The Missioner Part 15

"You are going to desert us?" Deyes asked coolly.

"It was in the bond, wasn't it?" she answered. "Peggy will look after you all, I am sure."

"You mean that you are going away, to leave Thorpe?" Stephen Hurd asked abruptly.

She turned her head to look at him. He was sitting a little outside the circle--an att.i.tude typical, perhaps, of his position there. The change in her tone was slight indeed, but it was sufficient.

"I am thinking of it," she answered. "You, Gilbert, and Captain Austin can find some men to shoot, no doubt. Ask any one you like. Peggy will see about some women for you. I draw the line at that red-haired Egremont woman. Anybody else!"

"This is a blow," Deyes remarked, "but it was in the bond. Nothing will move me from here till the seventeenth--unless your _chef_ should leave.

Do we meet in Marienbad?"

"I am not sure," Wilhelmina answered, playing idly with the cards. "I feel that my system requires something more soothing."

"I hate them all--those German baths," Lady Peggy declared. "Ridiculous places every one of them."

"After all, you see," Wilhelmina declared, "illness of any sort is a species of uncleanliness. I think I should like to go somewhere where people are healthy, or at least not so disgustingly frank about their livers."

"Why not stay here?" Stephen ventured to suggest. "I doubt whether any one in Thorpe knows what a liver is."

"'Inutile!'" Lady Peggy exclaimed. "Wilhelmina has the 'wander fever.' I can see it in her face. Is it the thunder, I wonder?"

Deyes walked to the window and threw it open. The storm was over, but the rain was still falling, a soft steady downpour. The cooler air which swept into the room was almost faint with the delicious perfume of flowers and shrubs bathed in the refreshing downpour.

"I think," he said, "that there is some magic abroad to-night. Did you meet Lucifer walking in the rose garden?" he asked, turning slightly towards his hostess. "The storm may have brought him--even here!"

"Neither Lucifer nor any other of his princely fellows," she answered.

"The only demon is here,"--she touched her bosom lightly--"the demon of unrest. It is not I alone who am born with the wanderer's curse! There are many of us, you know."

He shook his head.

"You have not the writing in your face," he said. "I do not believe that you are one of the accursed at all. To-night----"

She was standing by his side now, looking out into the velvety darkness.

Her eyes challenged his.

"Well! To-night?"

"To-night you have the look of one who has found what she has sought for for a long time. This sounds bald, but it is as near to truth as I can get."

She was silent for a moment. She stood by his side listening to the soft constant patter of the rain, the far-away rumblings of the dying storm.

"One has moods," she murmured.

"Heaven forbid that a woman should be without them!" he answered.

"Do you ever feel as though something were going to happen?" she asked suddenly.

"Often," he answered; "but nothing ever does!"

Lady Peggy came yawning over to them.

"My dear," she said, "I feel it in my very bones. I firmly believe that something is going to happen to every one of us. I have a most mysterious p.r.i.c.king about my left elbow!"

"To every one of us?" Stephen Hurd asked, idly enough.

"To every one of us!" she answered. "To you, even, who live in Thorpe.

Remember my words when you get home to-night, or when you wake in the morning. As for you, Wilhelmina, I am not at all sure that you have not already met with your adventure."

Deyes lit a cigarette.

"Let us remember this," he declared. "In a week's time we will compare notes."

Stephen Hurd stood up to take his leave.

"You are really going--soon?" he asked, as he bent over her carelessly offered hand.

"As soon as I can decide where to go to," she answered.

"Can I give my father any message? Would you care to see him to-morrow morning?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"It is not necessary," she answered.

He made his adieux reluctantly. Somehow he felt that the night had not been a success. She was going away. Very likely he would not see her again. The great house and all its glories would be closed to him. To do him justice, he thought of that less than the casual manner of her farewell. His vanity was deeply wounded. She had begun by being so gracious--no wonder that he had lost his head a little. He thought over the events of the last few days. Something had occurred to alter her.

Could he have offended in any way?

He walked dejectedly home, heedless of the sodden path and wet gra.s.s. A light was still burning in the study. He hesitated for a moment, and then, turning the handle, entered.

"You're late, father," he remarked, going towards the cupboard to select a pipe.

There was no answer. The still figure in the chair never moved.

Something in the silence struck Stephen as ominous. He turned abruptly round, and for the first time noticed the condition of the room. A chair was overturned, a vase of flowers spilt upon the table, the low window, from which one stepped almost into the village street, was wide open.

The desk in front of the motionless figure was littered all over with papers in wild confusion. Stephen, with a low cry of horror, crossed the room and laid his hand upon his father's shoulder. He tried to speak to him, but the words stuck in his throat. He knew very well that there could be no reply. His father was sitting dead in his chair.

CHAPTER XI

THE BAYING OF THE HOUNDS

Out amongst the broken fragments of the storm, on the hill-top and down the rain-drenched lane, Macheson sought in vain by physical exertion to still the fever which burned in his veins. Nothing he could do was able to disturb that wonderful memory, to lessen for an instant the significance of those few amazing seconds. The world of women, all the lighter and quieter joys of life, he had, with the fierce asceticism of the young reformer, thrust so resolutely behind him. But he had never imagined anything like this! Its unexpectedness had swept him off his feet. The memory of it was most delicious torture!

Sleep?--he dared not think of it. Who could sleep with such a fire in his blood as this? He heard the storm die away, thunder and wind and rain melted into the deep stillness of midnight. A dim moon shone behind a veil of mist. The dripping of rain from the trees alone remained. Then he heard a footstep coming down the lane. His first wild thought was that she had returned. His eyes burned their way through the darkness.

Soon he saw that it was a man who came unsteadily, but swiftly, down the roadway.