The Judgement Of Love Part 15

"I suppose knowing you I should not be surprised," Vulcan said. "But I am!"

"Personally, I think it was rather foolhardy of you to attempt such a journey," Sir Roderick said, "but I suppose it was no more dangerous than going to Mecca."

Vulcan threw back his head and laughed.

"Uncle Roderick, you are incorrigible! And the best-informed man in the world!"

"You forget that you are a relation, and I have always been very interested in my relations, though I have not seen as much of them as I might have done. "

If Vulcan was surprised so was Astara.

Sir Roderick had said Vulcan was a drifter, a wanderer. How could he reconcile that with the incredible bravery of a man who had achieved the impossible, who had made the pilgrimage to mecca and penetrated the secrecy of Harrar.

"I myself find all this bogeybogey about secret cities and mysterious shrines boring and in most cases exaggerated,"

William remarked. "What good do such journeys do anyone, least of all yourself?"

Astara thought that Vulcan would tell his cousin how interested the a.s.sociation in England and the Societe in Paris were in what he had achieved.

Instead he replied : "I am looking forward, William, to healing of your adventures on the turf. Topsail was certainly a popular winner in Little Wilden!"

"I thought it would give the locals something to talk about," William said complacently. "Did you back him yourself?"

"To tell the truth, I forgot to do so," Vulcan replied.

Seeing the supercilious smile on William's lips Astara knew that he thought the real reason why Vulcan had abstained was that he could not afford it.

She wondered if Sir Roderick would notice the cut and thrust between the two cousins, and then was sure that he was well aware of it.

She wondered if William's obvious antipathy to Vulcan was due to her.

Then she told herself it might in part be the fact that Vulcan looked so outstanding, so different in a way that was difficult to explain from his two cousins.

Conventionally dressed, as elegant as they were, there should have been little outward difference between them.

Yet as fat- as she was concerned Vulcan had a personality which shone almost like a beacon fire in the darkness of the night.

He made both William and Lionel pale into insignificance, and while she was acutely aware of him she felt Sir Roderick was too.

As she had done every night when dinner was over, she left the gentlemen to their port.

Usually they joined her within ten minutes, but she knew as she waited in the Salon that every second seemed a century because she was separated from Vulcan.

All she could do was wonder what he was feeling and if he was thinking of her.

Yesterday he had told her that she had come into his life and he could never let her go. She had known that he had spoken the truth when he said: "I shall be counting the seconds, my little G.o.ddess, until to-morrow evening."

She had counted the seconds all day and now she was not sure of what Vulcan felt about her and if he wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her as he had done after asking her to go with him to Paris.

Did he still want her? Would he now want to marry her? Was his love deeper than his desire for adventure?

The questions seemed to whirl round her, repeating and re-repeating themselves.

Then she heard the gentlemen's voices as they came from the Dining Room and felt her heart beating as if it might jump from her breast because in a moment Vulcan would be near her again.

He came into the room walking beside Sir Roderick and talking with an ease that made her feel as if she must run towards him to ask him to put his arms round her and hold her close.

"Love me! Love me!" she willed as he came towards her.

His eyes were however not on her face but on the pictures on the walls.

"I see you have a new Van d.y.k.e," he said looking to-wards one that had been hung in the centre of the wall between the door and the fireplace.

"Do you like it?" Sir Roderick asked.

"I think he is the only artist who could have done you justice, Uncle Roderick."

Sir Roderick smiled, delighted at the compliment.

"I have often thought that myself, " he said. "And who would you 'suggest would be the best artist to paint Astara? Two Italians who tried to capture her on canvas failed utterly. "

For the first time since he had entered the room Vulcan looked at Astara.

To her his eyes seemed to flicker over her almost dispa.s.sionately.

She looked up at him feeling he must be aware of how much she was loving him and how she wanted him to understand why she had deceived him.

"There are only two people who could do Astara justice," Vulcan said at length, "Botticelli and myself!"

Astara gasped as he said the last word and Sir Roderick said: "An excellent idea! When will you paint her?"

"I doubt if you would appreciate the result, Vulcan replied, "but of course like everything else it is a question of time."

"Are we to infer from you that you are going away again?" William asked.

He had come into the room behind his uncle and Astara had not even realised he was there.

"Very shortly," Vulcan replied.

"Then perhaps Astara will have a lucky escape in not having to submit to sitting for you," William said, "especially since, if I may suggest it, you are not well known enough to have the privilege of such a uniquely beautiful model."

There was no doubt that William intended to be un-pleasant.

But as if Sir Roderick had no intention of allowing the friction between the two cousins to continue, he merely said to Vulcan "Come and look at the pictures I have acquired in these last two years. You come and show them to him, too, Astara. After all, they are as much your choice as mine." Astara moved quickly to Sir Roderick's side. She saw the expression on Williams face as she did so and felt inclined to laugh.

