Mysterious Mr. Sabin Part 22

"Helene," he said, "I am going away for an hour, perhaps two. Will you take care of him until I return?"

"Yes."

"You will promise not to leave him, or to send for a doctor?"

"I will promise, unless he seems to grow worse."

"He will not get worse, he will be conscious in less than an hour. Keep him with you as long as you can, he will be safer here. Remember that!"

"I will remember," she said.

He left the room, and soon she heard the sound of carriage wheels rolling down the avenue. His departure was an intense relief to her. She watched the carriage, furiously driven, disappear along the road. Then she returned to Wolfenden's side. For nearly an hour she remained there, bathing his head, forcing now and then a little brandy between his teeth, and watching his breathing become more regular and the ghastly whiteness leaving his face. And all the while she was thoughtful. Once or twice her hands touched his hair tenderly, almost caressingly. There was a certain wistfulness in her regard of him. She bent close over his face; he was still apparently as unconscious as ever. She hesitated for a moment; the red colour burned in one bright spot on her cheeks. She stooped down and kissed him on the forehead, whispering something under her breath. Almost before she could draw back, he opened his eyes. She was overwhelmed with confusion, but seeing that he had no clear knowledge of what had happened, she rapidly recovered herself. He looked around him and then up into her face.

"What has happened?" he asked. "Where am I?"

"You are at the Lodge," she said quietly. "You called to see Mr. Sabin this morning, you know, and I am afraid you must have quarrelled."

"Ah! it was that beastly stick," he said slowly. "He struck at me suddenly. Where is he now?"

She did not answer him at once. It was certainly better not to say that she had seen him driven rapidly away only a short time ago, with his horses' heads turned to Deringham Hall.

"He will be back soon," she said. "Do not think about him, please. I cannot tell you how sorry I am."

He was recovering himself rapidly. Something in her eyes was sending the blood warmly through his veins; he felt better every instant.

"I do not want to think about him," he murmured, "I do not want to think about any one else but you."

She looked down at him with a half pathetic, half humorous twitching of her lips.

"You must please not make love to me, or I shall have to leave you," she said. "The idea of thinking about such a thing in your condition! You don't want to send me away, do you?"

"On the contrary," he answered, "I want to keep you always with me."

"That," she said briefly, "is impossible."

"Nothing," he declared, "is impossible, if only we make up our minds to it. I have made up mine!"

"You are very masterful! Are all Englishmen as confident as you?"

"I know nothing about other men," he declared. "But I love you, Helene, and I am not sure that you do not care a little for me."

She drew her hand away from his tightening clasp.

"I am going," she said; "it is your own fault--you have driven me away."

Her draperies rustled as she moved towards the door, but she did not go far.

"I do not feel so well," he said quietly; "I believe that I am going to faint."

She was on her knees by his side again in a moment. For a fainting man, the clasp of his fingers around hers was wonderfully strong.

"I feel better now," he announced calmly. "I shall be all right if you stay quietly here, and don't move about."

She looked at him doubtfully.

"I do not believe," she said, "that you felt ill at all; you are taking advantage of me!"

"I can a.s.sure you that I am not," he answered; "when you are here I feel a different man."

"I am quite willing to stay if you will behave yourself," she said.

"Will you please define good behaviour?" he begged.

"In the present instance," she laughed, "it consists in not saying silly things."

"A thing which is true cannot be silly," he protested. "It is true that I am never happy without you. That is why I shall never give you up."

She looked down at him with bright eyes, and a frown which did not come easily.

"If you persist in making love to me," she said, "I am going away. It is not permitted, understand that!"

He sighed.

"I am afraid," he answered softly, "that I shall always be indulging in the luxury of the forbidden. For I love you, and I shall never weary of telling you so."

"Then I must see," she declared, making a subtle but unsuccessful attempt to disengage her hand, "that you have fewer opportunities."

