands suddenly and held them tightly. - -"Betty, what does it all mean? Can you tell me, for I do not -understand?" - -"Nor du I understand," she said. "Oh, tell me, Allan, tell me, did 'ee -know me when--Oh, sir--forgive." She broke off suddenly and her head -dropped. - -"Tell me, what were you going to ask?" - -She lifted her head again. - -"Did 'ee know me as I knew 'ee, yesterday when I came here and--and -found 'ee here, Allan?" - -"Yes, I knew you, I knew you, Betty. Once before in a dream you came to -me here in this same place and I cannot understand why it should have -been so. No, I cannot understand." - -"And it du frighten me terribul, terribul, it du. How did I know your -name were Allan? How dared--dared I call 'ee Allan, seeing you be my -lady's husband and my master, and yet I could not help myself, the name -did come from my lips wi'out my knowing it." - -"And you never saw me before?" - -"Aye, many, many times." - -He was startled. "You knew me, Betty, you had seen me before, but when, -where?" - -"Here, here in this place, in this garden, but 'ee was so different -then. Grandmother was angry wi' me for coming, she said I were a bad -maid to come here into this old garden, all weed grown and ramy-shackle -that it were, but I came often--often--and then I used to see--'ee here, -Allan, oh sir." She paused. - -"Go on," he said. "Go on, Betty." And still held her quivering hands. - -"But 'twas not as a fine gentleman as I did see 'ee," she went on, -seeming to gain a little in confidence, though her voice was still -tremulous, "'ee wore a queer old hat and brown clothes and--and -stockings, and heavy shoes wi' brass buckles to 'em, sir, and for the -most part 'ee was working in the garden, digging sometimes, sometimes at -work wi' hoe or rake, but always working, bending over the flower beds -'ee were, and never, never did I see your face, sir, yet when I did see -your face, I knew it for 'ee." - -"Go on, go on." - -"There's nothing more to tell 'ee, sir, only that I, contrairywise, came -here to the old garden and climbed the wall, I did, and sometimes I did -come here of nights when the moon was shining and it was then I see 'ee, -sir, working here, bending over your work--and I knew--knew--" she -paused. - -"You knew----?" - -"I knew as--as oh I--I can't tell 'ee, sir, I daren't tell 'ee." - -"Tell me, Betty," he whispered, "tell me," and perhaps did not know how -much tenderness he had put into his voice. - -"I knew as 'ee meant summut to me, sir, as--as somehow it seemed as if -'ee belonged to me and I to thee." - -She dropped her eyes, her hands seemed to flutter in his and he said -nothing, could not, for he did not know what to say, but he realised -that she had put into words that which was in his own mind, in his own -knowledge, just as he had meant something to her so had she meant -something to him. He had known that in some strange way they belonged -to each other. - -He spoke, to break the silence that had fallen rather than for any other -reason. - -"You were unhappy with your grandmother?" - -"Terribul, terribul unhappy I were wi' she, sir, for her willed me to -marry Abram." - -"Abram?" he asked. - -"Abram, aye, Abram Lestwick, sir, whom I du hate and de-test most -terribul." - -"But who is he?" - -"Grandmother willed me to marry him, sir, but I would not and she be -very wrathful wi' I." - -"Poor little soul," he said gently. "Betty, it seems to me that strange -and perhaps foolish dreams have--have come to both of us here in this -old garden, and we must put those dreams out of our minds, and face -life, child, as it really is. Just now you reminded me that I am your -lady's husband and I am, and proud and happy that so good and sweet a -woman should be my wife----" - -"Good and sweet her be, there bain't none like she; I would die for her -willing, I would." - -"And I think I too, Betty, and so--so--" he paused to listen--out of the -darkness there came voices. - -"Wonderful air, isn't it? I don't know any air like this. Get a smell -of the sea in it, don't you, Cutler, my boy?" - -Allan dropped the little hands. He felt suddenly ashamed, felt as -though he were about, to be detected in some wrong-doing, and yet, -Heaven above knew, that there had not been one wrong thought in his -brain. - -He would have told her to go, but it was unnecessary. Very quickly and -suddenly she snatched at one of his hands, he felt it pressed for a -moment against burning lips and then she had gone. He heard the soft -rustling of her gown among the bushes, the light tap of her little -shoes, and then the heavier stolid tread of his father's honest feet. - -Allan dropped onto the stone bench, and there, a minute later Sir Josiah -found him. - -"Why, who's here, Allan, Allan, my boy--is it you?" - -"Yes, father, come here to dream in the old garden. Won't you and Mr. -Cutler sit here and finish your cigars?" - -He scarcely knew what he was saying. He was glad that they had come, -and yet perhaps sorry too. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIV* - - *IN WHICH LORD GOWERHURST RISES EARLY* - - -His lordship had had a bad night. He had gone to sleep after his -dinner, a foolish thing to do. He had tossed and turned restlessly in a -strange bed and he loathed strange beds. Then after what had seemed to -be interminable hours of sleeplessness and misery, he had fallen asleep -to be awakened in apparently a few minutes by a feathered chorus in the -beech tree, just outside his window. - -What a noise they made, what a commotion with their piping and their -shrill chattering. His Lordship sat up and solemnly cursed all birds. - -A cock saluted the dawn in the customary manner; another, apparently -some little distance away, took up the challenge. Lord Gowerhurst heard -the crowing receding farther and farther till it was lost in the -distance, then it came back, seemingly step by step to the original cock -that was somewhere in his immediate neighbourhood. And all the time the -birds kept up their incessant twittering and chattering and piping till -the poor gentleman's nerves were on edge. - -He rose, he thrust one bony leg from the bed, then the other. He went -to the window, he shook his fist at the birds. - -"Shoo! go away you beasts!" he shouted. "Go away, shoo!" - -He slammed the window down and went back to bed, but it was useless. He -put his head under the clothes, but he could still hear the babel of -sounds. As the sun rose higher so did the sounds increase; there came -the barking of dogs, the lowing of cattle from the green pastures, a hen -had laid an egg somewhere and was proclaiming the fact triumphantly. Her -husband shouted his joy, the other cocks took up the chorus. It was -Bedlam and Babel let loose. - -Added to the other sounds of animal and bird life came presently fresh -contributions. A sleepy-eyed servant banged a pail down somewhere, -doors were being opened and shut with unnecessary vigour. - -"London, give me London. It's the only place in the world fit to sleep -in, as for this country, this--" His lordship sat up and exploded with -wrath and profanity. - -He would stay in bed no longer, bed was purgatory; it was but six. He -had never risen at six in the morning in his life. Frequently he had -retired at this hour. He rang for hot water to shave. - -At his chambers in Maybury Street, Webster, his landlord, valeted him. -Webster shaved him every morning and dressed him with the same care as a -young mother bestows on her darling. But Webster was employed during -the day at his lordship's club, so had not been able to come. - -The old gentleman's hand shook very severely this morning, he cut -himself twice. He was entirely unhappy and in the blackest of ill -humours when he went downstairs. - -Early as it was, everyone seemed to be up. Sir Josiah, rosy and -cheerful, came in from the garden, looking ridiculous with a great -armful of flowers. - -"Good morning, my lord, nice and early, eh? Lovely morning, nothing -like getting up when the dew's on the grass, eh?" Then came Cutler, -followed by Coombe, offensive in white flannel trousers; Kathleen, -looking as fresh as the morning itself, came to him and kissed him. She -saw his humour, she knew it of old, the morning was never his lordship's -best time. - -Happy he who can rise in the morning in a spirit of kindliness and good -humour, who commences the day as he means to live through it, in good -will and amity with all. Thrice happy they who live with such a man. - -Kathleen knew her father. - -"Would you like to have breakfast served you alone quietly in my own -little room, dear?" she asked. - -"Would I what? Hang it! do you want to get rid of me? Am I not good -enough to sit down to breakfast with your absurd friends? Has that -gentleman in the white trousers been attending a tennis party? It is -somewhat early for tennis parties, is it not? Barely seven yet--is -Homewood going to decorate a Church or is he merely masquerading as a -Jack in the Green? Where's Scarsdale? Not down yet? I don't blame -him, I never heard such an infernal din in my life--cocks crowing, birds -shouting, dogs barking and--and cut my face twice, begad, twice--which -means a deuced uncomfortable day for me and--and--and your father is to -be poked away into a little back room and have his meals by himself, is -he? I'm hurt, Kathleen, positively hurt; had you told me that my -society was distasteful to you, had you only told me that you were -asking me out of politeness, begad, out of compliment, why then I should -have stayed away. I feel it, I am an old fellow and oversensitive -perhaps, little things, little unkindnesses wound me, as perhaps a few -years ago they would not. As one grows older one----" - -"Come into breakfast, father," she said, and slipped her hand under his -arm. - -Scarsdale came down a little late. He held Kathleen's hand for a -moment, looked her in the eyes and sat down. - -"I slept badly," he said quietly, "in fact I could not sleep at all, it -was strange to me to realise that the same roof that sheltered you--" he -paused. - -"Tea or coffee?" Kathleen asked brightly. - -His lordship was like a bear with a very sore head, the Stanwys manner -was not in evidence. He growled and cursed under his breath. He flung -poisoned darts of wit, sneers and jibes at Coombe and they glanced -harmless enough from that gentleman's toughened hide, but they went home -when he turned his battery on Sir Josiah. - -"Poisonous old devil he is," Coombe muttered to himself as he put away a -huge breakfast. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXV* - - *BESIDE THE LAKE* - - -They had all gone out together, Sir Josiah and his Lordship in Sir -Josiah's car, Mr. Coombe and Mr. Cutler and Mr. Jobson with a large -quantity of golf sticks in Allan's car, and Allan himself had gone over -to One Tree Farm to discuss intensive culture, scientific pedigree -poultry and pig raising and farm business generally; and Kathleen found -herself for the first time alone with Harold Scarsdale. - -She had tried to avoid this, yet in some fashion she had known that it -must come sooner or later. She had suggested that he should go out with -the others, but he had quietly declined. And so if it must be, well it -must be. If she and Harold Scarsdale must come to a definite -understanding, why not sooner than later? She was a coward to shun it. - -From her bedroom window she saw him sauntering up and down the broad -paved pathway. That he was waiting for her, confident that she would -come to him, she knew, and she knew that she must go. - -"Betty!" - -"Yes, my Lady?" - -"Sir Harold Scarsdale is in the garden; will you go down to him and tell -him that I will join him soon? There he is, Betty, you can see him from -here." - -"I see him, my Lady, and I'll go and tell him." Betty turned away. - -"Betty!" - -"My Lady?" - -"Betty, are you unhappy, child?" - -"Unhappy, oh, my lady, I be very happy here, indeed--indeed I be--very -happy I be, my lady." - -"You look white and troubled, child," Kathleen said. "Is--is that man, -is your grandmother--troubling you?" - -"No, my Lady, I've not seen Grandmother since I came here." - -"And Lestwick?" - -"Abram du hang about waiting for I, my Lady, Polly Ransom have told me -that Abram du continually be hanging about the green door, my Lady, but -I doan't go out and so I du never see he." - -"I will speak to Mr. Homewood about it and ask him to interview this -Lestwick and tell him to keep away from here, for I will not have you -worried and troubled, Betty. Now run down, child, and tell Sir Harold." - -Scarsdale paced up and down in the warm sunlight, waiting, as years ago -he had waited in another garden for the coming of his beloved. - -And presently she would come to him, he did not doubt that. He turned -now at the sound of a light step, but it was not she, he knew that--who, -who loves, does not know the step of the beloved one? Is it not -different from all other footfalls in the world, as different as 'her' -voice is different from all other voices. A man usually knows the step -of the woman he loves, but a woman always knows the step of her man. -Scarsdale, turning slowly, knew full well that it was not Kathleen. A -stern, silent man was he, misjudged by many who thought him cold and -even heartless. Men found but little pleasure in his society, women -none, for he had neither heart nor admiration to give them. He had -looked at beautiful women and had failed to see their beauty, because -only one face was beautiful in his sight. But this little maid tripping -to him so demurely in the sunlight was pretty enough to win an -unaccustomed smile to his lips. - -What a pretty child she was, a fit handmaiden for Her! - -"You want me?" he asked, and his voice was a little more gentle than -usual. - -She dropped him a curtsey, "My Lady sent me to say that she would be -here in the garden very soon, sir." - -"Thank you." He stood looking at her, at the pretty, downcast face. He -looked after her when she had turned back towards the house. A pretty -little country girl with a sweet voice, he thought, and then, even -before she had whisked out of sight behind a door, he had forgotten her -and his thoughts had gone back to the one to whom they were constant. - -She was coming, and when she came what should he say to her? Just as -ten years ago he had watched and waited for her in another garden, his -heart filled with love for her, so he was watching and waiting now and -his love was the same, no--not the same, for, even he, was conscious of -its change. But it was no less, it was even more, it was greater, it -burned with a stronger flame, a greater passion. - -And after ten years--did many men love for ten long years, were many men -as constant as he had been? Would not that constancy count for -something with her? Surely, surely it must, for women prized constancy -in a man above all other things. - -So the smile still lingered on his lips, as he turned and slowly made -his way along the sun warmed path. What should he say to her when she -came, what had he said to her in the old days when he had poured out his -heart to her? A thousand things, a million things, and yet all were -summed up in three words, "I love you." - -He had given her everything, a man's love, a man's constancy. His heart -had not beaten one throb the faster for any woman but her. His eyes had -found no pleasure in looking on any other woman's face. Could man give -more than he had given? What could he ask in return? Everything--and he -knew that he must ask everything of her. - -Kathleen was conscious of a trepidation, of a nervousness unusual to -her. A strange shyness had come to her, an unwillingness to meet him; -yet she must and because she must she was here. She had asked -herself--Was he the same, had the years altered him? And she had -answered her own questions with No and Yes: he was not the same, the -years had altered him. She scarcely knew this silent, almost morose -man. He came to her with his tanned, lean face, his deep sombre eyes, -as almost a stranger, just now and again for a fleeting moment she saw -something in his face, heard something in his voice that brought back -memories of the boy she had known and loved. Yet they were but -fleeting. - -The ardent, outspoken, honest, loving boy had changed into the quiet, -self-contained man. The man had infinitely more self-control than the -boy. Yet she had seen those eyes of his lighten up, had seen the spark -of fire gleam in them and she knew that it was not the same flame that -had burned so brightly in the boyish eyes. - -He met her and looked at her with a smile on his face, but he did not -speak and she spoke because she knew that the silence must be broken. - -"I saw you from my window, you have been admiring the--our garden," she -said. - -"I do not think that I have given the garden a thought." - -"Yet is it not beautiful enough? And to think that a few months ago it -was little more than a jungle and now----" - -"It is beautiful, yet I knew another infinitely more beautiful to me -than this. You knew that garden too, Kathleen, our garden at -Bishopsholme, the garden where I used to wait for you, where I first -told you----" his voice quavered and trembled and her eyes, downcast, -dared not lift themselves to his face. - -"Where I first told you how I loved you--I have seen that garden in my -dreams a thousand times, I have had cool visions of it in the sweltering -heat of the tropical nights. I have seen it--and you--always you--and -yet my memory never did you justice Kathleen. To-day you are more -beautiful, more sweetly gracious, more lovable----" - -"Hush!" she said. - -"Why should I be silent when silence would be but pretence? Ten years -ago I loved you with all my heart and soul, for ten years my love has -been constant, my dreams and my memories of you were sweeter to me than -the living realty of other women--I cared nothing for them, my heart was -all yours." - -"Harold!" she said. "Harold!" She put her hand on his arm. "The past -is dead and it must lie dead and--and forgotten----" - -"Forgotten! You tell me to forget when I have lived on memories, when -the visions of you that my brain has conjured up have been the only -real, the only beautiful things in my life: have I not heard your voice -speaking to me in the stillness of those hot nights, have I not felt -your cool hand on my brow when fever assailed me? You, even though -thousands of miles parted us, were with me always. You were by my side -in daylight and in darkness, my other self, my better, purer, sweeter -self, and now after ten years when all that I had of you, all that I had -in the world was memory of you, you tell me to forget----" - -"Because you must," she said softly, "because--oh because you must." - -"And did you forget? Could you have forgotten at the word of command?" -he said. His cheeks were flushed under their tan, his eyes were -gleaming and his words came quick and fast. "Could you have forgotten -so easily? No, you too were faithful, you waited, Kathleen. You told -me so yourself. You waited--hoping, dear, did you not, hoping that I -should come back to you as, God willing, I meant always to come back. -You knew as I knew that it was the great love, the one and only love of -our two lives. It came to you, dear, when you were little more than a -child, to me when I was but a boy, but it will last through my life and -yours--yours too, and knowing this, you tell me to forget." - -"Listen," she said. "Listen--this is my home, you are my friend, my -husband's guest----" - -"Does that matter, does anything in this world matter save that I have -come back to you, that you and I love one another now as we did then and -that after years of separation, years of heart sickness and longing, we -are, thank God, together again. Does anything matter but that? You are -married, you married the man for his money--his father's money--your -father told me this--I am not speaking in anger, dear, nor contempt, I -am only stating what I know to be a fact. You gave him no love, how -could you, when you had none to give, for your heart was always mine." - -"Oh hush, hush! Before you say any more, Harold, listen, for you must -listen to me now. My father told you only the truth, I married for -money, for a home, for a future--I had given up hope, I had waited so -long, my youth was passing. I looked ahead, I saw old age and -loneliness and oh--perhaps I was a coward, but I was -afraid--afraid--Perhaps you had forgotten, perhaps you no longer -lived--remember, remember that for ten years I heard no word of you: I -know now that in not writing one word to me you were faithfully keeping -the word of honour that my father forced you to give. Yet I did not -think you had died, Harold, for if you were dead I think--I think I -should have known--you were only a boy, I told myself, and the love of a -boy changes, absence so often means forgetfulness. There are other -women younger and more beautiful than I--No, no, let me speak, I know -now that I was wrong--I know that I was wrong--yet how could I know it -then? I was twenty-eight, twenty-eight and what had I to look forward -to? Nothing! nothing in the world--my father had nothing to give me, I -was useless, I could not work, I knew of no trade--I had been brought up -in idleness, a useless creature--and the future--it meant--starvation, -not merely genteel poverty, it meant worse, it meant----" - -"I know, and you married for money--for a home--have I blamed you, have -I shewn anger, Kathleen? No, dear, I pitied you. You married this man -for his money only----" - -"Not wholly, I liked him, respected him----" - -"Liked him, respected him----" he smiled grimly. "But I had your -heart?" - -"Yes----" she said, "then." - -"And now--now still now--always!" - -"It is not fair, it is cruel, it is unlike you to ask me," she said, "it -is too late to ask me now----" - -"It is not too late. Was not your sin against me, against your love -greater when you married him than any you might commit against him now?" - -"I am his wife, I have promised to be faithful and true to him." - -"You promised to be faithful and true to me; do you remember our parting -at Bishopsholme, you promised then when I held you in my arms, when the -tears were in your dear eyes--you promised always to love me, always to -be faithful and true, all your life long--you promised me then with -tears, beloved." - -"And I performed--I waited for ten years. Never passed a day that I did -not waking think of you, that I did not when I lay down to sleep ask -God's blessing on you and then Fate was too strong----" - -"It was Fate that brought me here to-day." - -"So that we could meet as friends, take one another by the hand and----" - -"As friends--you and I----" his voice quivered with scorn and -bitterness--"Friends!" - -They had come to the little lake, the pool where stood the stone nymph -and where in the deep green water the great carp swam lazily. She was -remembering how she and Allan had stood here days ago and had spoken of -this little stone maiden. - -"Kathleen, true love, love that is loyal and lasting and good and true -is the holiest, the best and most enduring thing in this world, it -stands far, far above a mere ceremony. It is Heavensent. You dare not -sin against that love, dear, for Heaven itself put it in your heart. I -have been faithful all those years, I have loved you. I have dreamed of -you, spoken to you in my thoughts, and now I have come back, I have come -to you for--my reward, Kathleen." - -She turned slowly and looked at him, her face had grown white. - -"Harold, I do not understand." - -"You must, oh you must, you do understand, Kathleen, don't shrink from -me--you see before you the man who loves you better than he loves his -life, better I think, than he loves his soul. Marriage--what is -marriage, such a marriage as yours, a marriage of convenience, a -marriage of accommodation, a marriage tainted by money. Can you set up -such a marriage as yours against my steadfast love? You cannot, you -shall not, Kathleen, you belong to me--you became mine when you gave me -your heart--when you let me hold you in my arms, when my lips first -kissed yours. That--that gave you to me--I ask for my own now and -you--you are my own--I have come for you--I want you, God knows I need -you. I shall never let you go now never, never again in this world!" - -She looked at him and saw that which was unfamiliar to her, looked at -him and seemed to see the face of a stranger, of a man she had never -known, that face was flushed, those eyes were bright, his hands -stretched out to her trembled with the passion that moved him. - -"What are you asking me?" - -"To come with me, to leave all this, for your love's sake, for my love's -sake, to let love rise triumphant above every earthly consideration, I -have come for you, I shall not go without you." - -And then she turned