An Eye for an Eye Part 17

I was hot after a pretty stiff pull; therefore, when we had gone some distance, I leaned on the oars, allowing the boat to drift on under the bank where the long rushes waved in the stream and the pure white of the water-lilies showed against the dark green of floating leaves. Heedless of the rudder-lines, Eva leaned over and gathered some, trailing her hand in the water.

"How quiet and pleasant it is here," she remarked, her calm, sweet, beautiful face showing what a great peace had come to her at that moment. It may not have been quite in keeping with the _convenances_ that she should have gone out like this alone with me, a comparative stranger, yet girls of to-day think little of such things, and she was nothing if not modern in dress, speech and frankness of manner.

We were far from the haunts of men in that calm hour of the dying day.

Indeed, already the crimson of the sun was fading into the rose of the afterglow, and the stillness precursory of nightfall was complete save for the rustle of some water-rat or otter among the sedge, or the swift flight of a night-bird across the bosom of the stream. The shadows were changing and the glow on the water was turning from one colour to another. The cattle had come down to the brink, and wading to their knees, whisked the flies away with their tails as they slowly chewed the cud.

"Yes," I agreed. "There is rest, perfect and complete, here. How different to London!"

"Ah, yes," she answered. "I hate London, and very seldom go there, except when necessity compels us to do shopping."

"Why do you hate it?" I asked, at once p.r.i.c.king up my ears. "Have you any especial reason for disliking it?"

"Well, no," she laughed. "I suppose it's the noise and bustle and hurry that I don't like. I'm essentially a lover of the country. Even theatres, concerts and such-like amus.e.m.e.nts have but little attraction for me. I know it sounds rather absurd that a girl should make such a declaration, but I a.s.sure you I speak the truth."

I did not doubt her. Any one with an open face like hers could not be guilty of lying. That statement was, in itself, an index to her character. She possessed a higher mind than most women, and was something of a philosopher. Truth to tell, this fact surprised me, for I had until then regarded her as of the usual type of the educated woman of to-day, a woman with a penchant for smartness in dress, freedom of language, and the entertainment of the modern music-hall in preference to opera.

I was gratified by my discovery. She was a woman with a soul beyond these things, with a sweet, lovable disposition--a woman far above all others. She was my idol. In those moments my love increased to a mad pa.s.sion, and I longed to imprint a kiss upon those smiling lips, and to take her in my arms to tell her the secret that I dared not allow to pa.s.s my lips.

She leaned backwards on the cushions; her hands were tightly clasped behind her head; her sleeves fell back, showing her well-moulded arms; her sweet, childlike face was turned upward, with her blue eyes watching me through half-closed lids; her small mouth was but half shut; she smiled a little.

It entranced me to look upon her. For the first time the loveliness of a woman had made me blind and stupid.

I wanted to know more of the cause of her dislike of London, for I had scented suspicion in her words. Nevertheless, through all, she preserved a slight rigidity of manner, and I feared to put any further question at that moment.

Thus we rested in silence, dreaming in the darkening hour.

I sat facing her, glancing furtively at her countenance and wondering how she had become a victim in that inexplicable tragedy. By what means had she been spirited from that mysterious house and another victim placed there in her stead? All was an enigma, insoluble, inscrutable.

To be there with her, to exchange confidences as we had done, and to chat lightly upon river topics all gave me the greatest gratification.

To have met her thus was an unexpected stroke of good fortune, and I was overjoyed by her spontaneous promise to invite me to one of their own river-parties.

Joy is the sunshine of the soul. At that restful hour I drank in the sweetness of her eyes, for I was in glamour-land, and my companion was truly enchanting.

We must have remained there fully half an hour, for when I suddenly looked at my watch and realised that we must in any case be late for dinner, the light in the wild red heavens had died away, the soft pale rose-pink had faded, and in the stillness of twilight there seemed a wide, profound mystery.

"We must be getting back," I said quickly, pulling the boat out into mid-stream with a long stroke.

"Yes. The Blains will wonder wherever we've been," she laughed. "Mary will accuse you of flirting with me."

"Would that be such a very grave accusation?" I asked, smiling.

