The Man Who Rose Again Part 26

"No. Nothing in particular."

"Then come back with me to the club, will you?"

"Yes, if you wish."

"Thank you." And again he looked out of the carriage window in a way that made Winfield sorry he had given his promise.

After they had got into the train, and were on their way back to London, Leicester spoke again.

"Winfield," he said, "do you think she meant what she said? that is, do you think she will ever be led to change her mind?"

"All things are possible," said Winfield.

"Yes, but do you think she will?"

"No," said Winfield, "I do not believe she ever will." He was sorry, after he had spoken, that he had not fenced with the question, so terrible was the look in Leicester's eyes.

"Ah," he replied, "I was only curious to know what you thought. I have always looked upon you as a level-headed fellow."

"I think," said Winfield, "that her pride was wounded, that she was very angry at being made the subject of a wager. What woman wouldn't? Then that conversation we had together a few weeks ago was made to look very black. Of course you might write a letter, giving a full explanation. By to-morrow she will be able to see things in a clearer light."

"No," said Leicester, "she never will."

Winfield was silent.

"Still, I'll write the letter."

"I should."

"I'll write it as soon as we get back to the club. I'll state the whole truth. I ought to have done it before."

"It would have been best. But who would have thought that those two fellows would have----"

"Don't talk about them yet, Winfield. Please don't--if--if--but never mind that now."

The man's face was contorted with pa.s.sion, but he spoke quietly, almost coldly. Winfield shivered as he spoke, however. If ever murder burned in a man's eyes, it burned in Leicester's at that moment.

Directly they arrived at the club, he seized a pen and wrote rapidly, while Winfield remained near him smoking a cigar. Page after page was covered with Leicester's bold, clear writing; when he had finished he pa.s.sed what he had written to Winfield.

"It's mean of me to bother you," he said, "but I'm quite bowled over. I hardly know whether I've set everything down exactly as it occurred.

Would you mind reading what I've written and tell me whether I've made the whole affair plain?"

Winfield read the letter from the first word to the last.

"Yes," he said; "nothing could be more clearly stated. Nothing could be more plain or straight-forward."

"Thank you. I wanted to be sure I was in my right mind. I'll not trouble you with the rest of the letter."

Again he wrote; and this time it was evident by the look on his face that he was setting down what was only for Olive Castlemaine's eyes. As a matter of fact, he was pleading with her as only a desperate man can plead. He threw his pride to the winds, and prayed her mercy and her forgiveness.

"What time is it?" he said, when he had finished.

"Three o'clock," said Winfield, looking at his watch, "and I've had no lunch."

"No; you expected--that is, we expected to----I say, Winfield, I'm going to send this by hand."

"Wait until to-morrow."

"No; to-morrow is an eternity. I must send it now. Great G.o.d! you don't know what this means to me. Get your lunch, Winfield; I'll be back presently."

He left the room as he spoke, while Winfield went into the dining-room.

"Poor beggar," said the young man as he examined the menu, "he's got it bad, and no wonder; for it was a knock-down blow. Well, it must be kept out of the papers, anyhow."

When he had nearly finished his lunch Leicester joined him.

"I've sent it off," he said, "and have told the man to wait for an answer."

"Better if you'd waited until to-morrow," said Winfield.

"I couldn't, man. Most likely she'll go away somewhere to-night--that is--unless--you know. If I'd waited until to-morrow, she'd never have got my letter, she'd be on the way to the Continent, or--heaven knows where. No, I've done right."

"Perhaps you have. Anyhow, sit down and get some lunch. A man must eat, you know."

"I could just as easily fly. Ah, and that reminds me. Winfield, let's go for a ride out in the country. We can get a couple of horses at Bilson's. He has a mad mare that I want to ride. She's a fearful creature, and scarcely any one dares to mount her. I must do something to keep the devil out of me."

"Very well. I'm just in the humour for a gallop; but get some lunch, old man."

"Come on, if you have finished. We can get to Wimbledon Common in an hour--in less than an hour. Then we will give those horses of Bilson's a chance to know what they can do."

"But we must get some riding togs on, old man. You can't go a-riding with a frock coat, and a top hat."

"Oh, I forgot; but that's soon remedied. We can be back by seven or eight o'clock, and by that time there should be--an answer."

A few minutes later, they were on their way towards Wimbledon Common.

But for Winfield, Leicester would have galloped through the crowded streets, and more than once he was on the point of resenting his companion's restrictions. When they arrived at the open country, however, he gave his horse rein, and tore across the Common, while Winfield kept close at his heels.

"I wish I could ride to Brighton," said Leicester presently. "This helps me to keep the devil down."

"Why not?" said Winfield.

"I must get back now," he replied. "There will be an answer to my letter. It may be--you see--she is very just."

"What does a man want of women while he has a good horse under him, the open sky above him, and the country all around him?" asked Winfield, with a laugh.

"What does a man want with heaven when he's been living in h.e.l.l?" asked Leicester.

"As you will, Leicester," said his companion; "but take my advice. Don't expect--too much, and make up your mind to have a good time, whatever may happen."