from him, she turned to look at the little statue -that had stood there, reflected in the green waters through all those -centuries. The stone maiden who would stand here perhaps when the grave -had closed over her, and looking at the little statue, rather than at -him, she spoke quietly. - -"I loved you," she said, "I loved you all those years because I believed -you to be all that I would have had you be. I loved you for your respect -for me, for your honour, your purity and for your reverence. In those -days you never offended me by word or look, I was safe with you as with -a brother--and because I knew that with you, I was so protected, so -safe, so secure, I loved you, I think I worshipped you and so I -remembered you as good and honourable and innocent and true--and--and -now you come back to me----" her voice broke a little, "and I know that -the love I believed in, trusted in so, has degenerated into what is -nothing but a selfish passion. Here under my husband's roof, you hold -out your hand to me, you bid me come, you bid me leave honour, happiness -and peace of heart, you bid me leave self-respect, all--all behind me." - -"Kathleen--Kathleen!" - -"Had I been free and had you come in rags, a beggar, with nothing in -your hands, had you called to me to go with you--I would have gone -gladly, proudly gone. But you waited, Harold, and you waited too long, -and now you dishonour your love, you trample it into the dust at your -feet. I idealised you and the idol that I set up and which I in my -blindness and foolishness worshipped, is fallen and shattered, broken -beyond repair, and so----" She turned to him for the first time and -held out her hand, "and so we have come to the parting of the ways, -Harold, the last parting. It is good-bye between us, good-bye for -always." - -"If your love had been as strong as mine, had lived as mine had lived, -you would not say this to me now." - -"It lived till a little while ago, till we came here just now and stood -beside the lake--it lived till then--and then--you killed it, Harold, -you killed it here." - -"These are words, mere words!" - -"Yet true words, it died here after I had kept it warm, after I had -cherished it in my heart, after I had regarded it as the best, the -sweetest, purest, noblest thing that could ever come into my life, and -here you taught me that I was wrong, you degraded it, you made me see -that it was not the pure and holy thing I had believed it. You shewed -me that it was mean and cruel and selfish. You asked me for--for your -reward, yet did not consider what the cost of that reward must be to me. -You would have made me an outcast, my name a word of shame, you, who ten -years ago never wronged me in word or thought. You would take me from -here into the wilderness, thinking that if I could but hide my face from -others I might find happiness. Did you give a thought to my soul, to my -conscience, where could I have hidden from that?" - -He did not answer, he stood looking at her, his brown hands clenched. -Smouldering passion was in his breast, the passion of desire, the -passion of anger. Yet he could be honest with himself and knew that she -was speaking the truth, and had never a word to say in contradiction. - -"Just now," she said, "just now you killed my love, you drove it from my -heart--it belonged to the man I thought so fine, so splendid, so noble -and when I found him ignoble, selfish, self-seeking, it died; it had to -die, Harold, and being dead will never live again!" She held out her -hand to him, there was a smile on her white face, a rather pitiful -smile, for only she and her God knew what she had suffered here in this -garden of sunshine. - -"We must part here, dear, part--you and I who were lovers, part as -lovers for ever, yet we shall meet again in a few hours, I the hostess, -you my guest and friend. But I part here from the man I once loved and -bidding him good-bye ask that God may bless him always." - -"Once!" he said softly. "Once, Kathleen, I once loved? Once?" - -"Once!" she said, and bravely looked into his eyes. - -Moments of silence passed while he stood looking at her. His face seemed -to have grown older, it was haggard, there were lines of pain upon it. - -This place, she knew, would hold for ever a memory of pain and suffering -for her, here she would see his face in memory as she saw it now. Never -would she see these green waters lying motionless under the deep shadows -of the yews, but that into her memory would come his face as she saw it. -now, all haggard and stricken, the face of one who has seen the gate to -happiness opened for an instant and then finds himself shut out in the -darkness and the cold for evermore. - -Suddenly he fell to his knees, he lifted the soft and dainty fabric of -her dress and touched it with his lips and then, rising, turned and -strode away, leaving her by the water alone. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVI* - - *ON OTHER SHOULDERS* - - -When he had knelt and kissed the hem of her garment, Scarsdale had meant -it as an act of renunciation, as an acceptance of Kathleen's decision. -He could not hope to fight against it. The truth of what she had said -appealed to him. True he could take her away back to his own little -domain at the farthest end of the earth. He could take her to a place -where no one should know of her and his past. But he could not take her -away from her own thoughts, the upbraiding of her own conscience. His -love for her was a strange mixture of passion and reverence. Sometimes -it was the one that was uppermost, at another time the other. Now it -was reverence, respect for her purity that filled his heart. He put his -passion away, for ever, he told himself. He would go back whence he -came. He would take back with him his dreams and his memories and -nothing else. - -To-day was Saturday, his visit here would end on Monday. He would have -ended it to-day, yet he felt that he might appear a coward in her sight -if he ran away, besides, why should he cheat himself of these last few -hours of her? She was nothing to him, never could be anything, but he -could still watch her, still listen to her voice, still garner up in his -brain memories of her on which he would draw presently when he had gone -back to the old lonely, hopeless life. - -No, he would not run away. - -He found from one of the men servants, old Markabee it was, in which -direction lay the golf course, to which Messrs. Coombe, Cutler and -Jobson had repaired. - -"Fower miles it be, fower good miles, sir," said Markabee, "through -Stretton you du go, then turns to the left and----" And so on, -Scarsdale listened to the directions and followed them and an hour later -stood on the course and watched Mr. Coombe making wild and ineffective -swipes at a small ball perched on a mound. - -Mr. Coombe, bathed in perspiration, appealed to him. - -"Never tried this game before, I haven't," he said, "and don't know as -I'm going to spend sleepless nights before I try it again. I daresay -it's all right for those who like it--play it yourself perhaps, Sir -Harold?" - -Scarsdale shook his head. "There's not much golf where I come from," he -said briefly. - -"No, too hot I reckon--well for my part, give me a quiet game of bowls. -Innocent mirth I don't find fault with, but I object to making myself a -sort of circus for a lot of grinning urchins, who ought to be at school -or somewhere." He came and stood beside Scarsdale. At any other time -Scarsdale might have avoided Mr. Coombe, to-day he welcomed him. Even -Coombe was a better companion than his own thoughts. - -"A decent feller," Coombe thought, "no airs about him, a bit silent, I -don't expect he gets much society where he comes from." - -Thereafter Mr. Combe left Cutler and Jobson to their golf and attached -himself to Scarsdale, and for long after the boastful Coombe would tell -in City chop houses how he and his friend Sir Harold Scarsdale played -golf together on Stretton Links. - -"Walk," said Coombe, "why of course I'll walk, nothing like walking to -get a man's weight down." - -"I gather you don't do much walking, Mr. Coombe." - -"Me?" said Coombe. "You should see me, all over the City I am, in one -office out another up and down the stairs." - -They lunched, the four of them, at a little Inn, lunched on bread and -cheese and good English ale. Coombe called the pretty little maid who -waited on them his dear. He chucked her under her dimpled chin and -asked her how many sweethearts she had--a gay dog, Mr. Coombe, playful -and ponderous, with no more vice in him than is in an honest British -bulldog. - -"Pretty girl," said Coombe; "I always said London wants beating for -pretty girls. You see more pretty girls in ten minutes in the streets -of London than you do in a day's journeying anywhere else. But next to -London comes Sussex, I've seen 'em handsome enough in Kent and passable -in Devonshire, but Sussex girls beat the best. There's a girl at -Homewood, Lady Kathleen's maid I think she is, as pretty as a -picture--Jobson and I saw her last night, didn't we, Jobson?" - -Jobson blushed furiously. - -"You did call my attention to a young woman, now I come to think of it, -Coombe." - -"Call his attention--ha, ha!" roared Coombe. "He didn't want much -attention called, believe me Scarsdale, and mind you she was worth -looking at, the daintiest little bit I've seen for a long while, I can -tell you--neat, trim little body, hair as gold--as gold as that sunlight -yonder, a demure little face, my word--ask Jobson, hey Jobson?" - -"The young woman was certainly prepossessing," said Jobson primly, "and -I suppose there's no harm in a man admiring a pretty face and God forbid -because I see a pretty face and admire it that any other--thoughts--any -other ideas--should enter my head--and--and I don't like your manner, -Coombe, it suggests things I do not like--sir, and if you must, have -your joke--as you call it, I would be infinitely obliged to you if you -would find another subject to joke about than myself." - -"Bless my soul!" said Coombe. "Bless my soul, Jobson, what are you -going off the deep end for now? I said you saw a pretty girl and -admired her and so did I, begad! I'd be a blind fool if I did not! And -if you think I'm saying one word against you or the girl either, Jobson, -why then--then--hang it then----" - -"If you meant no offence, Coombe, then none is taken," said Jobson. - -They were good honest fellows, decent, clean minded men and if their -talk was mainly of money and of money getting, what did it matter? -Scarsdale found no fault with them, he even felt a kind of liking for -Mr. Coombe. Coombe was so big, so noisy, so inoffensively vulgar. - -"Yes, I say and I ain't ashamed to say, that though I am fifty-nine I -can admire a pretty face. Yes, fifty-nine," Coombe swelled out his -chest and looked around, expecting that someone would question his age, -but no one did. "Though I am fifty-nine, I can still, thank God, admire -the beauties of Nature, whether it's a noble landscape, or a sweeping -view of the sea or--or a woman's face. I wouldn't be fit to be blessed -with my sight if I couldn't admire a pretty face--and that's why, my -dear, I admire you," he added as the little serving maid came in with -more bread and cheese. "And why I hope that some fine young fellow will -come along with his pocket full of money and marry you and make you a -good husband." - -"How 'ee du talk, sir!" the little maid said, blushing and curtseying; -"a rare comic gentleman 'ee du be, sir." - -"And----" went on Mr. Coombe when the girl had gone out again, "what I -think is the most beautiful thing to see, gentlemen, the finest and -noblest of God's created creatures, is a true bred, real English lady. -It isn't only her looks, it's her sweet graciousness, her kindness and -her friendliness and the dainty way she has of speaking, so's you feel -at home and feel as she likes you and that's she's your friend and would -do you a kindness if she could. There aren't many of 'em about, -leastways it hasn't been my lot to meet 'em--but I've met one -now--and--and"--Mr. Coombe paused, he rose, he held up his tankard, -"Beer isn't good enough nor would the finest champagne ever vinted be -good enough, but it isn't the stuff we drink her health in, it's the -feeling, it's the respect, the admiration we feel, gentlemen, that does -her honour and perhaps does honour to us too. And so I ask you to drink -the health of the finest lady I ever met, the loveliest and best--and I -tell you when I look at Lady Kathleen, it makes me proud to remember I'm -an Englishman!" - -"Hear, hear!" said Cutler and Jobson. "If old Homewood were here, -Coombe, he'd love you for that," said Cutler. - -Coombe might have been a hundred times more vulgar than he was, louder, -commoner, more boisterous, but Scarsdale from that moment on would never -see any harm in Coombe. A good fellow, an honest man. What mattered it -that he wore white trousers and canvas strapped shoes, a soft felt hat -to the golf course, that he perspired freely and that he bellowed like -the bull of Bashan, what did it all matter? His heart was in the right -place; and so mentally Scarsdale shook Coombe by his jolly big moist -hand and thanked him in his heart for his tribute of reverence and -respect to the One Woman in all Scarsdale's world. - -Back to the golf course went Mr. Cutler and Mr. Jobson, each eager to do -"something in so many," so Coombe vaguely understood, but here outside -the Inn on a seat in the sunshine, it was pleasant enough to stay and -Coombe and Scarsdale sat and smoked their pipes and watched the chickens -and the white ducks in the roadway and thought their own thoughts. - -"Yes," said Coombe, "if I ever saw a pretty girl, it was that one! -Betty her name is, because I asked her, and she is Lady Kathleen's maid -and all I've got to say is that her ladyship must be the purest and -sweetest soul living or she wouldn't have a lovely young thing like that -in the same house as her own young husband!" - -Scarsdale started. "Why--what do you mean, Mr. Coombe? Is Homewood the -type of man who would----" - -"Heaven forbid it, there isn't a cleaner, better lad living than Allan -Homewood. But there's a certain prayer as runs--'Lead us not into -temptation,' Sir Harold and knowing what I know----" Mr. Coombe paused. - -"And what do you know?" - -"I know that Lady Kathleen Homewood is a sweet and lovely young lady, -though how she came to have such a father--at any rate I know there -isn't a finer lady in this land than her, and I know that Allan Homewood -is a lad who if I had had a daughter of my own I'd have liked to have -seen her married to, but for all that it was old Homewood who made the -marriage, his money that did it, and though they like one another and -respect one another, as all the world can see, why--why--do you see, Sir -Harold, it isn't the same as if it had been a love match and they had -married for love, do you take me?" - -"I understand you quite well and because it was not a love match----" - -"Well, Sir Harold, because Allan ain't in love with Lady Kathleen, it's -just possible, isn't it, he might, I say--might--fall in love with -someone else, as is natural! Young blood, Sir Harold, young blood--you -know. It's natural for a man to seek his own mate and that's why I -don't hold with loveless marriages. Depend on it the man, and very -often the woman too, will find he needs the love his marriage didn't -bring him and he'll look for it, or if he don't look for it, Sir Harold, -why then it may come to him all the same." - -"And you think that Mr. Allan Homewood might possibly fall in love with -his wife's little maid, eh?" - -"God forbid I should think anything of the kind," said Mr. Coombe. "I -never said it and I don't want to think it, but I do say if I was my -Lady Kathleen's father, which I am not, I'd say to her, 'My dear, that -little maid of yours is too pretty by half, and it would be best that -you got rid of her!'" - -"And Lady Kathleen would tell you that she was quite capable of -conducting her own business without interference, Mr. Coombe!" - -"Which would serve me right for a meddling, interfering old fool!" said -Mr. Coombe. - -He knocked out his pipe and then presently the warm sunshine, the drowsy -hum of the hees hovering about the old straw skeps on their bench in the -little orchard across the road, the good English ale, all had their -effect. Mr. Coombe's heavy head nodded. He jerked himself awake, then -nodded again, and so fell asleep. And Harold Scarsdale, an empty pipe -between his teeth, sat with folded arms and stared before him, seeing -nothing, but thinking deeply and his thoughts were: "After all--after -all might there not even now be some hope for him? Must the years be -all lonely?" - -She, God's blessings on her, would not come to him in shame--her -shame--and his, yet might she not come if the burden of shame should -fall on other shoulders? - -So Mr. Coombe snored in the pleasant sunshine and Harold Scarsdale -widely awake, dreamed of a future that might even yet be. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVII* - - *THE CONQUEROR* - - -A girl was leaning against the old rose red wall, she was sobbing -pitifully. - -"'Ee du be cruel, for--for ever pestering I!" she moaned. "Why doan't -'ee leave me in peace, Abram?" - -The man stood stolidly watching her, her tears moved him not at all. - -"Every night 'ee du be hanging about here, I know it, for Polly Ransom -told me and getting I a bad name 'ee be!" - -"Polly Ransom be a mischief making hussey!" the man said. - -"She did but tell I the truth, Abram, for 'ee du be here all hours -watching for I, so I daren't show my face beyond the walls." - -"Who should I be watching and waiting for, if it be not 'ee, Betty? 'Ee -be my promised wife, 'ee be!" - -"I bain't!" she said. "I bain't, and I du hate 'ee!" - -He laughed hoarsely. - -"Slow--slow I be, slow o' speech and slow to make up my mind, yet when I -du speak, then the words I hev said be spoken and can never be recalled, -and when I du make up my mind, it be just the same, I never change, I -never alter, I chose 'ee, Betty Hanson, from all other maids! I've set -my heart on 'ee, my maid, and nothing on God's earth'll make me alter, -nothing!" - -They were words that might have been spoken with passion, yet he spoke -without passion, with a cool, deadly certainty that frightened the girl -infinitely more than blustering rage. Only his fingers betrayed his -nervousness, they were plucking at each other for lack of something else -to pluck at. - -"A patient man I be, wunnerful, terribul patient," he went on slowly. -"Night after night hev I come here, watching this door, knowing full -well that sooner or later 'ee must pass it. Night, after night hev I -gone away and said to myself, 'To-morrer,' and see 'ee've come, just as -I 'lowed 'ee would----" he paused. "When'll the day be, Betty Hanson?" - -"The day?" - -"The day for our wedding, surely?" - -"Never, never," she said, "never!" She clasped her hands over her -heaving breast, "Never, Abram Lestwick! My funeral day will come afore -my marriage day wi' 'ee!" - -He nodded his head slowly. He had found a button, a button hanging by a -mere thread; he twisted and tore at it till it came off, then he -fingered the button, rolling it between finger and thumb, passing it -restlessly from one hand to the other till at last he dropped it. He -stooped and fumbled in the dust hunting for it as though it were -something of great account. The girl clasped her face between her two -hands and looked at him, terror in her eyes. - -"Abram, Abram!" - -He had not found the thing, he straightened himself up, but his yes -still roved the ground. - -"Why du 'ee pester I so?" - -"I don't pester 'ee, my maid, I but come to look after my own!" - -"I bain't your own!" - -"'Ee be chose by I, willed to me by your grandmother, so 'ee du belong -to I! and one day I will hev 'ee, Betty Hanson----" - -"Never!" - -He stood staring at her, forgetting the button. About them was the dusk -of the night. His restless eyes roved up and down the long straight -road, not a soul was there to be seen. And then the slow passion that -sometimes came to him moved him. He had been patient, truly he had said -he was patient, patient and slow, yet as sure as death itself--why -should he wait? He took a step towards her, the girl shrank back, the -green door was behind her, she might have lifted the latch and escaped, -but a strange feeling of impotence, of helplessness was on her, she -could only stare at the man with distended eyes. - -"'Ee do belong to I!" he said. And he said it again and then again, and -each time he took a slow step toward her. - -"No, no, Abram----" her voice rose shrill with terror, for his arms were -suddenly about her, his hateful hands were on her, she could feel his -hot breath on her cheek. - -"Let--let I go, for God's sake--Abram--let I go!" - -But he did not answer, he dragged her towards him, her face closer to -his, his breath was on her lips now, his eyes shone brilliantly, their -dull, lifelessness was gone, the madness of his pent-up passion was on -him. - -"Let I--let I go--for--for God's sake let I----" - -And then the green door behind her opened suddenly, Abram Lestwick -lifted his head, he looked at the newcomer, the man who stood in the -opening of the wall. - -The girl was sobbing, struggling pitifully in his grip, yet he never let -her go, he held her tightly, staring at the man, and it seemed waiting -for him to pass. - -"Let I go--let I go--for God's mercy, let I go!" - -Allan Homewood knew the voice, he knew the shimmer of her gold hair, he -knew that writhing little figure. He put his hand on her arm, he drew -her back, Lestwick released her, yet did not stir. - -"She be my promised wife," he said quietly, "my promised wife her be!" - -"No, no!" the girl sobbed. "Never have I given him a promise of -mine--never, never! Doan't let--doan't let him touch me! Oh I be -frightened--frightened!" - -Allan thrust her back gently. Strangely enough in some ways he and this -other man were alike, alike and yet so vastly different, slow to anger -was each, yet when that anger was aroused, it was deadly and terrible. -It was roused now, that pitiful cry, that white face, those tearful, -terrified eyes, those little clinging hands that were stretched out to -him, craving his protection. What he said he did not know, the words -came hot and furious. He called the other man cur and villain, he -ordered him away, he lifted clenched fists in threatening. - -But Abram Lestwick stood staring, like one surprised at the interference -of this man. What right had he, what was it to him? He knew the man, -knew him for Allan Homewood, Esquire, of the gentry, so what right had -he to interfere between a man and his promised wife. - -"You hear me, you coward, you hear me? I order you to go and never to -come back; if you torment and threaten this child, I'll thrash you, yes -man, thrash you till I cannot stand over you!" - -"And me----" Abram Lestwick said, blinking his eyes at Allan, "me--what -would I be doing?" - -There came slowly into his dull mind a dim suspicion. This man was -young, he lived beneath the same roof as Betty, Betty was beautiful, the -most beautiful maid in all Sussex, in all the world! This man had seen -her, admired her, loved her, what man could help it? But she belonged -to him, Abram Lestwick. - -"What be that maid to 'ee," he said, "what be her to 'ee?" A dull red -came into his face, his eyes shone evilly. - -The girl crouched back against the wall, still clasping her soft cheeks -between her hands. She was watching them, waiting, wondering, conscious -of a thrill of pride--these two men--were going to fight--for her. - -She had no fear of the battle to come, and the bloodshed there might be, -she was eager for it. She wanted to see Allan Homewood--Allan kill this -man whom she hated and feared so, rid her of him for ever. Why--why did -not they begin, what were they waiting for? Why this long silence? - -"What be her to 'ee?" Lestwick asked again, and then the smouldering -passion burst into flame, foul words, fouler suggestions came to his -lips. He ground his teeth together, he quivered from head to foot. In -his madness and passion he fumbled with those restless hands of his with -his clothing--and Allan misunderstood. - -And so the fight began and the girl drew a long shuddering breath and -watched. She saw them strike at one another, saw Abram Lestwick reel, -staggering back with blood on his face, and she exulted, she wanted to -scream her joy and gladness aloud. Oh! this man of hers, this Allan who -belonged to her, whom she loved so madly, so passionately, what a man, -what a man he was, how big and strong and broad, how fine to love a man -like this! - -"Kill him, kill him, kill him!" she prayed voicelessly, "Oh kill