"Ah, that I really don't know," she answered gaily. "You would be the accused."

"But neither of us are guilty, therefore we can return with absolutely clear consciences, can't we?"

"Certainly," she laughed. Then, after a brief pause, she asked, "Why did you not bring Mary out in preference to me?"

"Why do you ask?" I inquired in surprise.

"Well--it would be only natural, as you are engaged to her."

"Engaged to her?" I echoed. "I'm certainly not engaged to Mary Blain."

"Aren't you?" she exclaimed. "I always understood you were."

"Oh, no," I said. "We are old friends. We were boy and girl together, but that is all."

Her great blue eyes opened with a rather bewildered air, and she exclaimed--

"How strange that people should make such a mistake! I had long ago heard of you as Mary's future husband."

Then again we were silent, both pondering deeply. Had this remark of hers been mere guess-work? Was this carefully-concealed question but a masterstroke of woman's ingenuity to ascertain whether I loved Mary Blain? It seemed very likely to be so. But she was so frank in all that I could not believe it of her. No doubt she had heard some story of our long-past love, and it had been exaggerated into an engagement, as such stories are so often apt to be.

Soon we emerged from the backwater into the main stream, and with our bow set in the direction of Laleham I rowed down with the current without loss of time. The twilight had fast deepened into dusk; the high poplars and drooping willows along the bank had grown dark, though the broad surface of the stream, eddying here and there where a fish rose, was still of a blue steely hue, and far away upstream only a long streak of grey showed upon the horizon. The stars shone down in the first faint darkness of the early night. Presently I glanced behind me, and in the distance saw a yellow ray, which my companion, well versed in river geography, told me was a light in one of the windows of Riverdene.

It had grown quite chilly, and the meadows were wreathed in faint white mist, therefore I spurted forward, and soon brought the boat up to the steps.

I knew that the world now held nothing for me but Eva.

When we entered the dining-room, a fine apartment with the table laid with shining plate, decorated with flowers, and illuminated with red-shaded candles, we were greeted, as we expected, by a loud and rather boisterous welcome by d.i.c.k and Mary. We were, of course, full of apologies, being nearly half an hour late. But up-river dinner is a somewhat movable feast, so Mrs. Blain quickly forgave us, and while I sat by Mary on her one hand, d.i.c.k seated himself at Eva's side.

Gaily we gossiped through a merry meal, washed down with a real Berncastel, and followed by old port, coffee, and curacoa. Yet my mind was full of strange apprehensions. What possible connexion could these three women have with that crime which the police were withholding from the public? That they were all three aware that a tragedy had taken place seemed quite clear. Yet all remained silent.

I had detected in Mrs. Blain's manner an anxiety and nervousness which I had never before noticed, yet I refrained from putting any further question to her, lest I might, by doing so, show my hand. She could not keep from her tone when she spoke to me a note of insincerity, which my ear did not fail to detect.

Our conversation over dessert turned upon dogs, the performances of Mary's pug having started the discussion, and quite inadvertently d.i.c.k, whose mind seemed always centred upon his work, for he was nothing if not an enthusiast, suddenly said--

"Dogs are now being used by the police to trace criminals. There is no better method when it can be accomplished, for a bloodhound will follow a trail anywhere with unfailing accuracy, even after some hours."

"Do they actually use them now?" asked Mrs. Blain in a strained, faltering voice, her wine-gla.s.s poised in her hand.

"Yes," he responded. "They've been utilised with entire success in two or three cases this week, not only in London, but in the provinces also.

They are unfailing, and will track the guilty one with an accuracy that's absolutely astounding."

Eva and Mary exchanged quick glances across the table, while Mrs. Blain sipped her wine and stirred uneasily in her chair.

I noticed that the colour had died out from the faces of all three, and that in their blanched countenances was a look of mingled fear and suspicion.

My friend had led that conversation with remarkable tact to quite an unlooked-for result.

He lifted his eyes to mine for an instant and read my thoughts. My mind became filled with a presentiment of future ill.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE DEFORMED MAN'S STATEMENT.

Youth is as short as joy, and happiness vanishes like all else. In the mad hurry of life, however, we heed not such things. We live only for to-day.