The Lamp of Fate Part 34

Following upon this incident the atmosphere seemed to become all at once constrained and difficult. June sat very silent, her eyes holding that expression of pain and bewilderment which was growing habitual to them, while Storran hurried through his meal in the shortest possible time.

As soon as he had finished he pushed back his chair abruptly and, with a muttered apology, quitted the room and went out again on to the farm.

June rose and began clearing the table mechanically.

"Can't I help you?" Gillian paused as she was about to follow Magda out of the room. "You look so tired to-day."

June's lip quivered sensitively. She was in the state of nerves when a little unexpected sympathy is the most upsetting thing imaginable.

"Oh, I can't let you!" she answered hastily. "No--really!"--as Gillian calmly took the tray she was carrying out of her hands.

"Supposing you go and lie down for a little while," suggested Gillian practically. "And leave the washing-up to Coppertop and me!"

The tears suddenly brimmed up into the wide-open blue eyes.

"Oh, I couldn't!"

"Wouldn't you like a little rest?" urged Gillian persuasively. "I believe you'd be asleep in two minutes!"

"I believe I should," acknowledged June faintly. "I--I haven't been sleeping very well lately."

A little shudder ran through her as she recalled those long hours each night when she lay at Dan's side, staring wide-eyed into the darkness and wondering dully what it was that had come between herself and her husband--come just at the time when, with his unborn child beneath her heart, they two should have been drawn together in to the most wonderful and blessed comradeship and understanding. Only Dan didn't know this--didn't know that before the snowdrops lifted their white heads again from the green carpet of spring there would be a little son--June was sure it would be a son, to grow up tall and strong like Dan himself!--born of the love which had once been so sweet and untroubled by any creeping doubts.

"I a.s.sure you"--Gillian broke in on the miserable thoughts that were chasing each other through June's tired brain--"I a.s.sure you, Coppertop and I are very competent people. We won't break a single dish!"

"But you've never been used to that kind of thing--washing-up!"

protested June, glancing significantly at Gillian's white hands and soft, pretty frock of hyacinth muslin.

"Haven't I?" Gillian laughed gaily. "I haven't always been as well off as I am not, and I expect I know quite as much about doing 'ch.o.r.es' as you! Come now!" She waited expectantly.

"Dan would be awfully angry if he knew--it's my duty, you see," objected June, visibly weakening.

"If he knew! But what a husband doesn't know his heart doesn't grieve over," replied Gillian sagely. "There, that's settled. Come along upstairs and let me tuck you up in your bed, and leave the rest to Coppertop and me."

And June, with her heart suddenly warmed and comforted in the way in which an unexpected kindness does warm and comfort, went very willingly and, tired out in body and mind, fell asleep in ten minutes.

Meanwhile Magda had established herself in the hammock slung from the boughs of one of the great elms which shaded the garden. She had brought a book with her, since her thoughts were none too pleasant company just at the moment, and was speedily absorbed in its contents.

It was very soothing and tranquil out there in the noonday heat. The gnats hovered in the sunlight, dancing and whirling in little transient cl.u.s.ters; now and again a ladybird flickered by or a swallow swooped so near that his darting shadow fell across her book; while all about her sounded the pleasant hum of a summer's day--the soft susurration of the pleasant hum of a thousand insect voices blending into an indefinite, murmurous vibration of the air.

Occasionally the whir of a motor-car sweeping along the adjacent road broke harshly across the peaceful quiet. Magda glanced up with some annoyance as the first one sped by, dragging her back to an unwilling sense of civilisation. Then she bent her head resolutely above her book and declined to be distracted any further, finally losing herself completely in the story she was reading.

So it came about that when a long, low, dust-powdered car curved in between the granite gateposts of Stockleigh Farm and came abruptly to a standstill, she remained entirely oblivious of its advent. Nor did she see the tall, slender-limbed man who had been driving, and whose questing hazel eyes had descried her almost immediately, slip from his seat behind the steering-wheel and come across the gra.s.s towards her.

"_Antoine!_"

The book fell from her hand and she sat up suddenly in the hammock.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she demanded. There was no welcome in her tone.

For a moment Davilof remained watching her, the sunshine, slanting between the leaves of the trees, throwing queer little flickering lights into the hazel eyes and glinting on his golden-brown hair and beard.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated.

"I came--to see you," he said simply.

There was something disarming in the very simplicity of his reply. It seemed to imply an almost child-like wonder that she should ask--that there could possibly be any other reason for his presence.

But it failed to propitiate Magda in the slightest degree. She felt intensely annoyed that anyone from the outside world--from her world of London--should have intruded upon her seclusion at Ashencombe, nor could she imagine how Davilof had discovered her retreat.

"How did you learn I was here?" she asked.

"From Melrose."

Magda's eyes darkened sombrely.

"Do you mean you bribed him?" she asked quickly. "Oh, but surely not!"--in dismayed tones. "Melrose would go to the stake sooner than accept a bribe!"

Davilof's mouth twisted in a rueful smile.

"I'm sure he would! I tried him, but he wouldn't look at a bribe of any sort. So I had to resort to strategy. It was one evening, when he was taking your letters to post, and I waited for him at the pillar-box.

I came up very quietly behind him and just nipped one of the letters, readdressed to you, out of his hand. I read the address and then posted the letter for him. It was very simple."

He recounted the incident with a little swaggering air of bravado, boyishly delighted at the success of his small ruse. Vexed as she was Magda could hardly refrain from smiling; the whole thing was so eminently un-English--so exactly like Davilof!

"Well, now that you have seen me, will you please go away again?" she said coolly, reopening her book as though to end the conversation.

He regarded her with unqualified reproach.

"Won't you even ask me to tea?" he said plaintively.

"Certainly not," Magda was beginning. But precisely as she spoke June Storran, looking more herself again after her short sleep, came towards them from the house.

Her face brightened as she caught sight of Davilof. Even to June's inexperienced eyes it was quite obvious that he admired the woman with whom he was talking. The very way he looked at her told her that. Presumably he was one of her London friends who had motored to Devonshire to see her. No man--within the limited scope of June's knowledge of men--did that deliciously absurd, extravagant kind of thing unless he was tremendously in love. Nor would any nice woman let a man take such a journey on her behalf unless she reciprocated his feelings.

Of this June--whose notions were old-fashioned--felt a.s.sured. So her spirits rose accordingly. Since, if these two were on the verge of becoming engaged, the mere fact would clear away the indefinable shadows which seemed to have been menacing her own happiness from the time Miss Vallincourt had come to Stockleigh.

"Tea is just ready," she announced, approaching. "Will you come in? And perhaps your friend will have tea with us?" she added shyly.

Davilof was presented and June repeated her invitation. He shot a glance of triumph at Magda.

"I shall be delighted, madame," he said, giving June one of his quaint little foreign bows. "But--the sun is shining so gloriously--might we not have it out here?"

June looked round her doubtfully. As is often the case with people born and bred in the country, it never occurred to the Storrans to have the family meals out-of-doors, and June felt considerable misgiving as to whether Dan would appreciate the innovation.

"Ah, please, madame!" pleaded Davilof persuasively. "Let us have it here--under this tree. Why, the tree grows here expressly for the purpose!"

Davilof had all the charm of his nationality, and June capitulated, retreating to make the necessary arrangements.

"I don't fancy Dan Storran will at all approve of the alteration from his usual customs which you've engineered," observed Magda when they were again alone.