him!" - -They had fought away from the wall, they were near to the middle of the -chalk white road. - -In the dim light she could see only Lestwick's face, Allan's broad back -was towards her and Lestwick's face was all blood smeared and his eyes -shone with an unholy light. - -"Kill him!" she whispered, "oh kill him!" - -She uttered a choking cry of joy, she saw Lestwick fling up his arms and -spin round and then fall, fall crashing into the roadway, she watched -him for a breathless moment as he lay there motionless. Then her breath -came back to her, the blood coursed in her veins again, for the man had -moved, he was rising slowly, painfully, but rising. He stood up, shaken -and unsteady and his face was no sight for a maid to see, but she -rivetted her eyes on it. - -"Will you go now? Ah! you damned villain!" - -Lestwick's fingers were again busy with his clothes and yet again Allan -misunderstood. He thought the man was fumbling for a knife to draw on -him and so gave him no time. - -Another blow staggered Lestwick, but he did not go down, the fury in his -face was an ill thing to see, his teeth were bared and snapping like the -teeth of a mad dog. He tried to close with Allan, disregarding the -blows that fell on him, tried to close and to get those long green teeth -of his into the other man's soft flesh. And the girl knew it and -screamed a warning. - -"Mind--mind as he doan't bite 'ee, mind as he doan't bite 'ee. Ah God, -save us, he be mad!" She stooped, she fumbled in the dust, she found -what she sought for, a flint, a jagged, heavy flint. There was hell -fire in Lestwick's eyes, the passionate rage of a maniac. This she saw -as she flung the stone. She flung it straight at that hideous, convulsed -face. - -It struck Lestwick on the forehead, it broke the skin and the blood -gushed out. He turned, he looked at her, noting it was her hand that -had flung it. He laughed a curiously strange mocking laugh and then he -collapsed, seemed to crumple before her eyes and fall a limp heap in the -roadway. - -"What did you do, Betty, Betty what have you done?" - -She was sobbing and laughing at once. "He--he meant to kill 'ee, meant -to--to get they teeth o' his in your throat, Allan, oh I knew it, I knew -it! Did--did 'ee see his face, Allan, did 'ee see his face and his -eyes? And oh they--they hands o' his!" - -"Go into the house quietly, say nothing to anyone, bring water quickly, -understand, not a word to a soul, bring water here at once!" - -He went down on his knees beside the man, he lifted the sorely battered -head, the hideous blood stained face. Yet it was not hideous now, the -passion was smoothed away, the eyes and mouth were closed. - -She was back with the water in but a few seconds. - -"Be he dead?" - -"No!" - -Minutes passed, between them they bathed away the blood, they cleaned -the wound, the jagged wound in his forehead. Allan bound it with his own -white handkerchief and then the man opened his eyes, now they were dull -and brooding. He lifted his hand and passed it across his mouth, as a -man does in sheer nervousness. - -"I--I be all right!" he said, and his voice was low and monotonous--"I -be quite all right, a strong man I be--'tis time I were going home----" - -"Yes, it's time you went home," Allan said, he ran his hands over the -man's clothing, not yet trusting him, misdoubting Lestwick's strange -passionless calm. He was searching for the knife that twice he had -believed the man would have drawn on him, but there was no knife there. - -"What be 'ee looking for?" Lestwick asked. - -"Your knife!" - -"I bain't got a knife, cruel treacherous, dangerous things knives -be--I'll be getting home----" - -Allan helped him to his feet, the man stood dazed, swaying a little, -then he seemed to take hold on himself. - -"A very passionate man I be," he said, "terribul wrathful in moments of -anger----" He looked at Allan with that strange sullen expression of -his. - -"I beg your pardon if I did say or du anything as I should not--'tis my -anger as du master I--I wish 'ee good night!" - -He turned and walked slowly and unsteadily down the road. Betty caught -at Allan's arm, and they stood there, the girl clinging to the man, -watching him go. Once Abram turned his head and looked back, he saw -them there together, the girl and the man, holding to one another, the -dusky red came into his cheek, he breathed hard, then went on his way, -mumbling to himself. - -"A knife--he did think I had a knife--what du, I need with a -knife--bain't I got my hands----?" He held them out before him and -looked at them, as the fingers writhed and clenched and unclenched. -"Terribul powerful my hands be, but I did not get them on him--no, not -then, not then----" - -Betty had broken down and was sobbing and moaning, clinging to Allan's -arm. - -"Betty, hush, hush child, hush dear, he is gone--there is nothing to -fear!" - -"But he will come back. Oh, Allan, I did mean to kill he----" - -"Hush!" he said again. - -"For he meant to kill 'ee and--and Allan he will think about it and -brood about it, and one day he will surely kill 'ee, unless 'ee du watch -he terribul, terribul close, he will kill 'ee!" - -He laughed softly. "I am not afraid of him, Betty, hush dear, hush, -don't cry!" - -For she was sobbing bitterly and pressing her face against his arm, -clinging to him as in fear, or love, or both. - -"Hush!" he said. "Come, come, child, come!" But his hands were -quivering and his heart seemed to be beating faster than usual, "Come!" -he said again. - -"Oh Allan, Allan, if he did hurt 'ee, I would want to die!" she moaned. -"For I du; I du love 'ee--oh! I love 'ee terribul, terribul bad, I du!" - -"Betty," he said, "hush, you must not! hush! come!" He drew her through -the little arched green door into the yard. He himself was shaking now, -trembling, afraid for her, afraid for himself, for his honour. She said -she loved him and she clung to him, this passionate maiden. What mad -folly it all was, what mad folly, God preserve them all! - -"Betty go back, go into the house!" he said. - -"No, no, don't let me leave 'ee, Allan, let me bide wi' 'ee for a time!" - -He felt her tears on his hand, the hand she had taken and was holding -tight pressed to her face. - -"Let me bide wi' 'ee, Allan, Allan, don't 'ee send me away yet!" - -She was sobbing unrestrainedly, crying aloud as a child does, and he -feared lest any servant should come into the yard and hearing her, find -them here together. Nor could he send her back into the house for -others to see, all tears and shaken as she was. But stay here he could -not and would not. - -"Come," he said, he held her hand tightly, he took her through the -little gateway into the garden. Here at least they would be safe and -secure. - -"A--a--cowardly maid I be," she moaned, "oh a coward I be, but I du feel -safe wi' 'ee, Allan, don't--don't leave me! Oh sir, I--I du forget----" - -"That does not matter now," he said, "Betty, try and compose yourself. -I understand, you have been frightened, poor child, and upset, but--but -that man will not trouble you again!" - -"You doan't know he," she said quietly; "Allan if I--I did think that I -must marry he, I would go and drownd myself in the pond, the pond where -my stone maid be!" - -"You are not going to drown yourself, Betty," he said. "You are going to -live for many happy years!" - -"How--how can I?" - -"There are other men, better men than this poor fellow Lestwick!" - -"Oh Allan, du 'ee pity him?" - -"Yes, for loving you vainly, child!" - -They had taken a roundabout pathway under the dense shadow of the tall -yews and now they had come suddenly on the little lake, from which the -slender white figure rose. - -"There her be, there be my stone maid--and one day, one day I will go to -her, I think Allan!" - -"Hush!" he said. "If you talk in this way I shall leave you! Betty, -Betty, be brave, brave dear, for your own sake! For--for mine!" his -voice broke a little, he looked down at her, her lovely little face was -upturned to his. - -And oh the temptation of that moment, the temptation of those red lips, -those eyes all filled with the soft light of her love, the love that she -felt no shame to admit. His for the taking--his he seemed to know, even -before they had ever met--his in some past life, his now and through all -time--his in the life yet to come. - -There came to him suddenly a great, an irresistible desire, a passionate -love of her, the desire to put his arms about her, to hold her to him -tightly, tightly, to crush his lips to hers, and she, he knew, would not -struggle, would not deny him. - -And because he was young, because the lifeblood ran hot, in his veins, -because she was so near to him, so alluring, so loving, so beautiful, -God help him, how could he resist? - -"Betty, Betty, why do you say you love me?" - -"Du 'ee not know, Allan, why I love 'ee?" she said. "Oh you du!" She -put her hands against his breast, she looked up into his face, her eyes -smiled at his, her lips invited. He bent to her, she could feel the -heavy, the wild beating of his heart under her little hands, and there -came to her a sense of joy, of triumph. - -A cloud drifted across the moon, it blotted out for a moment that -glowing, inviting little face. It was gone, leaving but an indistinct -shape of whiteness. - -His father! his wife!--his old father's pride in him, Kathleen's faith -in him--Was he to prove himself unworthy? Was he to fall at this first -temptation? - -"Allan, my Allan!" she said, and her voice came to him, soft as a caress -from out of the darkness. She had thought him won, had believed him -hers, and she was waiting joyously, expectantly for the kiss, the kiss -that never came. - -"Allan, my son," he seemed to hear the old voice say, that proud and -tender old voice. "Allan my husband!" Her voice now, calling him back -to a sense of honour, to a sense of duty and right and he heard the -voices, listened to them, heeded them. He pushed the girl away gently. - -"Betty, we must go back to the house, child--they will miss me and -wonder, you too, you may be wanted, you have dried your tears--go back, -go back." - -"Allan!" she said and her voice was like a cry of pain. He gripped her -little hands and held them tightly, then he let them go. - -"Go back!" he said, and his voice was harsh and stern, yet it was the -voice of his better self--the conqueror! - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVIII* - - *THE WATCHER* - - -A man seated in the shadows watched them part, for the moon had come out -again, watched them part as he had watched them come, as he had watched -them standing there together on the edge of the pool. To him, the -watcher, it had seemed that the girl was in the man's arms, her face -uplifted to his--he had seen the moonlight on her face and had seen the -dull glimmer of her hair. - -And the man--yes, he thought that he made no mistake--about the man! So -Mr. Coombe was right, clever, farseeing, sensible Mr. Coombe--God's -blessings on Mr. Coombe for his few idle words that meant so much to -this man watching here in the shadows. - -He did not move. He scarcely breathed, as the girl passed him, alone on -her way to the house. He heard her sobbing softly to herself as she -went, saw the little head bent as in shame. - -And to the watcher it seemed that she went in shame and he was -glad--Heaven knew how glad he was! - -Yet he must make no mistake, he must not trust to intuition, to mere -suspicion. He must know beyond the shadow of a doubt that this man was -Allan Homewood--'Her' husband. - -Scarsdale rose, the man was still standing by the edge of the pool, the -girl had gone some while. Scarsdale walking softly on the turf, skirted -the hedge and came out on the broad flagged pathway. He walked -leisurely towards the pool and seemed to see the other man for the first -time. - -"Hello!" he said. "Who is here?" - -"I----" Allan turned to him. - -"You--oh Homewood, is that you, my host?" - -So it was true. He felt a sudden liking for this man, he felt he loved -him for his weakness and his sin, for would not that weakness, that sin -give him that which he wanted most? They talked of the night, of the old -garden, of the sweet soft English country air. Scarsdale spoke of the -damp night heat of that country which had been the prison of his body -and soul. - -He was a good talker when he pleased and to-night he wished to please. -He wanted this man's liking--he exerted himself to gain it and yet felt -a deep contempt of himself while he strove. - -He spoke of fights with savages, of fights against disease and death, of -perils that made the blood run cold. Yet he did not boast or brag. -Dimly Allan realised that the man who was speaking was the hero of these -adventures, but Scarsdale never said so. - -"You were long away from England, Scarsdale?" - -"A thousand years!" Scarsdale said, he laughed softly, "according to the -calendar; ten years, to me a thousand! Thank God to be back!" He drew a -deep breath. - -"Will you go back again?" - -"It depends, I do not know, I may, yet I hope not!" - -"Perhaps you have come to seek a wife?" - -"Yes!" - -"But could you take her to this place of which you have been telling -me?" - -"God forbid!" - -"So it depends on your success with the lady whether you remain in -England or go back?" - -"Yes, it depends on that!" - -"You and Kathleen are old friends?" - -"I knew her when she was a child, I hoped that she would not have -forgotten me!" - -"And she did not, Kathleen would not, she never forgets!" - -Strange that Allan should say this, here beside the pool where he and -Kathleen had stood but a few hours ago. "Kathleen never forgets!" The -words sounded to Scarsdale like an ill omen, he shivered a little. Then -he smiled at his own thoughts and his thoughts were--"The shame shall be -this man's, not hers. Her freedom shall come to her without a breath of -scandal to touch her fair name--but she shall be free--and those ten -years of waiting, ten years of constancy, ten years of love must find -their reward----" - -They sat down on the stone seat beside the sundial, the stillness and -darkness of the garden about them, the perfume of the flowers in the -air. A place to sit and dream in. Many windows were lighted in the old -house, sending out friendly warm yellow rays of light into the night. -From the house came the distant sound of music, a woman's voice, deep, -rich and beautiful, even more beautiful mellowed by the distance. - -She was singing and both men were silent, listening. - -Thank God, thank God presently he could go in and take her hand and face -her, look into her eyes, with no memory of guilt and of shame to stand -between them to mar the perfect understanding and the deep friendship -that was so sweet to both of them. - -Thank God! Thank God that he had mastered the temptation, the passion -of just now! It had gone utterly. Yet he felt a great tenderness, a -great love for the little maid who would have given herself as she had -given her love to him. - -And now Scarsdale was talking, exerting himself to talk in his low, -deep, strong, man's voice. He was trying to win this other man's liking -and friendship, for he had an object in view. On Monday, at the latest -Tuesday, this little house party would break up, they would all go their -separate ways and he wanted to stay, as a few hours ago realising defeat -and failure, he had wanted to go. Now with a new hope in his breast he -wished to remain. - -What they talked of mattered little, of everyday things, of -commonplaces, but Scarsdale worked steadily towards the object he had in -view. - -"After ten years--I went away a mere boy, I knew but a few people, my -father, who is dead since then, others who have passed out of my life. -I come back to England a stranger among strangers. To me London is a -desert, I walk its streets, looking vainly for a familiar face; I know -no one, no one who passes knows me!" - -"But you found Lord Gowerhurst?" - -"Yes, he remembered me----" - -"You and he were good friends?" - -"No, as a boy I disliked him, may I say it to you?" - -"But Kathleen and you were friends?" - -"A--a boy and girl friendship--she has grown into a sweet and lovely -woman--I shall think of this place, of her, of you and of your -happiness, of the tranquil calm of this when I am back out there -again--even when I am back in that London that I do not know and that -knows me not!" - -"Is there haste for you to return to London?" - -"Haste--every hour I remain out of it I feel I am gaining something!" - -"Then why hurry back?" asked Allan in his hospitable generosity. "Why -go back? Lord Gowerhurst is eager for his Club, his billiards, his -cards, his manservant. My father and his friends have their businesses, -but you--why go back?" - -Scarsdale murmured something about imposing himself--Allan laughed. - -"Stay and believe me we shall be glad--Kathleen will be glad to hear -that you are staying awhile with us--come, you will stay, eh?" - -"It would give me more pleasure than you can know!" Scarsdale said. - -Allan laughed, for him there was no double meaning in the other man's -words. - -He had gained his point, his host had asked him to remain on -indefinitely, for days, weeks even, there would be no time limit now. - -"It is good of you, Homewood--you don't realise how I appreciate it--my -opportunities of seeing home life, such as this, are not many!" - -"But the lady you hope to marry?" Allan asked. - -Scarsdale rose. - -"She is not for me--yet----" he said steadily. "Thank you again, -Homewood, may I tell your wife that you have asked me to remain?" - -"She will be as pleased as I am!" Allan said simply. - -Scarsdale turned to the house, he left Allan sitting there and Allan -rested his chin on his hands. He was not deeply religious. He had -prayed, as men do, by fits and starts, in moments of anxiety, in moments -of relief and gratitude. But his heart was offering up thanksgiving -now. He had been delivered from temptation. He thanked God for it, for -his own sake and for hers, that child's, for his father's sake, for -Kathleen's. - -But temptation might assail him again, would--and he, knowing his own -weakness now, knowing how nearly he had succumbed to it, must do that -thing that even brave men may do and yet still keep their honour. He -must avoid it, he must shun it, even flee from it if necessary--but how? - -Betty or he must go and how could he when this was his home, when all -his interests were here? How could he go, how could be explained his -reason for flight? No, it must be she who must go! - -"I must think, I must plan, I must consider her, yes, consider her in -every way, but she must go." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIX* - - *WHY ABRAM LESTWICK STAYED FROM CHURCH* - - -Mrs. Colley wagged her ancient head, she looked at her granddaughter and -smiled, shewing toothless gums. - -"Du 'ee notice now as Abram bain't in Church this morning, my gell?" - -'Lizbeth Colley frowned, "Abram Lestwick's comings and goings du not -interest I," she said in a low voice. - -The service was in progress. There sat Mrs. Hanson, prim and stiffly -upright, the place beside her that had for so long been Betty's was -still vacant. There was Miss Dowell, tall, angular and lantern jawed, -gifted with a harsh and nasal voice that rose above all other voices -when the hymns were being sung, beyond her, her niece little Mary -Tiffley, who minded Miss Dowell's shop, ran her unimportant errands, -cleaned her house and stye, windows and floors, a useful, hard working -little maid Mary, a good wife in the making for some man who would -probably work her even harder than did her Aunt Emily. And beyond Mary, -that vacant space towards which Mrs. Colley's small bright eyes had been -attracted. - -Abram Lestwick, regular and devout worshipper, always occupied this -place. He had knelt beside Mary Tiffley, had shared his torn and -tattered hymn book with her, had thundered the responses in her little -ears and it is doubtful if he had ever looked at the round childish -pretty face. - -Mary Tiffley, Polly Ransom, Ann Geach, what were they to him, he to -them? What mattered it to Abram Lestwick that they were pleasant to -look on, that they were fine, healthy country maids, any one of whom -would make some man a good wife? He did not consider them, they did not -exist for him. He could not have told from memory whether Mary Tiffley -had fair hair or dark. He had sat next to her in Church; he had -bellowed the same hymns with her for five years, since she was a child -of twelve, she had grown up beside him and he had not noticed it. - -"Aunt Emily, Mister Lestwick bain't in Church this marning," whispered -Mary. - -"I see him bain't," said Miss Dowell. "Mind your devotions now and -don't 'ee getting looking about 'ee." - -"Mortal glad I du be," Mary thought, "that he bain't here, for his -fingers do fidget I something terribul, they du." - -Everyone in Church noted the fact that Abram Lestwick was not there. -Compared with the women, there were noticeably few men in Church, Abram -was always a distinguished figure and they missed him. - -Presently the sermon, which they knew by heart, was drawing towards its -natural conclusion. When the Rector arrived at--"And so it behooves us -to bear these things in mind. Let us put covetousness out of our heart, -let us be content with that which we have, no matter how poor or how -lowly be our lots in life. Let us accept God's goodness with thankful -hearts asking for no more than it pleaseth Him to give--and----" - -They knew from long experience that the sermon would conclude in exactly -two minutes from this point and now there was a general movement, a -rustling of Sunday dresses, a shuffling of young feet, eager to be out -scampering on the grass, or on the good high road. - -There was that movement in the little Church that takes place in a -railway carriage when the long, long journey is nearing its end, when -the station is almost gained. - -Mrs. Colley stepped out briskly and smartly into the sunshine. - -"A spryer woman I be than Mrs. Hanson, aye, a spryer and a nimbler I be, -so as one 'ud take I for being ten years younger, though we were at -school together. See how stiff du be her walk, how she du lean on her -umber-rella. 