"If you mean that," he said, "I must certainly make the most of this one. Helene, you could care for me, I know, and I could make you happy. You say 'No' to me because there is some vague entanglement--I will not call it an engagement--with some one else. You do not care for him, I am sure. Don't marry him! It will be for your sorrow. So many women's lives are spoilt like that. Dearest," he added, gaining courage from her averted face, "I can make you happy, I am sure of it! I do not know who you are or who your people are, but they shall be my people--nothing matters, except that I love you. I don't know what to say to you, Helene. There is something shadowy in your mind which seems to you to come between us. I don't know what it is, or I would dispel it. Tell me, dear, won't you give me a chance?"

She yielded her other hand to his impatient fingers, and looked down at him wistfully. Yet there was something in her gaze which he could not fathom. Of one thing he was very sure, there was a little tenderness shining out of her dark, brilliant eyes, a little regret, a little indecision. On the whole he was hopeful.

"Dear," she said softly, "perhaps I do care for you a little. Perhaps--well, some time in the future--what you are thinking of might be possible; I cannot say. Something, apart from you, has happened, which has changed my life. You must let me go for a little while. But I will promise you this. The entanglement of which you spoke shall be broken off. I will have no more to do with that man!"

He sat upright.

"Helene," he said, "you are making me very happy, but there is one thing which I must ask you, and which you must forgive me for asking. This entanglement of which you speak has nothing to do with Mr. Sabin?"

"Nothing whatever," she answered promptly. "How I should like to tell you everything! But I have made a solemn promise, and I must keep it. My lips are sealed. But one thing I should like you to understand, in case you have ever had any doubt about it. Mr. Sabin is really my uncle, my mother's brother. He is engaged in a great enterprise in which I am a necessary figure. He has suddenly become very much afraid of you."

"Afraid of me!" Wolfenden repeated.

She nodded.

"I ought to tell you, perhaps, that my marriage with some one else is necessary to insure the full success of his plans. So you see he has set himself to keep us apart."

"The more you tell me, the more bewildered I get," Wolfenden declared. "What made him attack me just now without any warning? Surely he did not wish to kill me?"

Her hand within his seemed to grow colder.

"You were imprudent," she said.

"Imprudent! In what way?"

"You told him that you had sent for Mr. C. to come and go through your father's papers."

"What of it?"

"I cannot tell you any more!"

Wolfenden rose to his feet; he was still giddy, but he was able to stand.

"All that he told me here was a tissue of lies then! Helene, I will not leave you with such a man. You cannot continue to live with him."

"I do not intend to," she answered; "I want to get away. What has happened to-day is more than I can pardon, even from him. Yet you must not judge him too harshly. In his way he is a great man, and he is planning great things which are not wholly for his advantage. But he is unscrupulous! So long as the end is great, he believes himself justified in stooping to any means."

Wolfenden shuddered.

"You must not live another day with him," he exclaimed; "you will come to Deringham Hall. My mother will be only too glad to come and fetch you. It is not very cheerful there just now, but anything is better than leaving you with this man."

She looked at him curiously. Her eyes were soft with something which suggested pity, but resembled tears.

"No," she said, "that would not do at all. You must not think because I have been living with Mr. Sabin that I have no other relations or friends. I have a very great many of both, only it was arranged that I should leave them for a while. I can go back at any time; I am altogether my own mistress."

"Then go back at once," he begged her feverishly. "I could not bear to think of you living here with this man another hour. Have your things put together now and tell your maid. Let me take you to the station. I want to see you leave this infernal house, and this atmosphere of cheating and lies, when I do!"

Her lips parted into the ghost of a smile.

"I have not found so much to regret in my stay here," she said softly.

He held out his arms, but she eluded him gently.

"I hope," he said, "nay, I know that you will never regret it. Never! Tell me what you are going to do now?"

"I shall leave here this afternoon," she said, "and go straight to some friends in London. Then I shall make new plans, or rather set myself to the remaking of old ones. When I am ready, I will write to you. But remember again--I make no promise!"

He held out his hands.

"But you will write to me?"

She hesitated.

"No, I shall not write to you. I am not going to give you my address even; you must be patient for a little while."

"You will not go away? You will not at least leave England without seeing me?"

"Not unless I am compelled," she promised, "and then, if I go, I will come back again, or let you know where I am. You need not fear; I am not going to slip away and be lost! You shall see me again."

Wolfenden was dissatisfied.

