Delia Blanchflower Part 58

"Oh, Mark, Mark, I want you to help me!"

He took her hands, but without pressing them. His face, frowning and flushed, with a little quivering of the nostrils, began to terrify her--

"Oh, Mark,--dear Mr. Mark--I went to see Mr. Lathrop--because--because I was in great trouble--and I thought he could help me."

He dropped the hands.

"You went to _him_--instead of to me? How long have you been with him?

Did you write to him to arrange it?"

"No, no--we met by accident. Mark, it's not myself--it's a fear I have--a dreadful, dreadful fear!"

She came close to him, piteously, just murmuring--

"It's Monk Lawrence!--and Gertrude!"

He started, and looked at her keenly--

"You know something I don't know?"

"Oh yes, I do, I do!" she said, wringing her hands. "I ought to have told you long ago. But I've been afraid of what you might do--I've been afraid for Gertrude. Can't you see, Mark? I've been trying to make Mr.

Lathrop keep watch--enquire--so that they wouldn't dare. I've told Gertrude that I know--I've written to people--I've done all I could.

And this afternoon I felt I must go there and see for myself, what precautions had been taken--and I met Mr. Lathrop--"

She gave a rapid account of their visit to the house,--of its complete desertion--of the strange behaviour of the niece--and of the growing alarm in her own mind.

"There's something--there's some plot. Perhaps that woman's in it.

Perhaps Gertrude's got hold of her--or Miss Andrews. Anyway, if that house can be left quite alone--ever--they'll get at it--that I'm sure of. Why did she take the children away? Wasn't that strange?"

Then she put her hands on the heart that fluttered so--and tried to smile--

"But of course till the Bill's thrown out, there can be no danger, can there? There _can't_ be any!" she repeated, as though appealing to him to rea.s.sure her.

"I don't understand yet," he said gravely. "Why do you suspect Miss Marvell, or a plot at all? There was no such idea in your mind when we went over the house together?"

"No, none!--or at least not seriously--there was nothing, really, to go on"--she a.s.sured him eagerly. "But just after--you remember Mr.

Lathrop's coming--that day--?--when you scolded me?"

He could not help smiling a little--rather bitterly.

"I remember you said you couldn't explain. Of course I thought it was something connected with Miss Marvell, or your Society--but--"

"I'm going to explain"--she said, trying hard for composure. "I'm going to tell it all in order."

And sitting down, her head resting on her hand, with Winnington standing before her, she told the whole story of the preceding weeks--the alternations of fear and relief--Lathrop's suspicions--Gertrude's denials--the last interview between them.

As for the man looking down upon her beautiful bowed head, his heart melted within him as he listened. The sting remained that she should have asked anyone else than he to help her--above all that she should have humbled herself to ask it of such a man as Lathrop. Anxiety remained, for Monk Lawrence itself, and still more for what might be said of her complicity. But all that was further implied in her confession, her drooping sweetness, her pa.s.sionate appeal to him--the beauty of her true character, its innocence, its faith, its loyalty--began to flood him with a feeling that presently burst its bounds.

She wound up with most touching entreaties to him, to save and shield her friend--to go himself to Gertrude and warn her--to go to the police--without disclosing names, of course--and insist that the house should be constantly patrolled.

He scarcely heard a word of this. When she paused--there was silence a moment. Then she heard her name--very low--

"Delia!"

She looked up, and with a long breath she rose, as though drawn invisibly. He held out his arms, and she threw hers round his neck, hiding her face against the life that beat for her.

"Oh, forgive me!"--she murmured, after a little, childishly pressing her lips to his--"forgive me--for everything!"

The tears were in his eyes.

"You've gone through all this!--alone!" he said to her, as he bent over her. "But never again, Delia--never again!"

She was the first to release herself--putting tears away.

"Now then--what can we do?"

He resumed at once his ordinary manner and voice.

"We can do a great deal. I have the car here. I shall go straight back to Monk Lawrence, and see Daunt to-night. That woman's behaviour must be reported--and explained. An hour--an hour and a half?--since you were there?"--he took out his watch--"He's probably home by now--it's quite dark--he'd scarcely risk being away after dark. Dearest, go and rest!--I shall come back later--after dinner. Put it out of your mind."

She went towards the hall with him hand in hand. Suddenly there was a confused sound of shouting outside. Lady Tonbridge opened the drawing-room door with a scared face--

"What is it? There are people running up the drive. They're shouting something!"

Winnington rushed to the front door, Delia with him. With his first glance at the hill-side, he understood the meaning of the cries--of the crowd approaching.

"My G.o.d!--_too late_!"

For high on that wooded slope, a blaze was spreading to the skies--a blaze that grew with every second--illuminating with its flare the woods around it, the chimneys of the old house, the quiet stretches of the hill.

"Monk Lawrence is afire, Muster Winnington!" panted one of Winnington's own labourers who had outstripped the rest. "They're asking for you to come! They've telephoned to Latchford for the engines, and to Brownmouth and Wanchester too. They say it's burning like tow--there must be petrol in it, or summat. It's the women they say!--spite of Mr.

Daunt and the perlice!"

Then he noticed Delia standing beside Winnington on the steps, and held his tongue, scowling.

Winnington's car was still standing at the steps. He set it going in a moment.

"My cloak!" said Delia, looking round her--"And tell them to bring the car!"

"Delia, you're not going?" cried Madeleine, throwing a restraining arm about her.

"But of course I am!" said the girl amazed. "Not with him--because I should be in his way."

Various persons ran to do her bidding. Winnington already in his place, with a labourer beside him, and two more in the seat behind him, beckoned to her.

"Why should you come, dearest! It will only break your heart. We'll do all that can be done, and I'll send back messages."

She shook her head.