'Lizbeth, take notice how her hand du shake remarkable! -Good marning to 'ee, Mrs. Hanson, and 'tis a lovely fine day." - -"'Tis:" said Mrs. Hanson briefly. - -"A fine marning and a good sarmint," said Mrs. Colley. - -"'Tis my favrit sarmint," said Mrs. Hanson, "I were always partial to -Nabob's vineyard." - -"Miss Dowell du be ageing terribul," said Mrs. Colley. - -Mrs. Hanson sniffed. She felt that she was ageing herself, she missed -the maid, though she would not admit it to herself. Perilous bad was -that maid and disobedient, and she, Mrs. Hanson, was a stern, unbending, -unyielding woman. - -"Miss Dowell's Mary be growing to a fine maid!" said Mrs. Hanson. She -was approaching the vacant space in the pew as it were, step by step. - -"I have never noticed she, pertickler, I remember her mother, one of -they empty heads as I never could abide." - -"I noticed," said Mrs. Colley, "I noticed Mrs. Hanson as----" - -"So did I!" said Mrs. Hanson, "Abram Lestwick were not in Church, I -noticed it tu." - -"'Tis the first time----" - -"'Tis his own business and 'tis not yours nor mine." - -Mrs. Colley bridled. "I du notice a great change in Abram, and if what -I du hear be half true, that maid of yours hev played Abram a bad trick, -leaving him in the lurk like and going and getting sarvice in the big -house." - -"I will thank 'ee, Mrs. Colley, not to interfere wi' me and my affairs. -My grand-darter had her own rights to get any place as she did chose, -and whoever hev been saying ill things o' she--I would hev took it -friendly and neighbourly, seeing me and you went to school together as -young things, I--I say I would hev took it neighbourly and friendly if -you had up and spoke for the maid." - -"And how did 'ee know as I didn't?" demanded Mrs. Colley shrilly. - -"Because I du know your tongue, Ann Colley and knowed it of old I du, -and it's a tongue as would sooner speak ill things of your neighbours -than good things and--and I wish 'ee good marning, Mrs. Colley, and my -bes' respects to 'ee!" And shaking her old umbrella, Mrs. Hanson -marched on, a tall gaunt figure of a woman. - -It had worried her too, that Abram was not in Church, she disliked -changes; she had come to look for Abram in his place every pleasant -Sunday morning, and every unpleasant one too for the matter of that. -But fine or dirty the weather, Abram had never failed till to-day. - -"There be something wrong," Mrs. Hanson thought. "I mislike it, Abram -not being in his place, I missed his voice in that 'ymn which we did -have to-day and which he was always partial to." - -Not for days had she spoken to Abram. He passed the cottage regularly, -he touched his hat politely when he saw Mrs. Hanson, for he was a polite -man. But he had never crossed the threshold since Betty had got her -place in the big house. - -But Mrs. Hanson had heard things from others than Ann Colley. She had -heard how Abram patiently and stolidly spent two hours every night -staring at the arched green doorway in the wall of Homewood, through -which doorway he knew must come Betty sooner or later. - -Mrs. Hanson sat down to her Sunday dinner, it was a frugal meal of cold -boiled bacon, a cold potato and a piece of bread. Mrs. Hanson was a -strict Sabbatarian. Many and many a time when Betty had dared to -remonstrate about the Sunday fare, Mrs. Hanson had said to her. - -"Remember my maid, as you du keep holy the Sabbath day. Six days shalt -'ee labour and do your work, and not a potato will I have cooked in -house of mine on the Seventh day, which be the day of the Lord, thy God, -nor baked nor biled meats will I hev." - -"But 'ee du bile the kettle, Grandmother, for to make a cup of tea on -Sundays same as other days!" Betty had said. - -"That be a different thing, tea one must hev; the Lord would not hev -sent we tea if He had not meant we to bile a kittle to make it with." - -"Nor potatoes," Betty thought, "if they were not to be cooked. After -all, why was it a sin to boil water in a saucepan and no sin to boil it -in a kettle." - -So Mrs. Hanson sat down to cold bacon. Primly and stiffly she sat and -mumbled the bacon between her hard gums, but she was not thinking of the -carnal pleasure of feasting, her thoughts were of Abram Lestwick. - -Strange that he was not at Church, strange that he should have missed on -such a fine Sunday after all these years! - -"Something must ail he," thought Mrs. Hanson and was surprised that the -idea had not occurred to her before. - -Mrs. Hanson finished her meal, she washed her plate in cold water, she -set it on the dresser. She put on her bonnet again, she took her -umbrella and locked the cottage door behind her. - -Abram's cottage was three-quarters of a mile away and Mrs. Hanson was -feeling her age to-day. But she walked the distance, she reached the -cottage and tapped on the door. - -"Come in!" - -Mrs. Hanson went in. Abram, dressed with his usual care, was seated in -a stiff chair, drawn up to a round table. On the table, which was -covered with a red flannel table cloth, was a large Bible. Abram was -reading from the Bible, following the lines as he read them with his -long, flat tipped finger. - -Abram's face was battered and scarred, there was a deep gash on the -forehead, there were livid marks under his right eye, on his left cheek, -and a contused wound on his upper lip. - -Mrs. Hanson looked at him, but she said nothing. - -"I wish you good marning, Mrs. Hanson, and beg of you to be seated," -said Abram. - -Mrs. Hanson sat down. - -In higher circles educated and polite people are apt to remark on any -facial disturbance of a temporary disfiguring nature that may have -befallen their friends. In Mrs. Hanson's circle it would have been -considered bad form. - -"It were remarked in Church, this marning, Abram, as 'ee was not -present." - -"I were not!" he lifted his head and looked at her, the light shone in -from the window and illuminated his battered countenance. - -"So being an old friend----" - -"And very considerate of 'ee, Mrs. Hanson," he said. "I will finish my -chapter," he added. - -She sat there waiting, she watched him as with the forefinger of his -right hand, which appeared to her to be abnormally long and curiously -flattened at the end, he traced a line across the page, stopping at -every word, which though he uttered it not aloud, he evidently formed by -muscular exertion of his jaws. His left hand not being engaged with the -book was twisting and tearing the edge of the red flannel table cloth. - -Mrs. Hanson shut her eyes, she could hear Abram's stertorous breathing, -then she heard a movement. He had evidently finished, he closed the -book solemnly. - -"I hev finished my chapter," he said; "spiritual comfort be a very great -blessing, Mrs. Hanson." - -"Ah!" she said. "We had Nabob's vineyard for the sarmint to-day, Abram, -and 'ymn seventy-two, as I know 'ee be partial to." - -He nodded. - -She wondered if he would tell her about his face, not for all the world -would she transgress the unwritten laws of politeness and ask for an -explanation. The reason, however, why he had not been present at Church -was obvious. - -"Last night," he said after a long pause, "last night I see the -maid----" - -"Betty?" - -"There be but one maid for me, Mrs. Hanson, and it be onnecessary for me -to give a name to she when I say the Maid 'ee will understand." - -"Aye!" she said. - -"Her still keeps contrairywise," said Abram. - -"Her will give way," said Mrs. Hanson, "maids du!" - -Abram's right hand was trying to tear scraps from the worn leather of -the corner of the book, his left was still engaged with the tablecloth. - -He was looking at Mrs. Hanson, it seemed as if he was trying to make up -his mind to say something, several times he opened his mouth and as many -times closed it again in silence. - -"Well Abram, I must be getting along," she said it to urge him to -speech. - -"I would beg of 'ee to take a cup of tea wi' me," he said, "but Sunday -be a day of fasting and repentance and prayer, Mrs. Hanson, Ma'am! And -moreover the fire hev gone out, Mrs. Hanson----" Again he hesitated. -"Mrs. Hanson, hev 'ee ever met Mr. Homewood----" - -"The barron-ite one," she asked, "or the young one as be master?" - -"The young one." - -"Aye, I hev met he and spoke to he and a very pleasant spoken gentleman -he be." - -"Oh he be a very pleasant spoken gentleman--a very pleasant spoken one, -I du know!" A spasm seemed to pass across the man's face, his fingers -clenched suddenly, she heard his long nails rasp over the leather cover -of the book. Looking she could see a series of deep scratches they had -furrowed in the stout leather. - -"Why Abram bain't 'ee well to-day?" - -"I be very well, I thank 'ee, Mrs. Hanson, I be enjoying unusual good -health, I thank 'ee. I did not come to Church this marning -because--because in the dark last night--I did stumble and fell as 'ee -may have noticed, Mrs. Hanson." - -That he was lying, that it was no stumble, no fall, she knew. Had it -something to do with Betty and why had he asked her if she knew Allan -Homewood? - -"And as 'ee said 'ee must be getting along----" he suggested. She rose -to her feet, it was a hint, a broad one and she took it. - -"Aye! I must be getting along, Abram," she said. - -He saw her to the door, he went to the gate and opened it for her. - -"I thank 'ee most politely for coming and calling, and I wish 'ee good -day, Mrs. Hanson!" - -He stood watching the tall upright figure down the road. - -"Her be ageing," he said to himself, "ageing her be." - -He went back into the cottage and closed the door after him. He took -the Bible and placed it on the small round table in the window, on the -Bible he laid an antimacassar, on that a small glass case containing -some flowers contrived in wool. - -Then he stood still, he lifted his hands so that they were between him -and the light, he looked at them as though examining them curiously. - -"A very pleasant spoken gentleman he be!" And then he laughed -curiously. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXX* - - *THE RELIGION OF SIR JOSIAH* - - -From Kathleen's window the garden glowing in the white sunshine was a -feast of vivid colour. To-day old Markabee, in clean smock and -respectable though ancient high hat, had wended his way to the village -church, in obedience to the persistent clanging of the unmusical bell. -But the bell was silent now, its noisy clamour was stilled and the peace -and calm of the day of rest brooded over the place. - -Kathleen sat, her chin resting on her hands, her eyes fixed on the old -garden, yet seeing nothing of it. - -To her within the last few hours had come knowledge, a wonderful -knowledge, knowledge that brought with it a strange fear and yet a great -joy. She knew that she was to fulfil her woman's destiny. At first she -had been inclined to question that knowledge, to doubt it, then she had -waived doubts aside. It was to be! and why should it not be? She asked -herself, was she glad? Was she sorry? She could find no answer at -first, just at first her one thought was "fear." But it passed quickly -and in its place came pride--pride and joy. - -Glad--yes, she was glad--her eyes were bright with the joy that had come -to her, there was a smile on her lips, and yet about that smile there -was a shade of melancholy and sadness and a little too of the -wistfulness of hunger. For strangely, of the one knowledge, had been -born another. - -She had come to understand something which she had been faintly -conscious of for a long while past, something that she had thought of -perhaps yesterday when she had stood beside the pool, listening to -Harold Scarsdale. - -That other knowledge that she had gained made her understand now why -that parting with Scarsdale had cost her so little anguish, so small a -heartache. She had pitied him, yet not herself, and then she had not -known why this should be, yet she knew it now. - -And so, after ten years dreaming, she had awakened to find that the -dream was but a dream after all. - -Presently into the garden came two who walked side by side, the one tall -and upright and strong, the other a hale and hearty man, yet lacking the -spring of youth in his sure steps. She watched them and there came into -her eyes a new light, a light born of wonderful tenderness, into her -fair cheeks came a faint colour. - -She saw the younger put his arm about the elder's shoulder. How they -loved one another, those two, father and son. - -"I want to tell him, I want him to know and yet--yet I dare not tell -him!" she thought. "Still, oh I want him to know! I wonder, will he be -glad and proud, proud as I am? Or will he--be sorry?" Her head sank a -little. "He would be proud and glad if he loved me----" - -"Allan!" she said softly, "Allan!" - -It seemed almost as if from her brain there fled a message to his, for -he turned, he looked up at her and smiled. - -And the sunshine was on his brown honest face and in his clear eyes. He -could only see the smile she had for him, he could not read at this -distance the message in her eyes, a new message, one that they had never -sent to him before, a message of a newly found yet great and sure and -strong love. - -And now, as she watched him, she knew why yesterday she had been able to -turn that leaf, in the book of her life with scarce a heartache. - -She knew the truth now, she had idealised the child's love, she had -lived on the ideal, had tended it and cared for it and worshipped it and -had made it the most beautiful and wonderful thing in her life. She had -built for herself a great and wonderful palace and had found that its -foundations were laid on the shifting sands, and so the dream palace had -crumbled and fallen into utter ruin, the dream had ended, and with clear -eyes she beheld the truth. - -This morning Scarsdale had told her quietly that he had been asked to -stay by Allan. He had watched her curiously while he told her, had -wondered if she would shew anger or annoyance, and she had shewn -neither. - -She was only the gracious hostess who expressed her pleasure at his -continued stay. - -"When our other friends are gone, I am afraid you will find it very -dull, unless you are interested in those things that Allan is interested -in--this modern, scientific farming." She smiled at him, there was no -self-consciousness. - -Yesterday might never have been, all the years, all their memories might -never have been. This man was her guest, her husband's friend--his -guest from this moment, nothing more. She was not playing a part, she -was not cheating herself. Yesterday she had told him that as lovers -they had parted forever, as mere friends they would probably meet many -times, and so it was. - -Harold Scarsdale represented nothing to her now; he was even less her -friend henceforth than her husband's. - -He had wondered at the far-away look in her eyes, at the almost -mechanical way in which she had accepted his news. How could he guess -how utterly and completely her thoughts were filled with this knowledge, -the greatest, most wonderful that ever comes into a woman's life? - -And so she sat here by her window and watched the figures of the two -men, both dear to her, but one grown suddenly so wonderfully, so -inexpressibly dear that the strength and depth of her love almost made -her afraid. - -In spite of the smile he had given Kathleen a while ago, there was this -morning a cloud on Allan's brow, a weight of care on his heart. He was -worried and anxious, he wanted to do what was right, he wanted to act -justly and honourably, and he knew that he was afraid--afraid for -himself, afraid of a man's weakness, afraid of temptation that he would -willingly flee if he could. - -Long ago he had promised to be open and honest with Kathleen, had -promised to tell her if that which had been so unreal, so intangible, -should by any chance become real, and it had and yet he hesitated to -tell her. It had been so easy to promise then, so difficult to perform. -But he wanted advice, he wanted help and to whom could he turn if not to -her? - -There was his father. - -He looked down at the kindly old face. But would his father understand? -He doubted it. What patience would Sir Josiah, man of affairs, business -man and materialist, have with dreams and visions and such-like rubbish? -Yet Allan had a boyish, and because it was boyish, an honest longing to -take someone into his confidence, to unburden his mind, to ask advice, -to share his thoughts with some other and if not Kathleen, who better, -who more natural than his father? - -And so he made up his mind to speak, but hesitated. Twice he commenced, -twice he branched off lamely into something else. - -"What's the matter, Allan lad?" Sir Josiah asked. - -"Matter, father?" - -"Aye, matter, my son! I know you better than you think I do perhaps. -You've got something worrying you and that's a fact. Now what is it? -Is it Gowerhurst, has his lordship been saying anything or--or wanting -anything, hey?" - -"Lord Gowerhurst has----" - -"Allan, look here," Josiah took his son's arm and pressed it closely. -"I know his lordship, he's a gentleman, a man of position, a man of rank -and title and like that--but he's hard up and when a man's pushed, well -I suppose he ain't too particular, can't afford to be; it just crossed -my mind that his lordship might--I say might have asked you, Allan, to -lend him a helping hand." - -"No, no!" - -"Well then I'm wrong, but it might happen, and if I turned out to be -right I wouldn't like you to have to say no to Kathleen's father, boy, I -wouldn't like that--and it might hurt her, our--our little girl--eh, if -she knew." - -"Our little girl," what a wealth of tenderness and love in those three -words! It was never "her ladyship" now, it was just that: "our little -girl." Allan felt something sting in his eyes for a moment, his hand -rested more heavily on his father's shoulder. - -"No, I wouldn't like to hurt her in any way, even that way, Allan, -so--so if his lordship should--and it seems to me very likely that his -lordship may--why do you see, Allan, you can draw on me. Of course he -won't never pay back, that's not to be looked for nor expected and one -thing he wouldn't expect to get a wonderful lot out of you--so if he -does ask you must say Yes--up to five hundred, Allan, and then let me -know quietly, and there you are, there you are, my boy!" - -"I wonder if there is another man in all the world like my father?" -Allan said. - -"Bless you, heaps and heaps and a sight better. But there's one thing, -Allan, there's never a father in this world as knows and loves his son -as I know and love mine and so--so boy--out with it, out with it now and -here." - -They had come to a shady place, under the tall yews. Here was an -inviting seat and on the seat Sir Josiah settled himself and drew Allan -down beside him. - -"Out with it--with what, father?" Allan asked lamely. - -"Why out with what's worrying you, my boy; do you think I didn't see it, -do you think when I saw you first thing this morning and took just one -look at you I didn't see it there--there in your face and eyes? Why -bless you, of course I did; it ain't money, Allan?" - -"No, no!" - -"I knew that, then what is it? Not--not trouble, nothing amiss -with--between you and her?" - -"No, thank God!" - -"Thank God!" the old man said. "And so--so it isn't that and therefore -it can't be anything bad--so I'm waiting, Allan, waiting, dear lad, tell -me." - -"Father, if I did you could not understand." - -"I'd try, Allan," the old man said simply. - -"Then, by Heaven I will tell you, father, and you shall try and -understand, though--though if you do, you will be more clever than I, -for I cannot understand." Allan lifted his hand to his head for a -moment. - -"Do you remember something that you told me once about--an ancestor of -ours--whose name was the same as mine--a labourer here--a gardener, who -married his mistress' serving maid?" - -"And whose son went to London and took over the Green Gates in -Aldgate--why of course I do!" - -"Well," said Allan quietly, "that's it----" - -Sir Josiah looked at him. "God bless my soul!" he said, and if ever -there were mystification on a man's face, it was on his. - -"Father, do you believe that the soul can outlast and outlive not one -earthly body, but many, ten, a hundred, a thousand, that when the body -perishes as all things earthly must perish, the soul can and does find -another dwelling place? Ah! I don't make myself clear." He broke off, -seeing the mystification deepen in the old man's face. "I am afraid I -never can. Think this out, father, a man dies, the body perishes, but -the soul, the ego, the spirit lives on. It finds another body, which it -animates for good or for evil, it completes another life, and then all -happens over again. Each time the body dies, the soul passes through -oblivion and returns to earth----" - -"Here, here, Allan!" cried the old man. "Here, bless my soul, didn't -you ought to see someone?" - -Allan smiled ruefully. - -"Have you never heard of re-incarnation, the re-incarnation of the soul, -father?" - -"No, I can't say as I ever have and I don't know as I ever want to. -I've only got one life and though I mayn't succeed in many little things -none too well, I'm trying to do the best I can with it. Looking back--" -the old man went on, "looking back, Allan, I can say and thank God as I -can say it that I can't remember ever having done a dirty act or ever -having played a mean trick on a man or a woman in my life. I accepted -my body like it was, a loan from God; I've used it and kept it clean and -when the time comes for me to hand it back to Him, why then I want to -feel as I can hand it back in good condition and good order--fair wear -and tear excepted, Allan, and that's how I look at things. I don't -pretend to know, there's some as does, yet they are only men, the same -as me and you, dear lad, and they don't know--no one knows--and it's as -well for us, maybe, we don't! It's a beautiful world and a wonderful -world and God lent it to us the same as He lent us our bodies to use -properly, to admire and to make the most of and enjoy. Beyond that, I -don't seek to know anything, but when my time comes, I want to be able -to think to myself a prayer, that goes somehow this way--'God, this is -the body You lent to me, I'm done with it and now I'm giving it back; -I've tried to keep it clean and honest, I've treated it as if it was -something belonging to You more than to me--and that I was in honour -bound obliged to deal with carefully. If there's a Heaven and You know -best, I hope you'll find a place in it for my soul, because in keeping -my body clean, oh Lord, I've kept my soul clean along with it!' That's -how I look at things, Allan, I ain't good at talk of this sort. Maybe -you'll think I've got funny ideas, so I have, but don't tell me nothing -about this re-incarnation of yours; I don't hold with it, boy, I don't -believe in it; if it's true, and it may be, mind you, it may be, it -isn't for us to know if it's true or not. If it was right, we should -know, then God would find some way of telling us." - -"Perhaps He has!" Allan thought, but he said no more. No, he could not -tell his father, for his father would never understand! - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXI* - - *"A VERY WORTHY MAN"* - - -Allan's conscience smote him sorely. He had misjudged and dealt hardly -with Abram Lestwick. He had thought, had honestly believed, that the -man had intended drawing a knife on him and in his fury and anger had -punished his victim unmercifully. - -Later, when he had gone carefully over Lestwick's clothing and had found -no traces of weapons hidden there, he had known his suspicion had been -unjust. It weighed on his mind, he went over the incident again and -again. He wondered if he had seriously hurt the man. He felt anxious -and ill at ease, as must every just man when he is conscious of an -unintentional act of injustice. - -It troubled him the more because he knew that he did not like Lestwick, -that to a certain extent he shared Betty's antipathy for the man. - -Little Betty to spend all her days with Abram Lestwick! That could not -and should never be. - -Yet in this Allan felt himself in the wrong and there was but one course -open to him. To seek Lestwick out, to admit frankly that he had erred, -to ask the man's forgiveness and to make amends, if amends were -possible. - -And yet Allan decided that in a way the man deserved all that he had -got, he had pestered and worried Betty, he had waylaid her, to obtrude -his hateful love on the frightened, shrinking maid. - -"Hang him!" Allan muttered between his teeth. "If he ever does it again -I--" he clenched his hands and felt very bitter for a moment towards -Abram Lestwick, then the bitterness was gone. He himself had done -wrong, had misjudged and therefore only one course was possible to Allan -Homewood. - -Lord Gowerhurst having found another bedroom, where he was not likely to -be disturbed by sounds of bird life, had decided to stay on for a day or -two. The country would do him no harm, he would be all the better by -the change. His appetite was getting to be really quite satisfactory, -though even at the very worst of time, Lord Gowerhurst was no mean -performer with the knife and fork. - -He had also made the discovery that Allan's butler, the staid, -deferential and respectable Mr. Howard, had at some time in his career -been a valet and could still shave with some dexterity and was moreover -a very polite and capable man, so his lordship took possession of Howard -and another room and declared his intention of staying till Tuesday or -Wednesday. - -Sir Josiah and Mr. Coombe and the rest were not averse to one day more -of holiday. The newly installed telephone enabled them to get into -touch with their City offices, with the result that the little house -party would not definitely break up till Wednesday. - -So Allan, with the weight of his injustice to Abram Lestwick on his -conscience, set out this Monday morning to do penance. - -He knew that Lestwick was employed by Patcham at the Moat Farm. Betty -had told him. The Moat Farm formed part of the Homewood Estate and -Patcham was his tenant; what more natural than he should call on so -worthy a tenant and talk crops and soil and manures and such like with -him? And then how easily and naturally would slip out a word or two -about Abram Lestwick. Was he a good man? an honest worker? and if he -should prove to be these and deserving, Allan must see what he could do -for the man to make up for the injustice of his treatment of him. - -Kathleen followed him out of the breakfast room this morning. Lord -Gowerhurst was not yet risen and Mr. Coombe had expanded under the -influence of His Lordship's absence. Mr. Coombe was telling stories of -high finance. That his stories were interminably long and without any -point and of no particular interest, did not matter. Coombe was a sound -man, Sir Josiah honoured him, Cutler and Jobson admired him. Sir Harold -Scarsdale took no notice of him, so was not bored by his stories. -Scarsdale was thinking naturally of Kathleen. He thought of little -else, her manner troubled him. He could not, frankly he could not -understand her. She was smilingly polite, courteous and considerate, -she was friendly and sweet to him, and it made him realise that he -represented nothing at all to her. But she was playing a part, and -playing it well, he argued with himself. A woman, and a woman like -Kathleen, could not apparently without effort or sense of loss tear out -an image that has been enshrined in her heart for ten long years. It -puzzled him, worried him, even angered him, but he told himself he must -be patient. His was now the waiting game, and he believed that he had -but to wait long enough and all that he desired on this earth would be -his. - -So Kathleen followed Allan out into the wide hall and found his cap and -selected his stick for him and did just those little things that a -tender, thoughtful, loving woman always does and meanwhile she looked at -him with a strange wistfulness, a curious pleading in her eyes, eyes -that told of a hunger and longing in her soul. But he, man-like, was -blind to it, yet not insensible of her goodness and her thought for him. - -To-day she felt a strange unwillingness to let him go, she did what she -had never done before. She slipped her hand through his arm and walked -with him down the wide pathway to the gate, the sunshine in her hair and -on her face. Sir Josiah, bored by Coombe's unending story, yet too -polite to shew it, watched them from the window, a smile on his face. -It was good to see them like this--such friends, such comrades! - -She wanted to tell him--not of Scarsdale, for that had sunk into -insignificance now--now that there was something so much greater, so -much more wonderful for him to know. But not yet, not yet--not out here -in the sunshine with perhaps someone watching them from the window. -Presently--presently when they should be quite alone! - -So at the gate she paused, she looked at him. - -"And once I thought I loved--Harold!" she thought. "Once I thought so -and now I know--I love----" - -"Don't you want me to go out this morning, dear?" - -"Oh, yes, yes, you're going to old Custance to talk----" - -"No, I'm going to the Moat Farm to see Patcham, it's time I called on -him. But if you would rather I stayed---- - -"No!" she said. "Go! Good-bye, Allan!" she added softly. - -They would have parted with a touch of the hand as they always did. -They kissed on rising and on retiring, but at no other time of the day. -Yet to-day she clung to his hand for a moment, her heart was filled with -tenderness for him, longing and a desire to keep him that she was too -unselfish to pander to. - -"Why dear----" - -There was something about her that he could not understand to-day, -something in the tight hold of her hand, in the unwonted colour in her -cheeks, the wonderful brightness in her eyes. - -"It is nothing, dear, go--good-bye!" she said, yet as she spoke she -lifted his hand and held it against her soft cheek, just for a moment -and then would have turned, yet before she did, he caught her -suddenly--why he did not know--it was a moment of passion irresistible, -something that came so swiftly that he could not question it, could not -understand it. He caught her and held her and kissed her and then -quickly let her go and without a word went striding forth, conscious of -a feeling of shame, as though he had offered her insult. - -And she stood looking after him, her hands pressed against her breast, -her eyes wide. Not once did he turn; had he done so perhaps he might -have seen, might have understood the longing in her eyes, the hunger for -the love that he never dreamed she needed. - -Allan walked on quickly. A woman in moments of mental stress can find -relief in tears, a man more usually in violent movement. - -He was a little shaken, a little unnerved, greatly surprised at himself. -Why had he done that, why had his heart leaped suddenly at the touch of -her soft cheek on his hand, why had he--done what he had done? Yet, -having done it, regretted nothing. It seemed to him that from that -moment Kathleen held a new interest for him. He had regarded her as -friend and companion--from this moment on he knew that she meant more -than this to him. - -Farmer John Patcham received him courteously, with a deference and -respect that had nothing whatever of servility about it. - -"'Tis a fine marning," he said, "and I be just going to have my usual -lunch, Mr. Homewood, a very plain and simple lunch it be, just a glass -of ale and a plum-heavy, very partial I be to plum-heavies and there's -no one in all Sussex makes 'em better than my wife, so if you'll join -me----" - -Allan did. They sat in the somewhat stuffy little parlour, the window -of which remained hermetically sealed, summer and winter, and drank good -brown beer and ate those Sussex cakes that for some reason have never -achieved the fame of the cakes of Banbury or the Buns of Bath. - -And over their cakes and ale they talked and Allan surprised the farmer -somewhat by the depth and advancement of his knowledge. - -"You been getting your head laid alongside old Custance now I'll be -bound," he said, "wunnerful advanced man Custance be, as sets great -store on book larning to be sure. But if so be you be minded to try hop -raising in this part of Sussex, Mr. Homewood, I say give it up! 'Tis -the soil, sir, 'tis the soil! Hops be all right for Kent and the -Midlands, but--" and so on and so on, from hops to manures, chemical and -otherwise, to tithes and land taxes, to red cows and brindled cows and -the swine of Berkshire and of Yorkshire, on all of which subjects Mr. -Patcham laid down the law and smote the rickety round table with a heavy -hand, to drive his points home. - -"Flints," said Patcham, "flints be the cussedest things, wunnerful how -flints du crop up. Clean a field, pick it, hand-pick it of flints, -clear out every flint there du be and in three months what du 'ee find? -Flints, sir, bushels of 'em, tons of 'em! In some counties it du be -fuzz and Sussex has its share of fuzz, come to that, but flints--I were -but saying to Abram last Saturday--no, 'twere Friday----" - -"Abram--that is Abram Lestwick, isn't it?" Allan asked. "He works for -you?" - -"Aye, Abram be my right hand man, straight he be, straight as an arrer, -honest as the day be Abram, not a drinking man, quiet and respectable -like in his manners, never an angry word or a cross look do 'ee get from -Abram Lestwick. Lucky I be to have such a man!" - -"Ah!" Allan said. - -"No one ever did see Abram lose his temper----" - -"I have," thought Allan, "but it was pardonable." - -"Soft spoken and gentle, but a wunnerful hand with the men, reg'lar to -Church and walking in the fear of the Lord du be Abram Lestwick, and wi' -sheep never a man to compare wi' he--whether it be lambing time or -shearing, a born shepherd be Abram!" - -"And a good reliable man?" - -"There ain't one to come nigh nor near to him," said Farmer Patcham, "a -good wage du I pay he and worth it every penny he be--thirty-five -shillings and a cottage to hisself, no less. And what the maids be -about, beats I and the Missus too, a hard man to fault," went on -Patcham, "a very hard man to fault, sir, and you'll believe me. My -Missus and the maids here du complain a bit about they hands of his, -restless hands as you may have noticed, sir, but what's that, all said -and done? And now, maybe, you'll take a look round the farm?" - -Allan took a look round the farm and saw a back view of Abram in the -rick yard, but Abram never turned and apparently did not notice the -visitor. - -"A good man," Patcham said, "a reliable, trustworthy, honest, sober man, -likely to make his way in the world. No frequenter of the ale-house and -a regular churchgoer, a man with rare and wonderful knowledge of the -soil and of sheep. Hi, Abram, Abram, my lad, come 'ee here! Here be Mr. -Homewood a-hearing all about 'ee from me!" - -Very slowly Abram turned his discoloured face, his attitude was of -intense humility, he seemed to cower, his furtive hands wandered up and -down the edge of his waistcoat, yet never once did he look into Allan's -face. - -"Why, Abram lad, 'ee've been in the wars, surely!" cried Patcham. "What -hev come to your face, lad?" - -"An accident," Abram mumbled, "a blundering fellow, I be in the dark, -Mister Patcham!" - -Patcham smiled. "Had it been any other than 'ee, Abram, I would say it -were through fighting." - -Allan looked at his victim, he felt a strange pity, mingled with an -invincible repugnance. The man looked so inoffensive, so humble, even -servile and yet--Allan's attention was directed to those strangely -restless hands; he found that they attracted and held his eyes. He -remembered how Betty had cried out in fear and horror of those same -hands. Poor little Betty, never, never, Allan resolved, should those -hands touch the child, if he could prevent it! - -"I would like to speak to Lestwick, Mr. Patcham," he said, "if I have -your permission?" - -"Oh, aye, of course, why not?" said the farmer, looking a little -surprised. "Do 'ee mean alone, sir?" - -"Yes, alone!" - -Patcham eyed Allan a little resentfully, a little suspiciously. "I -hope," he began, "I hope, Mr. Homewood, as 'ee've got no idea o' trying -to get Abram away from me? I've spoke out for he and spoken as I did -find, but----" - -Allan smiled. "Have no fear, I want to speak to Lestwick on an entirely -different matter." - -Patcham's face cleared as he walked away. "Now I du wonder what he can -have to say to Abram?" he thought. - -And now the two were left together and Allan, looking at the abject, -servile creature before him, felt suddenly tongue-tied. He was -conscious of a feeling of hot shame. Those unsightly marks, those livid -bruises were his work, the work of his fists. How desperately he must -have punished the man in his rage. - -"Lestwick--I have something to say to you, an apology to make, I wish to -ask your pardon." - -The wandering eyes were lifted for a moment to Allan's face, then -dropped again, the hands were at their nervous work. - -"I misjudged you and in my anger treated you roughly, for which I am -deeply sorry," said Allan, eager to make his amends and be done with it, -for he could not but be conscious of his great and growing repugnance -and repulsion for the man. - -He waited, but Abram said nothing, he stood there mute, his eyes seeming -to search the ground about him. - -"You misled me--when we--when you and I--on Saturday night, when we -fought, I mean--I say you misled me, I thought you had a knife and -thinking so I struck you hardly. I am sorry for it, I made a mistake -and I wish to ask your forgiveness for what I did." - -And still the man did not answer; why did he not speak? What was he -waiting for, was it----? - -A smile came into Allan's face, it was a smile of contempt. He might -have guessed it, there was only one plaster for such a wound as Abram's. -He took out his pocket-book and from it a five pound note. - -"I hope you will accept this," he said, "and with it my apology." - -Abram looked up, his eyes wandered from Allan's face to the outstretched -hand that held the note. He seemed to hesitate, a convulsion passed -across his features, then he stretched out his hand suddenly and took -the note. He did not snatch it, for Abram was ever a polite man, he -took it gently and looked at it and then--then he tore it, slowly across -and across and yet again, tore it into small strips that he flung to the -ground and stamped into the soft earth with his foot. - -"I thank 'ee, Mr. Homewood," he said in his low, passionless voice, "I -du thank 'ee most politely, I du, sir, for your good intentions toward -I--I thank 'ee, sir, most politely!" And then he turned away and went -slowly to his work in the rick yard. - -Allan stood lost in wonder, he watched the man go, he glanced down at -the ragged scraps of what had once been a valuable piece of paper, -trodden into the earth. - -So be it! He had done all that he could do, the man had apparently -refused to accept his apology. Sudden anger came to him. - -"Lestwick!" he called sharply. "Lestwick!" - -Lestwick stopped, but did not turn. - -"I have this to say to you, my man," Allan said hotly, "I injured you, -under a wrong impression, for which I have expressed regret, but I -believe, on my soul, that you really deserved all you got. You have -annoyed and terrorised a girl who has no feeling save of fear and -dislike of you. In future you will leave her alone; if I find you -hanging about my house, waiting to waylay Betty Hanson, then I'll deal -with you again, as I dealt with you on Saturday night. Remember that, my -man, it's no idle threat!" - -Lestwick made no answer, he did not turn, he stood still, as though -waiting patiently for Allan to complete his remarks, and then when -silence fell, Lestwick went slowly on his way. - -Allan made his way homeward, with a feeling of anger in his breast. He -had done all that a man might do, and he had been repulsed. No wonder -that Betty, poor little Betty, felt horror and loathing for the man. - -"Is he sane, is he normal?" Allan questioned himself. "There is -something--about him--" he shuddered. "I can't understand it, I never -loathed a human being in my life, as I loathe that man, but Betty----" - -What could he do about Betty, how unravel the tangle, how straighten out -that very winding path of the child's life? She loved him, had she not -said it a hundred times with tears and with pleading? Yet was it the -real love? The one passion of a life-time? He doubted it, for Allan -Homewood held himself in no high esteem and could not think of himself -as one for whom any woman would care deeply. No, it could not be that, -it must be the strange tie that united them, that lifting of the curtain -that had revealed to them both a glimpse into some strange past that was -not of this life. - -What, did she want of him? What did she expect, ask of him? But -whatever it was, how impossible it all was! - -To-day he had kissed Kathleen, his wife, as never before had he kissed -her and remembering this, a softer, more tender look came into his face. - -What was Kathleen thinking now? Had he surprised, even frightened her, -was she hurt or angry, or could she understand and forgive that sudden -wave of passion that had come to him? Love and passion for her--his own -wife! His cheeks flushed a little, it seemed to him that all his little -world was in strange and dire confusion. - -Mrs. Hanson, standing at her own gate, tall, erect, and brown of face, -beady of eyes, bobbed to him an exaggerated respectful curtsey. - -Allan lifted his hat to her. - -"Good morning!" - -"And good morning to 'ee, sir," she said and treated him to another -curtsey. - -"I hope my maid du be conducting herself in a seemly manner and giving -satisfaction to my lady, sir?" - -"Yes!" Allan said; he felt confused before those keen bright eyes. - -"A strange, wilful maid her be in many ways, sir, yet her heart be so -good as gold." - -"She is wonderfully pretty, your granddaughter, Mrs. Hanson!" - -"Beauty be but a snare and likewise is but skin deep. I set no stores -by such, 'tis the heart as tells, sir." - -"But her heart is good, I am sure." He was talking for the mere sake of -talking, for an idea bad come into his brain, a little dim and vague as -yet, but yet an idea that possibly might mean a way to safety for them -all. - -"Good-hearted her may be, but most terribul obstinate and stubborn, a -perilous obstinate maid, terribul contrairy and self willed her du be in -many ways----" - -"In--in what ways?" - -"In marrying," said Mrs. Hanson, "I hev chose for she a good honest man -as du walk upright in the sight of the Lord, a man as du keep hisself to -hisself and du keep holy the Sabbath day, reading in the Bible and not -with an eye to every maid, though there be many wishful of attracting -his attention. Wonderful partial he be to my Betty tu, wonderful -partial and keen and eager for she." - -"And the man?" - -"There bain't a better in all Sussex and yet that perilous obstinate -maid will hev none of he!" - -"Because she may dislike the man!" - -"Dis-like, what hev that to do with it, sir? Why should Betty dis-like -Abram Lestwick--a man earning his thirty-five shillings a week and with -a cottage to himself and all keen set as he be----?" - -"I have seen the man and can understand her dislike for him. He lays in -wait for her, outside the gates; she is afraid to venture out of nights -because of this man, whom she fears and hates. And you, can you not -understand the child's aversion for such a man as Lestwick, Mrs. -Hanson?" - -"That I cannot and will not! A proper man be Abram and rare grateful -and glad any maid should be attracting the like of he!" - -"Betty is neither glad nor grateful, she goes in fear of him, hates him -and is terrified by the very thought of him--it would be death--do you -understand, death to the girl to force her into a marriage so shocking! -Why are you so keen for it? Why do you seek to drive her against her -own natural inclinations, why--why?" Allan cried hotly. - -She eyed him with cold disfavour. What business was all this of his, of -young Mr. Homewood of Homewood Manor House? She would have looked on -him with some suspicion, yet there was something so open in his face, -his anger was so honest, that she could not, even if she would, suspect -him of an interest in pretty Betty, that reflected no credit on him. - -"Abram hev thirty-five shillings a week and----" - -"And for thirty-five shillings a week you would force this child to -marry a man she hates, you would wreck and ruin her life, you would -drive her perhaps--God knows--to death--to suicide! Can't you -understand that it is not mere dislike she feels for him, it is hate and -terror! Thirty-five shillings a week!" He laughed aloud in scorn, he -flung his head back, his face was flushed, his eyes bright, and Mrs. -Hanson stared at him in wonderment and with something of anger too. - -"Listen to me," Allan said and his voice was more gentle and quiet, he -looked into the keen, hard, old face. "Listen to me, Mrs. Hanson, you -are Betty's grandmother. I believe you are her only living relative. -If you think so highly of thirty-five shillings a week and of a -cottage--I will make you an offer--" He paused, "I will undertake to -pay to you as Betty's guardian, a sum that will equal the amount of -Abram Lestwick's wages. I will find a cottage for you--not here--not -near here even--and you shall have it rent free, so that Betty may live -with you and that you shall not torment her further about this man -Lestwick. Do you understand? I will give to you and to Betty all that -Abram Lestwick could give, the money and the cottage! And you and the -girl shall go away from here--away for good. She is young and she is -beautiful, she will surely find many eager to marry her, and she shall -choose and pick among them for herself. Do you understand, do I make -myself plain?" - -"Plain--aye, plain!" she said; under the black bodice the thin old -breast rose and fell, she gripped the rails of the gate and stared into -his face. - -"And why--why are 'ee willing to do this, give this to Betty Hanson, Mr. -Homewood?" - -"To save her from marriage with a man I dislike and distrust, as much as -she does--for that reason and that reason alone!" - -"'Ee be mighty generous, Mr. Homewood!" Her hard voice quivered with -suspicion, and yet--yet she looked him full in the eyes and he looked -back at her and there was no shame, no confusion, nothing of the look of -one who has something on his conscience. - -"I--I do not understand--" she said slowly, "I do not understand!" - -"No, I do not suppose you do understand. Shall we leave it at that? My -offer holds good, accept it and make a happy home for the child--but not -here." - -"'Ee du seem mighty set on it not being here!" she said thoughtfully. -"Mighty set 'ee du be. Does the maid know your intentions to she, sir?" - -"No, I had no such intentions just now, the thought has only just come -into my mind." - -She nodded slowly. He had said that she could not understand and he was -right. Whoever heard the like before? Thirty-five shillings a week and -a cottage and all--all for nothing! Whoever heard the like before? -Certainly not Mrs. Hanson. - -"All bewildered I be," she said and said it aloud, though it was not -intended for his ears. "All bewildered and wonder struck I du be!" - -"Do you agree, answer me, do you agree to this? Tell me, Mrs. Hanson?" - -"But the maid--you du say, sir, she hev not heard?" - -"She has not heard, but if you agree, you can tell her yourself, tell -her this evening and then you shall give me her and your answer." - -"If the maid is willing," she said slowly, "though all the same I be -partial to Abram." - -"Her terror of him should have some weight with you. Take her away from -this place to where she will never see him again, you will?" - -She looked at him. "Send the maid to me to-night and I will talk of it -wi' she." - -She stood at the gate, staring down the road after him. - -"Thirty-five shillings a week and a cottage--far away from here for -Betty and for me and for nothing, for nothing! Very bewildered and -wonderstruck I be!" - -And Allan, hurrying homeward, was thinking--if this might be the -solution, how easy it was after all, freedom for Betty from Abram -Lestwick--a new life for the little maid among new faces--where -soon--soon she would forget her dreams in the old garden and him. - -And then, when all was done and Betty and her grandmother gone for good, -he would tell Kathleen; it would be easy to tell her then and Kathleen -would understand. