A Son of Hagar Part 72

Mercy had loosened Paul's collar, and with a nervous hand she was bathing his burning forehead.

"Oh, tell Mr. Christian," she said; "say he has fainted."

Mrs. Drayton hobbled back. In another instant there was a man's step descending the stairs. Hugh Ritson entered the bar. He looked down at the unconscious man and felt his pulse. "When did this happen?" he asked, turning to Mercy.

"He said he was feeling ill when I met him; then he was worse in the train, and when we reached Hendon he was too dizzy to stand," said Mercy.

"His young woman, ain't it?" said the flyman, aside, to Hugh.

Hugh nodded his head slightly. Then, turning toward Mrs. Drayton, with a significant glance, "Your poor son is going to be ill," he said.

The landlady glanced back with a puzzled expression, and began in a blundering whimper, "The poor gentleman--"

"The old lady's son?" said the flyman, tipping his finger in the direction of the landlady.

"Paul Drayton," said Hugh.

Mercy saw and heard all. The tears suddenly dried in her eyes, which opened wide in amazement. She said nothing.

Hugh caught the altered look in her face.

"Mrs. Drayton," he said, "didn't you say you had something urgent for Mercy to do? Let her set about it at once. Now, driver, lend a hand--upstairs; it's only a step."

They lifted Paul Ritson between them, and were carrying him out of the bar.

"Where's the boy?" asked Hugh. "Don't let him get in the way. Boys are more hindrance than help," he added, in an explanatory tone.

They had reached the foot of the stair. "Now, my man, easy--heavy, eh?

rather."

They went up. Mercy stood in the middle of the floor with a tearless and whitening face.

Half a minute later Hugh Ritson and the flyman had returned to the bar.

The phantom of a smile lurked about the flyman's mouth. Hugh Ritson's face was ashen, and his lips quivered.

The boxes and portmanteaus which Paul and Greta had left in the bar three nights ago still lay in one corner. Hugh pointed them out to the driver. "Put them on top of the cab," he said. The flyman proceeded to do so.

When the man was outside the door, Hugh Ritson turned to Mrs. Drayton.

The landlady was fussing about, twitching her ap.r.o.n between nervous fingers. "Mrs. Drayton," said Hugh, "you will go in this fly to the Convent of St. Margaret, Westminster. There you will ask for Mrs.

Ritson, the lady who was here on Friday night. You will tell her that you have her luggage with you, and that she is to go with you to St.

Pancras Station to meet her husband, and return to c.u.mberland by the midnight train. You understand?"

"I can't say as I do, sir, asking pardon, sir. If so be as the lady axes why her husband didn't come for her hisself--what then?"

"Then say what is true--nothing more, Mrs. Drayton."

"And happen what may that be, sir?"

"That her husband is ill--but mind--not seriously."

"Oh, well, I can speak to that, sir, being as I saw the poor gentleman."

Mrs. Drayton was putting on her bonnet and shawl. The flyman had fixed the luggage on top of the cab, and was standing in the bar, whip in hand.

"A gla.s.s for the driver," said Hugh. Mrs. Drayton moved toward the counter. "No, you get into the cab, Mrs. Drayton; Mercy will serve."

Mercy went behind the counter and served the liquor in an absent manner.

"It's now ten-thirty," said Hugh, looking at his watch. "You will drive first to the convent, Westminster, and from there to St. Pancras, to catch the train at twelve."

Saying this, he walked to the door and put his head through the window of the cab. The landlady was settling herself in her seat. "Mrs.

Drayton," he whispered, "you must not utter a syllable about your son when you see the lady. Mind that. You understand?"

"Well, sir, I can't say--being as I saw the gentleman--wherever's Paul?"

"Hush!"

The driver came out. He leaped to his seat. In another moment the cab rattled away.

Hugh Ritson walked back into the house. The boy Jabez had come down-stairs. "When do you close the house?" Hugh asked.

"Eleven o'clock, sir," said Jabez.

"No one here--you might almost as well close now. No matter--go behind the bar, my lad. Mercy, your eyes are more inflamed than ever; get away to bed immediately."

Mercy's eyes were not more red than their expression was one of bewilderment. She moved off mechanically. When she reached the foot of the stairs she turned and tried to speak. The words would not come. At length she said, in a strange voice: "You did not tell me the truth."

"Mercy!"

"Where's Parson Christian?" said Mercy, and her voice grew stern.

"You must not use that tone to me. Come, get away to bed, little one."

Her eyes dropped before his. She turned away. He watched her up the stairs. So sure of hand was he that not even at that moment did he doubt his hold of her. But Mercy did not go to bed. She turned in at the open door of Drayton's room. The room was dark; only a fitful ray of bleared moonlight fell crosswise on the floor; but she could see that the unconscious figure of Paul Ritson lay stretched upon the bed.

"And I have led you here with a lie!" she thought. Then her head swam and fell on to the counterpane. Some minutes pa.s.sed in silence. She was aroused by footsteps in the pa.s.sage outside. They were coming toward this room. The door, which stood ajar, was pushed open. There was no time for Mercy to escape, so she crept back into the darkness of a narrow s.p.a.ce between the foot of the bed and the wall.

Two men entered. Mercy realized their presence in the dark room rather by the sense of touch than by the sense of hearing or sight. They walked lightly, the darkness hid them, but the air seemed heavy with their hot breath. One of them approached the bedside; Mercy felt the bed quiver.

The man leaned over it, and there was a pause. Only the scarcely perceptible breathing of the insensible man fell on the silence.

"He's safe enough still," said a voice that thrilled her through and through. "Now for it--there's no time to lose!"

The girl crouched down and held her breath.

"Damme if I ain't wishing myself well out of it!" muttered another voice.

Mercy knew both men. They were Hugh Ritson and Paul Drayton.

Hugh closed the door. "What simpleton says fortune favors the brave?"