For the first time since he had come to Worfield House William s nose was out of joint, and like a spoilt, small boy he was extremely put out and annoyed by the fact.

Sir Roderick showed all his new purchases with an inescapable pride.

They walked round the Salon looking at those already hung. Astara was not surprised to learn how knowledgeable Vulcan was or how with one word or a short sentence he could make her see more clearly than she ever .had before the quality of each particular artist.

"A wayward genius!" he said of Piera de Cosimo and she knew no-one could have described his painting better.

"What do you think of this one by Jan Van Eyele?" she asked a little breathlessly.

"His pictures always have a dazzling self-possessiveness and confidence," Vulcan replied.

"And Rubens?" her uncle asked.

Astara waited. She knew how proud Sir Roderick was of the Rubens they had bought in Paris. She felt that if Vulcan disparaged it in any way, it would hurt his uncle.

"Ruben always 'thought ' with his brush, " Vulcan answered. "He magnifred life and glorified it."

Sir Roderick was delighted.

"I have moved my father 's sporting pictures to the Library and the Hall, " he said as they reached the door of the Salon. "I would like your opinion as to whether a Wooton which he bought just before he died is genuine. I have a feeling that it was done either by one of his pupils or is perhaps a complete fake."

They walked across the Hall towards the Library and Astara realised with relief that William and Lionel had not followed them.

There were only a few candles burning in the Library and Sir Roderick ordered a footman to light the others.

In the big room with its background of books, Astara stood watching Vulcan as he inspected the painting.

She hoped that perhaps he would touch her hand or say something rea.s.suring when Sir Roderick was looking the other way.

He must be aware, she thought, of her feelings. He must know how anxious she was that he should not be angry with her, But if he did know what she felt, he made no sign of it.

When finally he said good-bye she thought despairingly it would be impossible to go through the night and wait until the morning before she could see him alone.

Sir Roderick saw him off from the Hall, and although she walked beside him Vulcan continued to talk to his uncle.

"I would have liked you to stay here, " Sir Roderick was saying, "but I suppose you are very comfortable in the old Mill which I hear you have made charming."

"You must come and see it, Uncle Roderick," Vulcan replied, "though it can hardly compare with the magnificence of Worfield House !"

"There is a great deal more I wish to do now that I am living here," Sir Roderick replied, "and I hope you will help me, at least as far as the pictures are concerned. "

"There is nothing I would enjoy more, " Vulcan answered, "but I am afraid I am soon off on my travels and have a great deal to do before I go."

"Then try to spare me a little of your valuable time, " Sir Roderick said with a slightly cynical accent on the word 'valuable"I am sure my cousins are far more capable of doing what you want than I am," Vulcan said, and now there was a definite innuendo behind the words.

The two men looked at each other.

"You are quite sure about that?" Sir Roderick asked. "Quite sure!" Vulcan answered.

He put out his hand.

"Good-night, Uncle Roderick, and thank you for a most interesting dinner."

Astara held her breath. Could he really have meant what he had said?

She would know for certain, she thought, when he touched her. But before she could hold out her hand towards him Vulcan bowed.

"Good-night, Miss Beverley," he said. "It has been delightful to meet you!"

Then he was gone out through the front door and only by exerting every ounce of her will-power did Astara pre-vent herself from running after him.

"How can you leave me like this?" she wanted to cry. "How can you be so cruel?"

As if in a dream she heard her uncle ask if she wished to retire.

She must have given him the right answer for the next thing she knew she was in her bed-room, alone and the tears were streaming down her face.

She had lost everything ... everything which mattered in the whole world!

CHAPTER SIX.

Astara hurried through the wood, not actually running but walking as quickly as she possibly could.

It was only seven o'clock but she was sure that Vulcan, like her father, was an early riser.

She was half-afraid that he might already have left and gone perhaps to London before she could see him.

She had been unable to sleep and had lain awake wondering what she should do. But every possible solution seemed hopeless or impracticable and ended in her once again crying hopelessly.

She loved him so overwhelmingly that it was an agony to know that he was, despite all he had said, prepared to give her up and never see her again.

This morning she was not interested in the beauty of the wood or the early morning sunshine percolating through the trees. All she could think of was to reach Little Milder as quickly as possible to find Vulcan.

Perhaps, she tried to tell herself, she had misunderstood what he had said to her uncle.

Yet if she was honest she knew that the way he had virtually ignored her during the evening and deliberately avoided touching her when they said good-night was si cant in itself.

She reached the old Mill and for the fast time since she had come there she found the door closed.

First she thought frantically that she was too late Vulcan had gone and she would never see him again.

Then she told herself it was still very early in the morning, and perhaps he was not yet up or was at breakfast.

She did not knock on the door, she merely lifted the latch and walked in.

Everything seemed very quiet and she resisted the impulse to call to Vulcan and to learn that, if he answered, he was still in the Mill.