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXII* - - *THE AWAKENING* - - -Bright eyes, the brightest he believed he had ever seen, greeted Allan. -Eyes so kind, so bright and so tender that he knew before ever a word -had been spoken that he had not offended, that Kathleen was not angry -with him, not hurt. - -He felt a great wave of relief and then the feeling passed and gave -place to wonder, because in some subtle way Kathleen had changed. To -others she was still the Kathleen he knew and loved and respected, but -to him she had become another being, her eyes were misty and soft and -tender, for him, there was a rich, rare colour in her cheeks. He felt -his own heart respond. As they were passing into lunch he touched her -hand--why? - -There was no reason for it, it was just the impulse of the moment, yet -he felt that he must do it, so he did and she turned and looked at him -and it seemed to him that the colour deepened in her cheeks and the look -in her eyes was more tender than ever. - -And the touch of that little hand of hers made his heart leap. This was -no mere friendship, this was no mere liking, no symptom of respect. He -wondered at himself, wondered at its meaning and as a result he failed -to hear Lord Gowerhurst, who was addressing himself particularly to -Allan. - -As a matter of fact Lord Gowerhurst, departing on the morrow, found -himself woefully short of money. He was not in the cue to approach Sir -Josiah and a timely loan of a comparatively small sum from Allan, a mere -fifty or even twenty-five, would be agreeable to his lordship. Later on -Sir Josiah's money bags must be properly besieged, with all due form and -with a regard to detail for which there was no time at the moment. - -"If, therefore, you could give me ah--ten minutes--some time most -convenient to yourself, my dear Allan--" said his lordship with unwonted -humility. - -"Of course, delighted!" Allan murmured, and was thinking of Kathleen all -the time. - -Had he ever appreciated her properly? Had he ever realised the -exquisite beauty of her face, a beauty that was spiritual, was of -expression rather than of mere form and mould of feature. How sweetly -gracious she was, how charming, not even the loquacious and boresome -Coombe aroused irritability in her--how his old father worshipped -her--what a strange, yet perfect understanding there seemed to be -between them, the old City man of business, of plebeian origin and this -young and gracious well born lady. Yet they were so obviously and so -certainly friends, good, close, true friends, with a mutual -understanding and a mutual love for one another. - -So Allan did not make the most agreeable of companions at that meal and -his lordship felt uneasy. - -"I wonder if the fellow suspects I'm going to ask a small loan, a mere -trifle till I get back to town? Confound it, it's deuced unpleasant for -a man in my position to--er--place himself under an obligation to a mere -stripling like this! I can't ask Scarsdale, there's something deuced -standoffish about the fellow; I almost wish I hadn't taken Scarsdale up -again, I've got an idea that Scarsdale lets bygones rankle. By George, -though, I did give him a dressing down in those days, and by George he -deserved it--asked for it--begad, and got it too!" - -Just for a moment Allan had an opportunity for a word with Kathleen when -lunch was over. - -"You--you are not angry with me?" - -"Angry?" - -Was she a woman of twenty-nine almost, or only a maiden of nineteen that -suddenly her eyes dropped before his, that suddenly a deep rich colour -came flaming her face. - -"Kathleen--Kathleen!" He caught her hand, he was suddenly in a strange -tremble, and then in on them burst Mr. Coombe. - -"Wistaria, not westeria, Jobson, my boy, if you'd done the gardening -I've done at Tulse Hill--I--I beg pardon!" stammered Mr. Coombe, taken -aback. - -Kathleen smiled. "You are quite right, Mr. Coombe, it is wistaria!" she -said. - -"I've got one over my house at Tulse Hill," said Mr. Coombe, "with a -stem, if you'll believe me, as thick as my body!" Which was an -exaggeration, as Mr. Coombe's body was of no ordinary thickness. - -Allan turned away. - -"Oh, I forgot--" he said, and his eyes and Kathleen's met. "I saw Mrs. -Hanson at her gate as I passed and she says if you can spare her -granddaughter this evening, Kathleen, she would be glad." - -"I will send Betty," Kathleen said, "though the old woman was not very -kind to her, still she is old and alone. Yes, I will see that Betty -goes!" - -His lordship secured his quiet ten minutes with Allan. - -"Most foolish and stupid of me, forgot to bring my cheque book, I can't -think what possessed me--I assure you, Allan, I was astounded at my -oversight. Of course one can draw a cheque on a sheet of note paper, -but my Bank don't like it--no, they don't like it, sir--and so--so----" - -"I shall be only too pleased to be of service to you," said Allan -promptly, so promptly that his lordship was a little taken aback. - -Yet Allan seemed so ready, so willing--it would be a shameful waste of -opportunity to make the amount so small as he had originally intended. - -"If--if--er--a couple of hundred wouldn't put you to inconvenience----" - -"With pleasure," Allan said. "I'll send Howard over to Stretton in the -car, he'll be able to get to the Bank just in time." - -Never in the whole course of his experience, and it had been large, had -his lordship had such a request granted with such alacrity and -willingness. - -"My dear Allan, 'pon my soul now, 'pon my soul, it is very good of -you--I take a pleasure, sir, a pleasure in being under an obligation to -you, even though it is only a temporary one. You're a good fellow, -Allan, a deuced generous, open-handed good fellow and--and I honour you, -sir, and your father too, and it's a pleasure and a relief to me, be -Gad, to think that my girl has entered your family--a family of--of -gentlemen, be gad!" - -"Poor old chap!" Allan thought. "It must be hard for a man in his -position and of his rank to have to lower himself and demean himself to -borrow money--" He sighed, and then smiled in wonder at himself that he -should feel so kindly towards Lord Gowerhurst, for whom he had -previously felt nothing but aversion and contempt. - -But then Lord Gowerhurst was Kathleen's father and for some reason -to-day that made just all the difference in the world to Allan. So, -having lent Lord Gowerhurst two hundred pounds, Allan resolved that he -would say nothing to his own father about it. - -Custance claimed Allan that afternoon and when Custance had done with -him there was barely time to reach home and dress for dinner, so he did -not see Kathleen till they met at the dinner table. And to-night she -was looking her loveliest and her best. Even Coombe remarked her -heightened colour and tried to pay her a clumsy compliment on her looks -and meeting Lord Gowerhurst's cold stare when half way through his -speech, faltered and broke down and burst into profuse perspiration. - -But Kathleen smiled on him and thanked him and told him in a little -confidential whisper, that highly pleased Coombe, that she was getting -to be an old, old woman. In less than eighteen months she would be -thirty years of age, and though she had not found a grey hair as yet, no -doubt she soon would. - -"Old, my dear--" said Mr. Coombe, and then blushed crimson, "I beg your -pardon----" - -"You have nothing to beg my pardon for--Sir Josiah's friends are -mine--and if one of them is kind enough to call me my dear, it only -proves that he likes me and I like to be liked, Mr. Coombe, by my -friends!" - -"And so you are, so you are, and as for getting old, never, you'll never -be old, you'll be young to the last day of your life, if you live to be -eighty, and please God you will!" And Mr. Coombe turned deliberately -and stared Lord Gowerhurst full in the face with an expression that said -as plain as words--"If you don't like the way I am behaving and if you -don't like my paying compliments to your daughter--then you can go to -the deuce and go as soon as you like, my Lord, and be hanged to you!" - -Among that company of gentlemen Harold Scarsdale was inconspicuous. -That he was better bred than Mr. Coombe and Mr. Jobson was obvious, that -he could talk a good deal better than any of them Allan at least knew, -but it pleased Scarsdale to hold his tongue and keep himself much in the -background. From that background he watched Kathleen and the more he -watched the less did he seem to understand her. - -He remembered the passion of the old days, he remembered that scene by -the lake only two short days ago, how during those two days had she -changed. She greeted him with a friendly smile, she held out her hand -to him, she wished him good morning and good night and talked to him of -trivial, every day things, listening with interest to the few remarks he -made and that was all. - -But she was a woman and he knew little of women, but had read much and -so had obtained a false impression. She was clever, she was hiding her -feelings and doing it successfully. When the time came, and it would -come, then she would fling all pretence to the winds, she would be his, -he would open his arms to her, the ten years of hunger would be ended. - -To-night he sat in his corner and listened to everyone and said little, -but he was watchful and presently he saw Allan go out and, waiting for a -time, Scarsdale too rose and sauntered to the window and stepped out -into the garden. - -Allan, however, had not gone to the garden. He remembered that Betty -was going to her grandmother's to-night. - -She would be sure to leave the old woman's cottage by nine. He counted -on that. He wanted to see her, he wanted to see how she had taken what -her grandmother would say to her, he wanted to know that Betty would -realise how sensible the arrangement was and how it would be for her own -good and happiness in the long run. She was young, a mere child, in -some far away little village she would begin a new life, unmolested by -Abram Lestwick, the terror of his presence and his pretensions removed -for ever from her mind. And far away amid new surroundings, she would -surely forget in time--perhaps not at once--yet in time, all those -strange happenings and that strange tie that had drawn Betty and himself -so closely together. - -Allan was not vain, he did not for one moment believe that it was his -own personality that had attracted Betty, or that he himself--the man he -was now, had ever awakened any feelings of tenderness and love in that -little heart. - -It was the glamour, the strange mystery, the unsolvable mystery, those -visions that she--and he too--had seen, that dimly uncertain memory of -'something' that had been, in the buried and unknown past; it was that -that had appealed to her as of course it had appealed to him. - -So Allan lighted his pipe and strolled away down the dusky road and -strangely enough had not gone ten paces before he was thinking of -Kathleen, rather than of her he had come to meet. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Hanson sat upright on her stiff old chair, her hands were folded -primly on her narrow lap, her eyes were fixed in an unwavering stare on -the closed door. - -She was expecting Betty, she had been expecting the girl for the past -hour. For an hour Mrs. Hanson had sat there listening for coming -footsteps but hearing only the steady persistent 'tick-tock' of the long -cased clock. - -During that hour Mrs. Hanson had been thinking, she had been asking of -herself questions, and as the minutes passed the stern old face grew -graver and grimmer. - -Why should he be willing to give to Betty and herself such a mort of -money. Why should he be wishful of sending Betty to some far off place. -Why should Mr. Allan Homewood interest himself in the very least with -the future of Betty Hanson at all? - -Questions that Mrs. Hanson could not answer satisfactorily. - -"A very pleasant and outspoken young gentleman he du seem--and yet----" -Mrs. Hanson shook her head. "And yet----" - -But the long expected footsteps were sounding, there came a tapping on -the door. That in itself was unfamiliar. In the old days Betty lifted -the latch and came in. - -Betty came to-night as a visitor, and Mrs. Hanson realised the -difference. - -"Come in," she said, and rose stiffly to receive her visitor. Betty came -in nervously; she looked at her grandmother, hesitated and then came -forward and offered a soft cheek. - -"You will hev had your tea?" - -"Yes grandmother." - -"Will you be seated?" - -Betty sat down, her nervousness increasing. - -Mrs. Hanson stared at the childish pretty face, it was the face of most -perfect innocence, yet Mrs. Hanson looked with eyes of suspicion. - -"The weather be holding up," she remarked, she was a woman who never -came straight to the matter in hand, as Betty well knew. - -"Grandmother 'ee sent for I?" - -It was like carrying the war into the enemy's camp. - -"True I did send for 'ee," Mrs. Hanson frowned. - -"I hev had from young Mr. Allan Homewood an offer with which I be -greatly surprised." - -"From--from----" the colour deepened in the pretty cheeks, a fact that -Mrs. Hanson's keen eyes did not miss. - -"And why pray should 'ee blush at the mention of the gentleman's name." - -"I bean't blushing, grandmother." - -"And now 'ee be lying as well, Betty Hanson." - -Betty hung her head. - -"Very distrustful and uneasy I be in my mind, very distrustful. Betty -Hanson, look me in the eye and answer me this: what be there between 'ee -and Mr. Allan Homewood?" - -"Oh! oh grandmother--there----" Betty was silent, she pressed her hands -against her breast. "Be-between I and Mr. Homewood grandmother, -what--what should there be?" - -"There should be nothing Miss, but there be! there be, I see it. What -be he to thee?" - -"Nothing, nothing, nothing. Oh grandmother, why do 'ee worry I so? I -wish--I wish--I hadn't come!" - -"If so be as your mind were at rest and your conscience clear, Betty -Hanson, 'ee wouldn't hev said that! Now answer, answer me and speak the -truth for I be your dead father's mother and your only living relative I -be. What be Mr. Allan Homewood to 'ee?" - -"Nothing," the girl whispered, "he bain't nothing to I--nothing, and if -anyone hev told 'ee contrairywise he be a liar!" - -"The truth I will hev! nor shall 'ee leave this place----" - -Mrs. Hanson rose, she crossed the room to the door and turned the -ponderous key. "The truth will I hev before I shall allow 'ee to -depart, what be Mr. Allan Homewood of Homewood Manor House, to 'ee, -Betty Hanson?" - -Betty did not answer. She sat with bowed head, she wrung and twisted -her hands. - -"I--I did see he--of nights of moonlight--nights in--in the old garden," -she whispered. - -Mrs. Hanson bristled, she sat upright: "'Ee did see him of nights in the -old garden! Oh! shame on 'ee shame---- - -"So this be the meaning of your perilous bad conduct, slipping away out -of the cottage of nights to--to meet--a man, a man! Terribul deceitful -and deceiving 'ee've been all this while, terribul and shameful and -perilous Betty Hanson." - -"'Twasn't a man I went to see," Betty cried, "Grandmother 'twere no -man." - -"No man and 'ee said with your own lips----" - -"Grandmother, 'ee can never, never understand--it--were a--a ghost----" - -Mrs. Hanson fell back on her chair, her black eyes blazed in -indignation. - -"'Ee've said enough, either 'ee be daft or the greatest liar as I ever -did hear on, a Ghost! 'ee wicked deceitful maid, a ghost indeed!" - -"Grandmother, 'ee could never, never understand. I'll try and make 'ee, -but I know----" Betty shook her head, "'ee never will. 'Twasn't -Allan----" - -"Allan," Mrs. Hanson lifted her two hands. - -"'Twasn't Allan, I did see in the old garden, but a ghost I see him and -others, fine ladies and gentlemen all in strange clothing, Grandmother, -and Allan he were for ever digging, he in his old brown suit wi' the -brass buckles to his shoes and----" - -"Betty Hanson, stop, stop, this minit; not another word will I sit here -and listen to, I hev made up my mind. - -"This day, this man, this Allan, as 'ee do so shamelessly call him, made -an offer to me. A fine offer that I did greatly mistrust. 'Tis -this--take the child--away he said, take her far away, don't worrit her -wi' Abram Lestwick, and I will allow 'ee and her tu, the thirty-five -shillings a week, the same as Abram's money and a cottage all for -nothin' so as 'ee du take she far away from Homewood." - -"Oh! oh! he said that?" - -"Aye he did, my maid, which du mean as he be tired of 'ee, tired, 'ee -hear me, tired as men du tire of women like 'ee." - -Betty lifted her head slowly, she looked at the grandmother and her -pretty face blazed with sudden anger. She rose: - -"Grandmother, 'ee be a wicked woman, a bad despiteful wicked woman. -What 'ee hev said, shames 'ee more, more than it does me, shames 'ee, -and--and----" she broke down suddenly, she sank back sobbing on to the -chair, she rocked to and fro. "'Ee could never, never understand -'twasn't Allan, yet 'twas Allan and I know he were something to I, -something very, very dear and precious he were to I. But oh! oh! 'ee -could never understand." - -"I du understand this," Mrs. Hanson said, "I do understand that 'ee -shall marry Abram Lestwick. An honest and upright man, and 'ee shall -never take money from him as 'ee du most shamelessly call Allan, never, -nor I. Money taken from he would choke me, 'twould spring up like the -tares and choke me." - -Mrs. Hanson pointed a bony finger at the girl. - -"'Ee shall marry Abram Lestwick a good man and honest, 'ee shall become -his wife. I hev said it, and I say it again and I shall listen to no -more of this nonsense, and as for Mr. Allan Homewood for all he be a -frank and outspoken gentleman and lib'ral wi' his money, I would take -shame to myself to accept of anything from he, nor allow 'ee to do -likewise. Marry Abram Lestwick 'ee shall----" - -"I never will," Betty leaped up, her face convulsed, "I never will, I -bain't your grand-darter any more, I bean't nothing to 'ee, I wunt -listen to 'ee! I wunt! I be free, free--and----" she turned and darted -to the door, she wrenched at the heavy old key and turned it, just as -Mrs. Hanson rose and came stiffly to prevent her. - -But Betty, younger and more active succeeded, she tore the door open and -in the open doorway turned: - -"I bain't your grand-darter anymore! I be free of 'ee, I wunt marry -Abram Lestwick, I--I'll be--damned if I du." - -"Stop!" Mrs. Hanson said in a voice of thunder, but Betty did not, she -turned and fled into the night and the old woman unable to pursue stood -there shaking and quivering with honest indignation. - -"De-fiant her be, perilous defiant and hev soiled her lips wi' foul and -unseemly words, her henceforth be no granddarter of mine. From this -moment I du renounce she." - -Sobbing, panting, her little heart labouring, down the road sped Betty, -and then suddenly she saw him coming, slowly towards her, and to him she -ran with eager outstretched hands and a little cry of joy. - -"O Allan, Allan be 'ee come to meet I? O Allan, I be all upset and put -about, I be----" - -"Betty--why Betty child, what is it, what has--come," he added as she -clung to his hand sobbing like a broken hearted child. - -"Be kind to me, be kind to me, for I be all broken hearted," she pressed -her tear-stained face against his sleeve. - -"Allan, I be all broken hearted. Her be harsh and cruel wi' me, and -said--said things--things--Oh!" she pressed her face tightly to his -sleeve, to hide the hot flush of shame that came to her. - -"Hush little girl, hush," he said, "don't cry, did your grandmother tell -you what I suggested about--about you and her going away----?" - -"She told me--she told me, and she said she wouldn't hev it, she said -that I must marry Abram." - -"You never shall, Betty, don't cry, I swear before Heaven you never -shall, trust me, rely on me in this, for rather than that, I would kill -the man, kill him with my two hands. Betty, you hear me?" - -"Aye I hear 'ee; say it again Allan, say it over again, say as 'ee would -kill he, rather than I should marry he." - -"I mean it, and it shall never be, and your grandmother then will not -agree to my plan. Well, it does not matter, you will be perhaps happier -without her, I shall find some place where neither your grandmother nor -Abram Lestwick will trouble you, with people who will be good and kind -to you and will make your life happy. Your future shall be protected, -too." - -"Let me stay. Let me stay here, and bide with 'ee, don't, don't send me -away from 'ee Allan, don't 'ee send me away." - -"Hush," he said. "Hush," he was bitterly disappointed, he had thought -all arranged, and now--but her pitiful crying wrung his heart, poor -little maid, poor dear little soul, he put his arm about her and tried -to soothe and quiet her. - -"Betty, Betty, don't cry, don't cry, it hurts me to hear you cry and -child, try and understand how--how impossible it all is. There is no -other way, you yourself will see it and understand it presently." - -"Don't send me away from 'ee for I shall die, I shall die if 'ee do." -She was nestling close to him, holding his hand in both her own, -pressing it against her wet cheek. - -Supposing someone should happen down the road and what more likely--oh -no, this would never do. - -"Come, Betty! Come, be brave, we must talk of this." - -Not far away was the little green gate, and he drew her towards it and -in the deep shadows of the wall a man flattened himself against the -brickwork and held his breath as they passed him so closely, that he -might have stretched out his hand and touched them as they went, a man -who was shaking strangely with passion and whose eyes gleamed from the -dark shadows. And then the little green door opened and took them and -Abram Lestwick stepped into the roadway. - -"Pleasant spoken," he said. "Aye, pleasant spoken he be. Pleasant -spoken!" He repeated the words a score of times, he went to the green -door and his hands worked with it. He fingered the heavy old nail heads -with which it was studded. - -"Very, very pleasant spoken he be--robbing me of -she--robbing--robbing----." He scratched at the paint with his nails, -then muttering to himself, turned away and went down the road. - -Allan led Betty into the garden, he led her along the path between the -tall yews and as they walked he spoke to her. It was difficult, yet it -must be done. His heart yearned to her in pity--the spell of her, the -fascination of her was on him, but he fought against it--her childlike -weeping set him longing to take her in his arms, to comfort her, hold -her, kiss her tears away, for the weeping of women and of children -always affected him greatly. - -"Betty, don't cry, Betty listen to me. Be reasonable, be sensible my -dear, listen----." - -"O Allan, oh sir, that you--that you of all should turn against thy -Betty." - -His Betty--what memories the words awakened, memories of this same -garden, of a little maid in quaint mob cap, with pretty mittened hands -and eyes all ashine with love--for him--Thy Betty, that maid had said as -she, by his side, had said it but a moment ago--His Betty! - -Perhaps the devil walked with them that night along the path under the -dark yews, perhaps he tapped Allan on the shoulder and whispered in his -ear. - -Allan turned to her suddenly, he gripped her wrists, he tore her hands -away from her face, his voice was harsh, as unlike his own voice as -voice could be. - -"Listen, you--you must--this--this cannot go on. What the past held, -God knows--yet whatever it held, it cannot and shall not influence the -future. I have a wife, I am bound in honour to her, in honour to you, -Betty. Hush, leave off crying, you hear me?" - -She was frightened by the stern authority in his voice and left off her -whimpering. - -"What I am doing, what I want to do is for your own sake, and for mine -because you are young and well nigh friendless and very beautiful, -because I too am young and--and afraid, yes afraid--Betty." - -"Oh Allan, of--of me?" - -"Yes of you, and for you Betty, I want you to be happy and, dear, I want -happiness myself. This old garden, the garden here about us has meant -so much to us both, better dear that you should go and never see it -again, for then in time you will forget, and the love you speak of is -not real, it cannot be real, it is born of dreams Betty and like a dream -it will pass." - -"Why--why when I du love----" - -"You know why, because I have a wife, because I love her and honour her -and would sooner cut off my hand than cause her one moment of shame, of -pain or unhappiness." - -He bent nearer to her, he could see her face glimmering white so near to -his, so tempting, yet he was not tempted. - -"It means her happiness, do you know why--because--and God knows that I -speak without vanity, but very humbly, because I believe that she loves -me--how could I hurt her through you, would you hurt her?" - -"I would die for her!" She wrenched her hands free from his, she stood -before him. - -"I--I will think of all as 'ee have said to I, sir, and I--I will try -and bring myself to thy way of thinking and I--I will try and bring -myself to--oh no, no! I can't, I can't!" She broke down, sobbing -wildly, then suddenly gained control of herself. "I will not--not -trouble thee any more, sir." - -"Betty, listen," he put his hands on her shoulders and held her. "Take -time, take time, think this over, to-day is Monday, in three days, not -before three days, you will make up your mind, Betty, come to me--here -in this place--in three days--on Thursday night at this hour, come and -tell me then, child, that you will be wise and sensible." - -"I--I will come to 'ee here in three days----" she said slowly, "and -then I will tell 'ee, sir, what I shall do,--in three days--good night!" -She turned away, standing there he heard her go and heard a strange -little moaning noise coming back to him from out the darkness as she -went. - -So, after waiting a time, he too turned towards the house and passed -down the wide flagged pathway, and the man on the stone bench by the -sundial let him pass unchallenged. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXIII* - - *BY THE LAKE* - - -Lord Gowerhurst made an affecting little speech, for the time of parting -had come. Sir Josiah's big car, all spick and span, with the -respectable Bletsoe at the wheel, was waiting outside the hall door, so -too was Mr. Coombe's automobile, which seemed to require some of its -owner's attention at the last moment, for Mr. Coombe was only visible as -to his legs and feet, the rest of him being out of sight under his car. - -"This visit, a trifling thing perhaps to you, my love, has been to me -like an oasis, a green and fragrant oasis be-gad, an the desert of my -life! I am leaving my dear, dear daughter----" his lordship turned his -fine eyes upwards and his voice shook with noble emotion. "I am leaving -my dear, dear daughter surrounded by love and happiness, I am leaving -her in her pretty little home----." He spoke of the place as though it -were a cottage, to impress Messrs. Cutler and Jobson with the idea of -his own magnificence--"and I----" he sighed, "I go back to my quiet -humdrum life, my poor chambers, my loneliness! Often and often as I sit -alone in my rooms, I shall picture you and this home of yours to myself. -I am an old man, an old man my dear, and my time--may not be long----." -He sighed deeply, there were tears in those fine eyes of his. Kathleen -was very patient, she knew her father's love for these tender, -meaningless speeches, she bore with them as she bore with him, with a -sweet untiring patience. - -But he had done at last, he had taken his place in Sir Josiah's car, Sir -Josiah was seated beside him, Mr. Coombe's arrangements and -re-arrangements were complete, his oil-smeared countenance was beaming, -"All aboard!" he cried. "All aboard! You're coming with me this time, -Cutler, eh? We'll shew 'em the way, my boy!" - -"Good-bye, Allan, my lad, good-bye and thank 'ee, thank 'ee for a very -happy time and good-bye, Lady Kathleen, and thank you too for a time as -I shan't forget in a hurry!" - -Jobson tried to make a little speech, but broke down through -nervousness. - -But Kathleen saved him all embarrassment. "It's been splendid having -you and when you are gone I shall miss you all terribly, terribly, and -you must all promise to come again soon, very soon, Mr. Jobson, and you -Mr. Coombe, and you Mr. Cutler!" - -"Just ask me, my Lady, just give me the chance, that's all!" shouted Mr. -Coombe--"Don't forget my telephone number, City double three double five -one four----" - -"I think, sir," said Bletsoe, "as we'd best let Mr. Coombe get away with -his little lot first, we won't want their dust all the time, nor yet -have him trying to pass us every two minutes." - -"Quite right!" said Sir Josiah. "Yes, by all means allow Mr. Coombe to -get away!" - -"I shall feel no personal grief if Mr. Coombe gets entirely away!" said -his lordship. He did not like motoring, but the lift that Sir Josiah -had offered him had been accepted. It meant that he would not have to -purchase a ticket to Town. - -"Good-bye father, good-bye dear Sir Josiah!" - -Kathleen had clambered on to the running board of the car like any young -girl for a last kiss. His lordship disapproved of exhibitions of -affection before menials, he waved a white hand. - -"Good-bye, dear child!" But Sir Josiah was not to be deprived of his -kiss. - -"It's all right, Bletsoe!" he said at last with a sigh, "I think Mr. -Coombe has got well away." - -They had stayed late, would have stayed later, but for his lordship's -anxiety to be back in town. As it was, the sun was near its setting, -the sweet mellow glow of the evening was on the earth, and the distances -were purple against the red and yellow sky. - -They stood in the roadway, waving, Allan and Kathleen and Scarsdale. -She could have wished that he had gone with them and mentally took -herself to task for her lack of hospitality. - -And now the white dust whirled up by the stout tyres of Sir Josiah's -car, blotted it out. It was gone and Kathleen slipped her hand through -Allan's arm. - -Scarsdale saw it. It was done so spontaneously, it seemed so natural -that it angered him, his face stiffened. She had married the fellow for -money, for nothing else, why did she find it necessary to make such -pretence with him? It was mere acting, he knew that, yet he felt she -over-acted the part and she fell a little in his estimation, though his -love for her and desire of her was no less than before. - -A man with bent head trudged past them down the road, he lifted his hand -to his hat and touched it as he went, yet never gave them a glance. His -hand, having reached his hat, remained with it for some moments, his -fingers fumbling at the brim, then he was gone. - -"Who was that?" Kathleen asked. - -Allan hesitated for a moment. - -"A man named Lestwick--he is----" - -"Oh I know, so that is the man, Allan! I can understand that child's -feeling, I don't like him, I don't like him, there is something about -him----" - -Kathleen's eyes followed the black figure down the road. "I don't know -why," she said, "it may be unjust and probably is, but I--I seemed to -feel a chill, a sense of dislike, of distaste as he passed us by!" - -"Poor wretch, he is to be pitied since Kathleen dislikes him!" Scarsdale -said and a note of irony and sarcasm crept into his voice, which she -detected in a moment and her cheeks flushed a little. - -"I am sorry," she said gently, "I may be mistaken, I hope I am, one is -often mistaken in one's likes and dislikes, it is not well to trust too -much to instinct!" - -"What did she mean?" Scarsdale wondered, but he said nothing and they -went back into the house, the house that seemed strangely deserted and -silent. - -When the friends, whose pleasant voices have sounded in the rooms, have -gone their ways, like them much or little as we may, there is always a -sense of loneliness and desertion about the place. Who can tell if the -hospitable door will ever open to them again? Noisy Mr. Coombe and -embarrassed Mr. Jobson--we have no great affection for them perhaps, yet -because they were here a while ago and the place seems empty without -them, we can spare them a passing regret, we can admit to ourselves that -we miss them just a little. - -"You will find it a little dull now, I am afraid Harold," Kathleen said. - -"I shall not find it dull here!" - -"Dull----" when she was near, perhaps that was what his words meant to -convey, but Allan, who heard them, noticed no double meaning, no -particular tenderness underlying the words. - -"Allan must neglect Mr. Custance a little now and give you more of his -time." - -"If you say that then you will make me feel that I am not wanted. I -should hate to think that you regard me as a person who must be -entertained. If I thought that my presence here, Homewood, made the -very smallest difference to your arrangements, then I should want to -leave you at once!" - -"And I hope that you won't think of leaving for a long while to come," -said Allan heartily. - -"But you must--must give him a little more time, Allan," Kathleen said -presently. "He is your guest----" - -"But your old friend, dear, you and he have far more to talk about than -he and I could have! You have the past to dig in!" He smiled. - -The past--how little he knew! Her heart smote her. She ought to have -told him and yet, after all, how little was there to tell? The man she -had loved had come back and she had discovered that she had lived in a -fool's paradise, that she had not loved the man, but rather had loved -her love for him, had idealised it and had made of it the sweetest, -holiest and best thing in her life. And now at last with eyes open and -clear, she could see that her gold had been tinsel after all, her -flowers so fresh and glorious and beautiful had been but poor -counterfeits of paper or coloured rag, the hero so noble, so brave, so -unselfish and splendid, whose image she had enshrined in her heart was -after all but a very ordinary man, very weak and selfish and lacking all -those fine qualities with which in her heart she had endowed her -childhood's knight. - -And now the guests were gone, all but Harold Scarsdale--and how she -wished that he too had gone with the others--She and Allan were alone -and the time had come to tell him that wonderful news! - -And because the time had come, there came to Kathleen a thousand fears. -There came too a strange sense of modesty, a shrinking that would not be -there if only he loved her. If only he loved her--would he be glad, -glad and proud, or would he be sorry and disappointed, worst of all -perhaps he would be indifferent! And that would be the hardest, the -cruelest thing of all to bear. - -Yet she must tell him. - -To-night, yes to-night, and yet when to-night came she--coward-like--put -it off. - -"To-morrow," she said, "I will tell him in the sunshine in the garden, -so that I may watch his face and know--know without spoken words what -his thoughts and feelings are----" - -So to-night she lay sleepless beside him, torturing herself with those -fears that come to a woman who loves, torturing herself till at last her -nerves were all unstrung and she could lie here no longer. So she rose -softly, not to waken him, and went to the window and stared out into the -glory of the brilliant night. - -Somewhere far away was her father, probably playing cards in his Club or -billiards. How idle were those fine sentimental touching speeches of -his, how little she believed in them! She drew her thoughts away from -her father, they followed old Sir Josiah instead. - -How fine and good and noble he was, how sincere and honest! And what he -was, she knew that Allan was too, generous and honourable, kind of -heart, true--true as steel! What wonder then that she should love him, -that her love for him should awaken-- - -Her thoughts were interrupted, from the dark shadows in the garden below -there came in the stillness of the night a little moaning, sobbing cry. -Kathleen was startled. - -She was a woman and therefore not without superstition, what good, -honest, tender woman has not some trace of superstition in her mind? -Just for a moment Kathleen held her breath and listened intently. Again -she heard the sound and at the same time a light footfall and then, -watching, she saw a little figure come creeping from out the shadows -into the white path of the moon. - -Betty--she knew the child in an instant--Betty out at this hour, Betty -in some sore trouble, crying to herself! She had a mind to call softly -to the girl, yet did not, for fear of waking him. So she sat for a -moment or so and watched the girl go slowly down the paved pathway and -then Kathleen made up her mind. She rose, she thrust her white feet -into slippers, she threw a dressing gown on and went creeping down the -silent stairs. - -Softly she drew back a bolt and turned a key and opened a door that gave -on to the garden. - -The radiant light of the moon flooded the place, all save under the tall -yews, where the shadows lay blackly. But of the girl she could see -nothing, yet had noted the way she had gone. - -Like a ghost herself, a very lovely spirit all in white, her little -woollen slippers making never a sound on the old flagged pavement, she -sped on her way. - -The moaning sobbing cry had awakened every sympathy in her heart, she -was filled with womanly tenderness and pity. "Poor child, poor pretty -child!" she thought and so hurried on, looking eagerly for the little -lonely figure. Then presently Kathleen paused, she stood still, she had -meant to call softly to Betty, yet did not, for she heard the moaning -and crying near at hand now. - -"Afraid--oh afraid--terribul, terribul afraid I be!" the broken voice -whispered. "But I must. Oh, I must, I hev made up my mind to it and I -must!" - -Half a dozen noiseless steps and Kathleen saw her. The girl stood on -the brink of the pool, her hands clasped over her breast. - -"Afraid, oh terribul, terribul afraid I be!" she whispered and repeated -the words again and again. Then she thrust out one bare foot and -touched the inky water with it and drew back with a low cry of fear. - -"But I must, I must, 'tis all there be left for I to du now! I must, for -he does not want me and I can't, oh I can't du what he wishes me, so I -must!--I--I be coming to 'ee my little stone maid, perhaps 'ee always -knowed as I would come to 'ee one day--I be coming now, I be coming now! -It seems as 'ee always meant something to me, little stone maid standing -there, seems to me now as 'ee always called to me to come and I be -coming now--now----" She stretched out her hands and suddenly uttered a -stifled shriek for she felt strong tender arms about her, felt herself -dragged back from the water's edge and then all in a moment she was -sobbing out her breaking heart on Kathleen's breast. - -For many minutes Kathleen let the girl weep on unrestrainedly, for she -knew it for the better way. Let her shed her tears, since she could, -and when they were passed the little troubled heart would be all the -easier for them. - -So with Kathleen's arms about her, Betty wept softly, clinging to the -other woman as to one to whom she looked for love and help and -protection and did not look in vain. - -And then, little by little, Kathleen drew her away from the pool, drew -her presently to the stone bench beside the sundial and made her sit -beside her. - -"Why Betty, why were you going to do that--that wicked thing?" Kathleen -whispered. "No, child, keep your face against my breast, tell me while -I hold you! You are safe with me, little Betty, you know that, child, -don't you?" - -"Oh safe--safe wi' 'ee, safe wi' 'ee!" the girl moaned. - -"Why did you wish to do that?" - -"There were nothing left for I to du. Oh I didn't want to, for I were -afraid, most terribul afraid--I were, but--but it seemed I must, 'twas -as if the little stone maid were calling to I, just--just as she used to -call to I of moonlight nights when I were in my grandmother's cottage, -but--but 'twas different then--then I had not seen him, only--only in my -dreams!" - -"Seen him?" Kathleen asked softly. - -"Allan!" the girl said simply and for the moment seemed to forget that -it was Allan's wife who held her in her arms. - -"Allan?" - -"I did see him here, here in the old garden, long, long before he came -here to live, many times I saw him digging at they flower beds, him all -in brown wi' queer brass buckles to his shoes, and his hat all dragged -down over his face, strange that I scarce did ever see his face, and -yet--yet I knew him and when I came to him here in the garden while he -sat on this very bench I knew--oh my lady, what be I saying, what be I -saying?" - -But Kathleen did not answer. It had come to her with a sudden shock, a -feeling of desolation, of hopelessness. Allan, her husband, and this -little maid, this Betty and the old garden! She remembered the dream of -which he had told her, that night in a London theatre. It was but a -dream then, a picture out of the past and nothing more and since then it -had become reality and yet he had not told her as he had promised! - -"And I du love him so--so cruel!" the girl sobbed. - -Never once while she listened to this confession did Kathleen's arms -relax their hold on the sobbing girl, yet Kathleen's heart was being -tortured and wounded by every word. - -Allan, her husband, whom she had regarded as the soul of honour--could -it be--Allan into whose ears she had intended to pour this wonderful -secret, this secret of a little life yet to be, which belonged to him -and to her! - -"Oh my lady, I be so terribul unhappy!" Betty whimpered, "So terribul -unhappy for I did think he loved me as I loved him!" - -"And--did he not--love you?" Kathleen whispered and wondered at her own -voice, for it trembled so strangely, it was so filled with eagerness, -with fear and yet with hope. - -"He was mine--mine!" the girl said passionately. "For 'twas he I saw -here in this old garden many, many times--and I knew him, my lady, and -yet--yet when I would have felt his kisses on my lips, he held away from -me--and oh I be all broken hearted, I be, and now he be set against me -and wishful of my going away for ever, but I can't, I can't, I would -sooner die! And that night here--here my lady, in the garden, he was -all stern and angry wi' I! He told me that I must go, that it would be -for my good and that I should be happy and--and he told me my lady as he -was afraid of I, afraid--they were his very words!" - -"Thank God he was afraid!" Kathleen thought. "Thank God for his fears, -for they did him honour. Oh I was wrong, he is all I thought him, all I -believed him, even better, stronger, braver, thank God!" - -"And he told me," Betty went on in her low sobbing voice, "that I were -to come to him here in the garden in three nights, 'twere Monday then -and to-morrow night I be to see him here and tell him what I will -do--if--if I will go far, far away and be wise and sensible--but I -can't--I can't 'twould break my heart!" - -"It will not dear," Kathleen said. "It will not, Betty!" Her arm -tightened about the girl, she was such a child, did not her very -confession prove it? "It seems very hard to bear now Betty, but you -must be brave and good and sensible, it will be far, far better that you -do not see Allan, my husband, again, for it is not for your happiness to -see him. I do not understand, Betty, nor do I think that even you and -he understand, it is all so strange--so--so unusual! But I shall send -you away----" she paused. It was so easy to say "I will send you away," -yet where could she send the child? For a moment she pondered and then -it came to her like a flash of inspiration. - -"You shall go away Betty quietly and no one need know of your going and -to-morrow I will tell him that you are gone and that you and he will not -meet again. You will be happy, very happy with those to whom I shall -send you. Will you trust me, Betty?" - -"Trust 'ee----." The girl caught her hand and kissed it passionately. -"And--and bain't I to see him again, never?" - -"It will be better not, Betty!" - -Betty leaned against her sobbing--"I du love him----" she sobbed, "and -it will be terribul to go and never see him again!" - -"Had you thrown yourself into the water to-night you would never have -seen him again and you would have caused him grief and sorrow, Betty, -so--so dear it is better you should go quietly, and live and be happy, -for you will be happy, child and you will forget! You are only a child, -Betty, and--and I--I know what a child's love means, it is seldom the -real love--it will pass, for such love does pass, I know, Betty! And -then--then one day the real love, the love of all your life will come to -you and you will look back on these memories and smile at them and when -that day comes, Betty----" Kathleen's voice shook a little, "then--then, -child, go down on your knees and thank God that you gave your child's -love to a good and noble man, a man who respected it--and you--and--and -was afraid--dear!" - -And Betty, if she did not understand, was comforted by the kind voice -and nestled closer to Kathleen. She dried her tears and presently had -forgotten them and was smiling, and the little tragedy was past. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXIV* - - *THE GOING OF BETTY* - - -"I want, dear Sir Josiah, to feel that the child is happy and well cared -for, her life here has not been a very happy one, her grandmother was -trying to force her into marriage with a man she hated, a man I myself -feel instinctive mistrust of. I send her to you because I know of no -one so kind, so good, so generous. I know that you will do all you can -for her. I do not wish her, and I do not think she herself wishes ever -to come back to Homewood again. She will be happier away from the place -and so, dear kind friend, to whom I seem to turn instinctively in any -moment of doubt and anxiety, I leave her in your hands, knowing that all -you may do for her will be right and for the child's own good." - -Kathleen had written the letter to Sir Josiah, she herself had helped to -pack Betty's little box, she had taken the dependable and -uncommunicative Howard into her confidence. - -"Your ladyship desires me to see the young woman and her box safe to Sir -Josiah's London house?" - -"That is what I wish, Howard, and I wish her going to be kept secret, I -don't want others to know, it may be difficult, but----" - -"It can quite easily be arranged, my lady, no difficulty at all. I'll -have the closed cab from the village and if your ladyship will be so -good as to inform the young person she is to walk quietly out of the -house and to take the Bursdon Road, I will direct the driver to take -that way, my lady, and pick her up and take her on to Bursdon station -and catch the three thirty-five for London. It will be right if the -young person was to start at say half past two. As for her box, my -lady, I'll manage it, so that no one sees it--anything else, my lady?" - -"Nothing, Howard, and I thank you very much, you are very, very -helpful," Kathleen said. - -Just before the half hour after two, Betty sobbing as though her heart -was breaking, was in Kathleen's room. - -"Oh my lady, it be cruel hard to have to go and leave it all, when I du -love it so and----" she paused and sobbed aloud with many a catch of the -breath, as a child does. - -Yet Kathleen felt as she kissed and comforted the girl that tears so -easily shed might be just as easily dried, and to prove that she was -right, in a little while Betty began to dry her eyes and shew interest -in her destination. - -"To think that I be actually going to London, my lady, a terribul long -way it be and I always wishful of seeing it, though I never--never----" -and then a fresh torrent of tears and sighs and cries, tears which -Kathleen wiped away. - -"You will be very happy, Betty, and life will be full of interest for -you. London is a wonderful place, you cannot think how marvellous the -shops are. Streets and streets of them, Betty--and the people and the -cars and carriages----" - -Betty listened, wide eyed, forgetting her grief again. - -"And there be theayters, my lady." - -"Many of them and you shall go and see them, Betty." - -The girl was actually smiling now and then suddenly, remembering her -sorrow, she began to cry again. But Kathleen felt no fears. The girl -was genuine and sincere enough, transparently honest, but she was not of -those who die of broken hearts. - -"Now you will be a good brave girl, you know dear that you must go -because it will be kinder to--to him--to me and to yourself. You are -going to someone whom I love very much and who will be kind to you, not -only because I have asked him to be and for your own sake too, but -because he is kindness itself. You know, Betty, that you must go, don't -you? You know, child, that it is not possible that you could stay on -here, and--and Betty, you are going somewhere where you will never see -Abram Lestwick, you will be safe from him." - -Betty nodded, she even smiled. "Terribul put about and angry will Abram -be when he finds I be gone and grandmother, her too." - -There was mischief and even enjoyment in her smile and Kathleen's heart -felt eased and at peace. She wanted to play no hard and cruel part in -this little drama, she did not want the girl to go broken hearted and -unhappy. - -"And now--now Betty, it is time," she said, "time, dear, for you to go, -you--you quite understand?" - -"Oh--oh my lady!" And once more Betty was all tears, the tears rained -down her face and suddenly she rushed to Kathleen who held out her arms -to her. - -"Good-bye, my dear, good-bye and God bless you and bring you to -happiness." Kathleen strained her in her arms, held her tightly for a -moment and then let her go and her own eyes were not dry. - -Presently Betty, in her neat little black gown, opened the arched green -gate for the last time, and of habit peered up and down the road, half -fearfully, lest someone might be there waiting for her. But there was -no sign of Abram Lestwick. In the distance she could see the blue smoke -curling from the chimney of her grandmother's cottage and at the sight -the tears were gone and the pretty face grew a trifle hard, even a -little bitter. - -"And now we shall see if I be going to marry Abram Lestwick, -grandmother," she thought, "terribul obstinate I be, yes and contrairy -and a perilous bad maid, but Abram will hev to look for someone -else--'Lizbeth Colley, who due bake such wonderful fine currant -biscuits." - -She laughed softly a little laugh of triumph, mingled with grief and -then--then she stepped out into the white roadway and pulled the gate -after her. She looked along the high wall of old red brick, over which -she had clambered--bad, perilous bad maid that she was--many a time. -The wall was topped now with glittering glass and seeing it the tears -all came back with a rush and sobs broke from the labouring, childish -breast. - -"Broken hearted I be----" she wailed, "broken hearted and wishful of -dying--oh--oh never never to see him again, never!" She looked back -along the road and could see her grandmother's cottage. She pictured to -herself her grandmother, that stern, unbending woman, sitting in her -stiff, high backed chair--waiting--waiting for her, waiting to have her -will with her. - -And the thought of the old woman sitting there waiting and waiting all -in vain banished the tears from the bright eyes. - -"She said that I was bad and that I must go and--and so I be going for -good--going to London. Powerful 'quisitive I be to see what London -looks like, bigger than Stretton it be, wi' streets of shops and -theayters and oh!" Her eyes shone, the grief was forgotten, she was -hurrying on her way down the road now. The red wall had ceased to be -and it seemed as though the enchantment of the old garden that it -protected was lifted, for the girl was smiling and her eyes were bright -with anticipation as she hastened on her way, and never once did she -look behind her now. - -"A child's love!" Kathleen thought, "a child's love, very real, very -wonderful, with such power to bring grief or joy and yet after all only -a child's love--mine lasted for ten long years and--and then it -passed--Little Betty's, how long will hers last? Ten days, ten hours -perhaps--not longer--poor, pretty, shallow little Betty, yet so -lovable--and he, my darling, my Allan was afraid--afraid of her for a -time--yes thank God afraid--and told her so nobly and bravely." She -smiled at her thoughts and Scarsdale, looking at her, wondered what made -her smile. - -"What are you thinking of Kathleen?" he said. - -"Of my husband," she said gently. - -Scarsdale turned away, he looked out into the garden. Should he stay, -was there still room for hope? Was she acting a part as he believed and -hoped, or did it mean that she had ceased to care, that what she had -told him there beside the pool was true, that her love for him had died? -Yet it might not be dead, only slumbering for a while, when she found, -as she would find, that Homewood was untrue to