"I hate letting you go," he said. "I hate all this mystery. When one comes to think of it, I do not even know your name! It is ridiculous! Why cannot I take you to London, and we can be married to-morrow. Then I should have the right to protect you against this blackguard."

She laughed softly. Her lips were parted in dainty curves, and her eyes were lit with merriment.

"How delightful you are," she exclaimed. "And to think that the women of my country call you Englishmen slow wooers!"

"Won't you prove the contrary?" he begged.

She shook her head.

"It is already proved. But if you are sure you feel well enough to walk, please go now. I want to catch the afternoon train to London."

He held out his hands and tried once more to draw her to him. But she stepped backwards laughing.

"You must please be patient," she said, "and remember that to-day I am betrothed to--somebody else! Goodbye!"

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

MR. SABIN TRIUMPHS.

Wolfenden, for perhaps the first time in his life, chose the inland road home. He was still feeling faint and giddy, and the fresh air only partially revived him. He walked slowly, and rested more than once. It took him almost half an hour to reach the cross roads. Here he sat on a stile for a few minutes, until he began to feel himself again. Just as he was preparing to resume his walk, he was aware of a carriage being driven rapidly towards him, along the private road from Deringham Hall.

He stood quite still and watched it. The roads were heavy after much rain, and the mud was leaping up into the sunshine from the flying wheels, bespattering the carriage, and reaching even the man who sat upon the box. The horses had broken into a gallop, the driver was leaning forward whip in hand. He knew at once whose carriage it was: it was the little brougham which Mr. Sabin had brought down from London. He had been up to the hall, then! Wolfenden's face grew stern. He stood well out in the middle of the road. The horses would have to be checked a little at the sharp turn before him. They would probably shy a little, seeing him stand there in the centre of the road; he would be able to bring them to a standstill. So he remained there motionless. Nearer and nearer they came. Wolfenden set his teeth hard and forgot his dizziness.

They were almost upon him now. To his surprise the driver was making no effort to check his galloping horses. It seemed impossible that they could round that narrow corner at the pace they were going. A froth of white foam was on their bits, and their eyes were bloodshot. They were almost upon Wolfenden before he realised what was happening. They made no attempt to turn the corner which he was guarding, but flashed straight past him along the Cromer road. Wolfenden shouted and waved his arms, but the coachman did not even glance in his direction. He caught a glimpse of Mr. Sabin's face as he leaned back amongst the cushions, dark, satyr-like, forbidding. The thin lips seemed to part into a triumphant smile as he saw Wolfenden standing there. It was all over in a moment. The carriage, with its whirling wheels, was already a speck in the distance.

Wolfenden looked at his watch. It was five-and-twenty minutes to one. Mr. Sabin's purpose was obvious. He was trying to catch the one o'clock express to London. To pursue that carriage was absolutely hopeless. Wolfenden set his face towards Deringham Hall and ran steadily along the road. He was filled with vague fears. The memory of Mr. Sabin's smile haunted him. He had succeeded. By what means? Perhaps by violence! Wolfenden forgot his own aching head. He was filled only with an intense anxiety to reach his destination. If Mr. Sabin had so much as raised his hand, he should pay for it. He understood now why that blow had been given. It was to keep him out of the way. As he ran on, his teeth clenched, and his breath coming fast, he grew hot with pa.s.sionate anger. He had been Mr. Sabin's dupe! Curse the man.

He turned the final corner in the drive, climbed the steps and entered the hall. The servants were standing about as usual. There was no sign of anything having happened. They looked at him curiously, but that might well be, owing to his dishevelled condition.

"Where is the Admiral, Groves?" he asked breathlessly.

"His lordship is in the billiard-room," the man answered.

Wolfenden stopped short in his pa.s.sage across the hall, and looked at the man in amazement.

"Where?"

"In the billiard-room, my lord," the man repeated. "He was inquiring for you only a moment ago."

Wolfenden turned sharp to the left and entered the billiard-room. His father was standing there with his coat off and a cue in his hand. Directly he turned round Wolfenden was aware of a peculiar change in his face and expression. The hard lines had vanished, every trace of anxiety seemed to have left him. His eyes were soft and as clear as a child's. He turned to Wolfenden with a bland smile, and immediately began to chalk his cue.