The Lighted Way Part 62

"All the time," she answered, fervently, "I am praying that he may.

If he treated my mother badly, I am sure that he has suffered. I can't quite forget, either," she went on, "although that seems selfish, that when I come out of the hospital, even if all goes well, I may still be homeless."

He leaned over her.

"Ruth," he exclaimed, "what do you mean?"

"You know," she answered, simply. "You must know."

His heart began to beat more quickly. He turned his head but she was looking away. He could see only the curve of her long eyelashes. It seemed to him strange then that he had never noticed the likeness to Sabatini before. Her mouth, her forehead, the carriage of her head, were all his. He leaned towards her. There was something stirring in his heart then, something throbbing there, which seemed to bring with it a cloud of new and bewildering emotions. The whole world was slipping away. Something strange had come into the room.

"Ruth," he whispered, "will you look at me for a moment?"

She kept her head turned away.

"Don't!" she pleaded. "Don't talk to me just now. I can't bear it, Arnold."

"But I have something to say to you," he persisted. "I have something new, something I must say, something that has just come to me. You must listen, Ruth."

She held out her hand feverishly.

"Please, Arnold," she begged, "I don't want to hear--anything. I know how kind you are and how generous. Just now--I think it is the heat--be still, please. I can't bear anything."

Her fingers clutched his and yet kept him away. Every moment he was more confident of this thing which had come to him. A strange longing was filling his heart. The old days when he had kissed her carelessly upon the forehead seemed far enough away. Then, in that brief period of silence which seemed to him too wonderful to break, there came a little tap at the door. They both turned their heads.

"Come in," Arnold invited.

There was a moment's hesitation. Then the door was opened. Fenella entered. Arnold sprang to his feet.

"Mrs. Weatherley!" he exclaimed.

She smiled at him with all her old insolent grace.

"Since when?" she demanded. "Fenella, if you please."

She was more simply dressed than usual, in a thin, black gown and black picture hat, and there were shadows under her eyes. No one could look at her and fail to know that she was suffering. She came across to Ruth.

"My brother is the dearest thing in life to me," she said. "He is all that I have left to me belonging to my own world. All these days I have spent at his bedside, except when they have sent me away.

This evening I have come to see you. You are his child, Ruth."

Ruth turned her head slowly.

"Yes," she murmured, half fearfully.

"When Arnold brought you to Bourne End," Fenella continued, "for one moment I looked at you and I wondered. You seemed, even then, to remind me of some one who had existed in the past. I know now who it was. You have something of Andrea's air, but you are very like your mother, Ruth."

"You knew her?" Ruth asked.

"Very slightly," Fenella replied. "She was a very clever actress and I saw her sometimes upon the stage. Sometimes I think that Andrea did not treat her well, but that was the way of his world. a.s.suredly he never treated her badly, or you and I would not be here together now."

"I am afraid that you are sorry," Ruth said, timidly.

Fenella laid her hand almost caressingly upon the girl's shoulder.

"You need fear nothing of the sort," she a.s.sured her. "Why should I be sorry? You are something that will remind me of him, something I shall always be glad to have near me. You can guess why I have come?"

Ruth made no answer for a moment. Fenella laughed, a little imperiously.

"You poor child!" she exclaimed. "You cannot think that since I know the truth I could leave you here for a single second? We can fetch your clothes any time. To-night you are coming home with me."

Ruth gazed at her with straining face.

"Home?" she murmured.

"But naturally," Fenella replied. "You are my brother's child and I am a lonely woman. Do you think that I could leave you here for a single second? Arnold has some claims, I know," she continued. "He can come and see you sometimes. Do not be afraid," she went on, her voice suddenly softening. "I shall try to be kind to you. I have been a very selfish person all my life. I think it will be good for me to have some one to care for. Arnold, please to go and ring for the lift. Now that I have two invalids to think about, I must not be away for long."

He looked at Ruth for a moment. Then he obeyed her. When he returned, Ruth was standing up, leaning upon Fenella's arm. She held out her other hand to Arnold.

"You will help me down, please?" she begged.

It was a day of new emotions for Arnold. He was conscious suddenly of a fierce wave of jealousy, of despair. She was going, and notwithstanding the half pathetic, half appealing smile with which she held out her hands, she was happy to go! Fenella saw his expression and laughed in his face.

"Arnold looks at me as though I were a thief," she declared, lightly, "and I have only come to claim my own. If you behave very nicely, Arnold, you can come and see us just as often as you please."

It was all over in a few minutes. The automobile which had been standing in the street below was gone. Arnold was alone upon the sofa. The book which she had been reading, her handkerchief, a bowl of flowers which she had arranged, an odd glove, were lying on the table by his side. But Ruth had gone. The little room seemed cold and empty. He gripped the window-sill, and, sitting where they had sat together only a few minutes ago, he looked down at the curving lights. The old dreams surged up into his brain. The treasure ship had come indeed, the treasure ship for Ruth. Almost immediately the egotism of the man rebuked itself. If, indeed, she were pa.s.sing into a new and happier life, should he not first, of every one, be thankful?--first of every one because within that hour he had learned the secret toward which he had been dimly struggling?

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

THE SHIPS COME IN

The accountant was preparing to take his leave. There had been an informal little meeting held in the dingy private office of Messrs.

Samuel Weatherley & Company, at which he had presided.

"I really feel," he said, as he drew on his gloves thoughtfully, "that I must repeat my congratulations to you, Mr. Jarvis, and to your young coadjutor here, Mr. Chetwode. The results which I have had the pleasure of laying before you are quite excellent. In fact, so far as I can remember, the firm has scarcely ever had a more prosperous half year."

"Very kind of you, I am sure," Mr. Jarvis declared, "and most satisfactory to us. We've worked hard, of course, but that doesn't amount to much, after all. When you've been in a business, as I have in this one, for something like thirty-five years, the interest you take in it is such that you can't help working. This I must say, though," he went on, placing his hand on Arnold's shoulder, "Mr.

Chetwode is almost a newcomer here, and yet his energy has sometimes astounded me. Most remarkable and most creditable! For the last two months, Mr. Neville, he has scarcely slept in London for a single night. He has been to Bristol and Cardiff and Liverpool--all over the country, in fact--in the interests of the firm, with results that have sometimes astonished us."

The accountant nodded approvingly. He took up the balance sheet which they had been perusing and placed it in its envelope.

"I shall now," he said, "call upon Mr. Weatherley, and I am sure he will be most gratified. I understand that our next meeting is to be down here."

Mr. Jarvis beamed.

"Although I must say," he admitted, "that the responsibility has been a great pleasure, still, we shall be heartily glad to see Mr.