her, that of nights he -was meeting a girl, a servant maid in the garden, that he loved that -girl, what then? Would she not come back to him, eager for his love and -sympathy and protection? He hoped so and believed so. - -"I will wait a while yet," he thought. - -They missed the guests of the past few days, these three, as they sat -down to dinner in the dining room. They missed Sir Josiah, they missed -noisy genial Mr. Coombe, even they missed his lordship, for on these -three a silence had fallen and each was busy with his own thoughts. - -To-night Betty would tell him, thought Allan, she would tell him that -she had decided to be, as he had said, sensible and wise. - -"To-night," Kathleen thought, "to-night she would tell him all." - -And Scarsdale's thoughts were the same. Would she come to him if she -might come in honour, if the dishonour fell on other shoulders? He -believed it and hoped it and would hope it till the last. - -Kathleen watched Allan that evening, watched him and saw the worried -anxious look on his face. She knew that he was planning to meet Betty, -yet surely never a lover went to meet his love with such a look on his -face as Allan's wore this night? No, he did not love her, he was -anxious and troubled about her, about the girl herself and her future -and presently he should know that all was well, that Betty was gone and -would be happy and cared for. - -So when the darkness had fallen completely, she rose and went up to her -own room and changed from the light dinner dress she had been wearing -into a plain dark frock. - -"Will he be glad and proud, or will he be sorry?" she asked herself. -Glad and proud--please God he would be glad and proud! And if it -brought gladness and pride to him, what then? might it not bring love -also, the love she hungered for, the love her heart craved? - -The moon was late rising to-night. There was no light save the dim -faint light of the stars. Somewhere among the tall trees an owl was -making its plaintive cry. Kathleen shivered a little at the sound, it -seemed almost like an ill omen. She knew where he would be waiting and -then presently in the deep dark shadows under the high old yew hedge she -found him. - -He heard the light footfall, he heard the rustle of her dress and made -no doubt that it was Betty, for who else would come to him here in this -place? - -"Betty!" he said. - -She did not answer him, she stood still, then hesitatingly came forward -towards him. But he offered her no greeting, he did not hold out his -hands to her. He seemed even to turn away from her. - -"Listen," he said, and did not even look towards her. "I have given you -time to think, to realise that what I hope to arrange for you is -all--all for your good. What I said to you that night was true--Betty -we do not and we should not know what the past held for us, that we do -know, something of it has only brought us unhappiness and heartache. But -the past is past, Betty, it belonged to another life, another generation -and we who stand here to-night have to deal only with the present and -even more with the future." - -Kathleen stood listening, her hands pressed against her breast. Was she -wrong to listen to him, knowing that his words were meant for other -ears? If he but turned to her now he might see, dim though the light, -that it was not the little country girl that he was talking to. - -Yet he did not look at her once, but rather at the ground, or away into -the blue black distance. - -"You have told me that you loved me, you have asked me for my love, -forgetting or not knowing, dear, that I could not give you that love -with honour. Could I feel such love for you it would but dishonour you, -dishonour myself--and--and her, Betty, her." His voice shook for a -moment. - -"Once you came to me in a strange vision, a vision out of the long -buried past. I was heartwhole then--and it seemed to me that some tie, -some link forged in another life, another existence held us together, -that vision was very wonderful and very sweet to me, it lived in my -memory for many and many a long day and then--then it faded, Betty, it -faded--and the link that was forged in the past was snapped and broken." -He was silent for a moment and then went on in a lower voice. - -"It ended because something came into my life to end it, a greater love, -something that was not born of visions and fancies and fancied memories. -That love, Betty, is the most wonderful, the most beautiful thing that -has ever come to me. It meant my salvation, dear, and yours, it meant -protection for you and for me. For loving her, loving her----" his -voice rose, "loving my own wife with all my soul----." - -"Allan, my Allan!" - -He turned to her with a choking cry, he peered into her face through the -darkness, and then he took her hands and held them, drawing her closer -to him till he had clasped her hands against his breast, and all the -time he looked into the face that was uplifted to his. - -"Kathleen!" - -"Who needs you, even as you--you love her, Allan, who has come to tell -you, dear, that she knows all and honours you and respects you and loves -you with all her heart and soul and is--is proud of you--proud! I sent -her away, dear, not in anger, but in love. Poor child, I sent her away -all tears that--that I think will soon be dried and to-night I came here -to tell you this--to tell you this and--and----" She drew even closer to -him and he put his arms about her and held her tightly, "to tell you, my -husband----" and her voice was so soft, so low that he could hear, yet -only just hear--"to tell you that God is sending into our lives -something to make us happier and perhaps better, something that will -belong to us both, something for us to share and to love alike, -something that will draw us nearer, closer together and hold us together -all our lives. Allan, my husband, why don't you speak to me? Allan, -are you glad or sorry, dear? Oh Allan!" - -For suddenly, even while he still held her in his arms, he slipped down -on his knees before her and tried to tell her of the pride, the joy and -the gladness that he felt and yet could tell her nothing, save that he -loved her. - -Beautiful and wonderful, wonderful above all women, more angel than -woman to him, now as always. - -"You are giving so much, so much, my Kathleen, but you cannot give me -all your heart, for I know that in the past there was someone----." - -"Someone who came back," she said, "who came back, Allan, and when I saw -him and listened to him again, I knew, oh I knew that, my love was never -love at all--I think it was less love than a religion with me. Allan, -don't you understand? He is nothing to me--no more than any other -stranger, any guest who might sleep beneath our roof, for the love, the -great love of my life I give, my husband, to you--now and always!" - -And then the pent up love and longing, the hunger of the time of waiting -found expression. She stooped to him, she put her arms about him, she -drew his head to her breast and held him closely, a radiant joy in her -heart, knowing him to be what he was, worthy, well worthy of all her -love, knowing him to be simple and brave, strong and tender, and even -though brave, still afraid, afraid of temptation and his man's weakness. - -So she held him and blessed him and her heart was filled with a great -love and gratitude. - -Faint though the starlight was, yet the watcher away among the shadows -could see them indistinctly and seeing them fell naturally into error. -For how should he dream that it was husband and wife he spied on? He -watched them presently move slowly away, the man with his arm about the -woman, she with her head against his shoulder, and the man waiting in -the darkness smiled, wondering how long would this last, how long before -Kathleen knew? - -He watched them till they were gone, swallowed up in the soft darkness, -and then he moved, he turned slowly towards the house. The vigil was -over, but he frowned in thought. How should Kathleen know, how could she -be made aware of this? And then--he heard a sound, the soft pad of a -foot behind him and had no time to turn for even as he would have swung -round, something leaped upon him and clung to him. A hand gifted with a -curious strength sought for and found his throat, and finding it gripped -and gripped. - -He fought, struggling madly, he tried to tear away that terrible hold, -yet it was like trying to unbend bars of steel. He fought at those -gripping, clinging fingers till his brain grew dazed, till the dark -night swam about him. He could feel on his neck the hot quick breathing -of his enemy. - -A hoarse scream, a shriek that ended in a choking, gasping sob broke -from the strangling throat, a scream of agony and of terror. For he, -brave man though he was, felt a mad, horrible fear of the silent, the -unseen thing that was seeking to rob him of his life. - -Kathleen threw up her head. "Allan, Allan darling, did you hear? Hush, -listen, what was that?" - -"Only a screech owl beloved, and oh my Kathleen, to hear you call -me----" he paused and was silent, for there came a repetition of the -sound, but this time fainter, the strangling cry of a man in agony, -hoarse despairing, spent and gasping, ending in sudden silence, followed -by the sound of a fall. - -"Kathleen go, run to the house, there is something wrong--send help!" -And then he turned and dashed into the darkness, in the direction whence -came the sound. Scarsdale was down, he lay face downward on the stone -paving and with his last strength, his last effort was seeking to unlock -those fingers from his throat, but his movements were weakening, the man -was done, as near to death as a man can be and yet still live, and on -his back there crouched a figure, the figure of a small mean man, whose -wondrous strength was all contained in those hooked fingers that were -choking the life out of the jerking, labouring body. - -"Pleasant spoken 'ee be--aye wonderful pleasant spoken 'ee du be!" The -creature was chuckling, was laughing, his eyes seemed to burn with -strange fires. - -"Wonderful pleasant spoken 'ee be--but never again, never again will 'ee -cheat a man of his maid, never again! Stole her from me, lied her away -from me!--Oh wonderful pleasant spoken 'ee be----" - -It was death that was come on him now, and he knew it, the death he had -defied--for so long--in savage places. Strange that it should come to -him here at last in this peaceful old garden. Death--the world was -swimming about him--he seemed to see Kathleen's face, the fighting hands -were grown powerless and never for a moment did that grip on his throat -relax. - -"Oh wonderful, powerful pleasant spoken 'ee be----" chuckled the voice. - -And then the man was torn from his victim, dragged from him and flung -violently to the stone pavement. Kathleen had run screaming to the -house, the servants were alarmed, Howard, prompt and efficient, came -hurrying with lighted lamp; others followed, Kathleen with them. - -"It's Scarsdale--been attacked--he's fainted--lift him, some of you, -carry him in--stop that man, stop him!" - -For Abram Lestwick had risen, he stood there for a moment, then turned -to fly, but suddenly stood still, as the lamp-light stone for a moment -on Allan's face. Lestwick peered at him. His hands rose to his own -throat, fumbled with it, tore at his collar till they tore it loose. - -"Bless I if it bain't Abram Lestwick!" said a voice, the voice belonged -to old Markabee, "Abram Lestwick it du be!" - -"Aye, it be me!" Lestwick said, he spoke dully, still fumbling at his -throat, his eyes wandered from the figure of the man they were lifting, -to Allan's face clear in the lamp-light, eyes from which all the fire -and passion had died out. - -He had made a mistake, his slow brain was grasping the fact--a -mistake--why should he have made a mistake? Surely it had been the right -man, had he not climbed the wall and waited and seen a man with a woman -and that woman Betty--who else could it have been? And then--then-- - -"A terribul strong intentioned man I be!" Abram muttered. "Terribul -passionate and quick----" His eyes roved round restlessly, he still -worked at his frayed and torn collar. "I must be going, time be getting -on, very late it be growing, I've stayed too long!" He would have -turned, but old Markabee faced him resolutely. - -"Stir from here, 'ee don't, Abram Lestwick, after what 'ee hev done!" - -One sweep of his arm would have felled Markabee and left the way clear -for him to depart, yet Abram Lestwick never thought of that--he stood -still, silent, submissive. - -His dull brain refused to answer the question that he would have put to -it. A mistake--how had he come to make a mistake--another man--what -other man could it be? Had he not seen his enemy standing erect, -unhurt, the lamplight on his face? - -"It be past, all past my understanding----" Abram Lestwick muttered. -"All misty and dizzy it du seem to I--all misty and dizzy!" - -They had carried the victim into the house, now they came back for -Lestwick, they took him and bound his hands behind his back, those -terrible, those death dealing hands, and he submitted without a word, -without a struggle. - -Sullenly and with bent head, he shambled along between his captors. -They took him into the house, into the light, he stood with bent head, -then slowly lifted it, his restless eyes roamed the room, they fell on -Kathleen's white face for a moment, then strayed away again. - -The man was muttering to himself, they bent near to listen, yet could -make but little of it. - -"Wonderful pleasant spoken he be----" he said, and said it again and yet -again, a score of times. - -Old Markabee, tremulous, but staunch, gripping a Dutch hoe, stood on -guard. "I du remember," he said, "aye I du remember his mother, my -Lady, and it be the same wi' Abram as it were wi' she--strange she were -always, terribul strange and they du say aye I have heard it said as her -did die in the madhouse!" - -Kathleen drew back, but the horror died out of her face and in its place -there came pity, a great pity for this stricken wretch, the dull eyes -rested for a moment on her face, then sank to the ground, his fingers -were picking at the rope that bound his wrists together, but not with -any intention of picking himself free, just for the sake of picking and -fraying and tearing the cords, that was all. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXV* - - *"I SHALL RETURN"* - - -"Kathleen--Kathleen----" - -"Yes, Harold, here beside you." She touched his cheek with her fingers. -"You are easier now, better?" - -"With you beside me, yes." He lifted his hand slowly to the bandaged -throat. - -"It was--Homewood--Allan Homewood who--saved--who dragged that man off -me?" - -"Yes, it was Allan, we heard your cry for help, he and I, we were -together in the garden and----" - -"You--you and he--you and he in the garden?" - -"We had been talking in the yew walk, we were returning to the house and -then we heard----" - -He said nothing, his face twisted a little, as with pain, then it -passed. - -"The man, Abram Lestwick was mad, quite mad, Harold. He made no effort -to get away, he was docile and quiet, dazed and stupid. They took him -before the magistrates the next day, but the doctors certified at once, -he will not have his liberty again, poor creature, they say he is a -homicidal maniac. Yet why--why should he have come creeping into the -garden that night, why should he have attacked you, Harold, you a -stranger to him?" - -But it seemed that he was not listening, as though what she said had no -interest for him. He lay looking at her, thinking--It was she--she in -the garden with Homewood that night, she walking with Homewood, his arm -about her. - -He saw it all again, in memory, as he had seen it that night in reality, -the man and the woman walking as lovers walk, the man's arm about the -woman, her head against his shoulder--and it was Homewood and Kathleen, -the husband and the wife--and he had thought-- - -"The doctor tells me that I shall mend soon, that I shall soon be my own -man again, Kathleen, and then," he smiled, "then I shall go back." - -"Need you?" - -He did not answer the question. "You know why I came, what hopes I had. -It was folly and the hopes are over and ended and dead--so I shall go -back alone as I came. There is nothing to remain for--nothing." His -hand sought hers and she put hers into it. He held it for a time and -then let it go. - -"So I shall go back," he said again, and said it quietly and with a -fixity of purpose that she knew would never be changed. - -Her eyes, filled with pity, looked down on him. Yet she knew, better -that he went back, better that in the years to come they should never -meet again. - -Her heart ached for him, but not for herself. And then the door opened -and Allan came softly to the bedside and looked down at the invalid and -standing beside Kathleen his arm went round her and he never knew what -suffering it meant to the man lying there. - -"Kathleen has told you about Lestwick, Scarsdale? The poor wretch is -hopelessly insane. There was no reason for his act, there could be -none. It has all been horrible, you can imagine what our feelings have -been that you, our guest, our friend----" very kind was Allan's smile as -he looked down on the man who would have been his enemy, "should have to -bear this. But thank God it is no worse than it is. You will be a well -man again soon, Scarsdale, and then you will stay on and rest here, -Kathleen will be your nurse----" - -"You are good, but I shall leave you as soon as I may, for I am going -back to the place I came from, Homewood, going back soon." - -"Going back? I remember that you told me once you hoped----" - -Scarsdale smiled faintly. "I hoped--but that is over, I had hope, but -not now. There is nothing to hold me to England. I am a stranger in a -strange land, I shall be better out there among the people who know me." - -"Are you sure--sure that there is no hope for you, Scarsdale?" - -Again Scarsdale smiled. "There never was," he said. "Yet I did not -realise it, would not understand it--but there was never any hope for -me, so--so I shall go, thanking my good friends for their care of me, -thanking them and blessing them----" As he spoke he looked up at -Kathleen and Allan watching saw the yearning, the hunger, the love that -the lips could not utter, and then suddenly he understood that this was -the man! - -Yet, even understanding, he stooped and touched the other's hand. - -"Remember, if you will stay, my wife and I will be glad--we would have -you stay as long as you can--Scarsdale." - -They turned away, went out of the room together, and then when the door -had closed on them, he turned to her. - -"Kathleen, I remember that night you told me that you had met the man -again--it was he." - -"He came back," she said, "he came back and I knew it meant nothing to -me. It was a dream, as yours was dear, and it passed, as yours did, my -Allan and so--so----" she held up her arms and put them about his neck -and lifted her face to his. - -"I meant to tell you--at first and then--then I forgot, yes forgot, -Allan--because of something of which I wanted to tell you far, far -more." - -"I know," he said, he put his arms about her and held her closely. -"Something that has made me the happiest and proudest man in all the -world, beloved." - - * * * * * - -A winter and a spring had passed and the garden at Homewood was blooming -with a loveliness that it had not been able to attain last summer. Old -Markabee, bearing the weight of yet one more year on his round -shoulders, was snipping at the ivy covered wall. - -"A pernicious thing be ivy, sir," he said, "a terribul pernicious thing, -eating away the very wall as du support it, tearing it away bit by bit, -ruining it, sir, it du--with them terribul little clinging fingers it -hev got, workin' and workin' till the old wall be crumbled quite and -ready to fall, a most terribul pernicious thing ivy be." - -"Yes, yes to be sure, but hush my good man, not--not so loudly if you -please----" - -Markabee turned contritely, "I bain't gone and woke he wi' my chatter?" -he asked. - -"No, no, he is still sound asleep." - -Sir Josiah rose from the stone bench, he peered under the holland awning -over the perambulator. - -His reign was but short and presently nurse would come and demand of -him, her charge. It was a great favour that she did him, leaving him -here in charge of the slumbering infant, there was no one else nurse -would trust, but she knew that she might Sir Josiah. - -"You may look at him, Markabee, if you like, did you ever see a -healthier looking child?" - -Markabee poked his brown face under the awning, holding his breath the -while. Not till he was safely away did he trust himself with speech. - -"A wunnerful child he be," he said. "And so powerful strong he du -look." - -"Would you say, Markabee?" Sir Josiah enquired anxiously, "is the child -like his mother or his father?" - -"A bit like both," said Markabee. "And wi' a look, aye now I du see it -quite plain, a look of his grandfather tu, he hev got." - -"You don't say so!" said Sir Josiah. "You don't say so--well bless my -heart!" His round red face beamed and Markabee, cunning old sinner, -chuckled behind his hand. - -"That ought to be good enough for half a suvereign for I," he thought. - -And now came nurse to take possession of her charge. - -"He hasn't awakened, Sir Josiah, has he?" she said. - -"Bless you my dear, no, not moved, he hasn't," Sir Josiah said. - -She smiled. "I always feel I can trust you with him at any rate, Sir -Josiah." - -"A good woman that, a sensible woman, couldn't have found a better," Sir -Josiah said as nurse wheeled the baby carriage away. "And you were -saying just now, Markabee?" - -"I were saying a terribul pernicious thing is this ivy working with its -little fingers on they old walls as du support it, tearing and tearing, -wonderful like the fingers of Abram Lestwick's, I du remember." - -"Ah poor fellow!" said Sir Josiah. - -"Mad!" said Markabee, "like his mother were afore him--mad--and mad in -love moreover." - -"Indeed!" - -"Wi' the prettiest maid in these parts, old Mother Hanson's -grand-darter, sir." - -"Little Betty Hanson?" said Sir Josiah--"whom my daughter-in-law Lady -Kathleen sent to me months and months ago, and to think that poor mad -fellow loved her. But she's married now, Markabee, and married -well--married to a young fellow who works for me, a lad named Cope! I'm -paying him six pounds a week, Markabee, and he's worth it, a hard -working honest lad. I had tea with them in their little house and a -prettier little hostess you never saw. But if you'll believe me, -Markabee, an arrant little flirt, with those pretty eyes of hers----" - -"Her mother were the same," said Markabee. "All wimmen more or less be -the same--specially when they du have fine eyes as Betty had." - -"Why I don't know that you aren't right Markabee, and yet not all, not -all women Markabee, there is one----" - -Sir Josiah looked up and saw the one of whom he spoke. She was coming -slowly towards them along the flagged pathway, her husband's arm about -her, her head against his shoulder and as they came slowly in the -sunshine, they halted now and again, for not yet, had all her strength -come back to her, though thank God, it was coming. She was still a -little pale, still a little languid in her movements. But in her eyes -there was a great and wonderful happiness and a deep tenderness and -unutterable love. Love for this man beside her, this man to whom she -clung, this man, who was friend, lover, husband all in one. Was ever -woman so blessed as she? - -Sir Josiah stood watching them, knowing that these two had found a -happiness that was almost beyond his understanding. - -And then he would have turned and gone quietly away, but Kathleen called -to him. - -"Won't you come here and sit with us in the sunshine dear? Don't go, -don't go!" - -He came back with a happy pleased look on his old face. - -"I didn't think you and Allan would want the old man," he said, "I -thought you two--together----" - -"We want you always, when you are here our little world is all -complete," she said softly. "I have those whom I love and those who -love me," she lifted her hand and held it against his cheek. - -And so on the sunwarmed old stone bench they sat, and there was no sound -save the steady 'clip clip' of old Markabee's shears and the rustle of -the falling glossy green leaves from the ivied wall. - -About them, was the sunshine and the glory of the flowers in bloom, the -little pool lay shimmering like molten gold, and from its midst rose the -slim white figure of the stone maiden, for ever holding the broken -pitcher on her sun kissed shoulder. - - - - THE END - - - - T. H. BEST PRINTING CO. 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