The God in the Car Part 58

Well, I haven't changed, Mrs. Dennison. I still think all that, and, if you ever want a friend to help you, or--or a servant to serve you, why, you can call on me."

She sat silent while he spoke, gazing at the ground in front of her. Tom grew bolder.

"There was one thing I came to Dieppe to do, but I hadn't the courage there. I wanted to tell you that Harry--that Harry was worthy of your love. I thought--well, I've gone further than I thought I could. You know; you must forgive me. If there's one thing in all the world that makes me feel all I ever felt for you, and more, it's to see him happy again, and you here trying to make him. Because I know that, in a way, it's difficult."

"Do you know?" she asked.

"Yes, I know. And, because I know, I tell you that you're a wife any man might thank G.o.d for."

Mrs. Dennison laughed; and Tom started at the jarring sound. Yet it was not a sound of mirth.

"You had temptations most of us haven't--yes, and a nature most of us haven't. And here you are. So,"--he rose from his chair and took her hand that drooped beside her, and bent his head and kissed it--"though I love Adela with all my heart, still I kiss your hand as your true and grateful servant, as I used to be in old days."

Tom stopped; he had said his say, and his voice had grown tremulous in the saying. Yet he had done it; he had told her what he felt; and he prayed that it might comfort her in the trouble that had lined her forehead and made her eyes sad.

Mrs. Dennison did not glance at him. For a moment she sat quite silent.

Then she said,

"Thanks, Tom," and pressed his hand.

Then she suddenly sat up in her chair and held her hand out before her, and whispered to him words that he hardly heard.

"If you knew," she said, "you wouldn't kiss it; you'd spit on it."

Tom stood, silently, suddenly, wretchedly conscious that he did not know what he ought to do. Then he blurted out,

"You'll stay with him?"

"Yes, I shall stay with him," she said, glancing up; and Tom seemed to see in her eyes the picture of the long future that her words meant. And he went away with his joy eclipsed.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE MOVING CAR.

In the month of June two years later, Lord Semingham sat on the terrace outside the drawing-room windows of his country house. By him sat Adela Loring, and Tom was to be seen a hundred yards away, smoking a pipe, and talking to Harry Dennison. Suddenly Semingham, who had been reading the newspaper, broke into a laugh.

"Listen to this," said he. "It is true that the vote for the Omof.a.ga railway was carried, but a majority of ten is not a glorious victory, and there can be little doubt that the prestige of the Government will suffer considerably by such a narrow escape from defeat, and by Lord Detchmore's ill-advised championship of Mr. Ruston's speculative schemes. Why is the British Government to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for Mr. Ruston? That is what we ask."

Lord Semingham paused and added,

"They may well ask. I don't know. Do you?"

"Yesterday," observed Adela, "I received a communication from you in your official capacity. It was not a pleasant letter, Lord Semingham."

"I daresay not, madam," said Semingham.

"You told me that the Board regretted to say that, owing to unforeseen hindrances, the work in Omof.a.ga had not advanced as rapidly as had been hoped, and that for the present it was considered advisable to devote all profits to the development of the Company's territory. You added however, that you had the utmost confidence in Mr. Ruston's zeal and ability, and in the ultimate success of the Company."

"Yes; that was the circular," said Semingham. "That is, in fact, for some time likely to be the circular."

They both laughed; then both grew grave, and sat silent side by side.

The drawing-room window was thrown open, and Lady Semingham looked out.

She held a letter in her hand.

"Oh, fancy, Adela!" she cried. "Such a terrible thing has happened. I've had a letter from Marjory Valentine--she's in awful grief, poor child."

"Why, what about?" cried Adela.

"Poor young Walter Valentine has died of fever in Omof.a.ga. He caught it at Fort Imperial, and he was dead in a week. Poor Lady Valentine! Isn't it sad?"

Adela and Semingham looked at one another. A moment ago they had jested on the sacrifices demanded by Omof.a.ga; Semingham had seen in the division on the vote for the railway a delightful extravagant burlesque on a larger stage of the fatefulness which he had whimsically read into Willie Ruston's darling scheme. Adela had fallen into his mood, adducing the circular as her evidence. They were taken at their word in grim earnest. Omof.a.ga claimed real tears, as though in conscious malice it had set itself to outplay them at their sport.

"You don't say anything, Alfred," complained little Lady Semingham from the window.

"What is there to say?" asked he, spreading out his hands.

"The only son of his mother, and she is a widow," whispered Adela, gazing away over the sunny meadows.

Bessie Semingham looked at the pair for an instant, vaguely dissatisfied with their want of demonstrativeness. There seemed, as Alfred said, very little to say; it was so sad that there ought to have been more to say.

But she could think of nothing herself, so, in her pretty little lisp, she repeated,

"How sad for poor Lady Valentine!" and slowly shut the window.

"He was a bright boy, with the makings of a man in him," said Semingham.

Adela nodded, and for a long while neither spoke again. Then Semingham, with the air of a man who seeks relief from sad thoughts which cannot alter sadder facts, asked,

"Where are the Dennisons?"

"She went for a walk by herself, but I think she's come back and gone a stroll with Tom and Harry." As she spoke, she looked up and caught a puzzled look in Semingham's eye. "Yes," she went on in quick understanding. "I don't quite understand her either."

"But what do you think?" he asked, in his insatiable curiosity that no other feeling could altogether master.

"I don't want to think about it," said Adela. "But, yes, I'll tell you, if you like. She isn't happy."

"No. I could tell you that," said he.

"But Harry is happy. Lord Semingham, when I see her with him--her sweetness and kindness to him--I wonder."

This time it was Semingham who nodded silent a.s.sent.

"And," said Adela, with a glance of what seemed like defiance, "I pray."

"You're a good woman, Adela," said he.