The Triumph of Hilary Blachland Part 21

"Blachland."

"Ah, yes, I beg your pardon--Blachland. Mr Blachland."

Hilary bowed--then obliged by that other's outstretched hand to put forth his, found it enclosed in a tolerably firm clasp, by that of-- Hermia.

Thus they stood, looking into each other's eyes, and in that brief glance, for all his habitual self-control, he would have been more than human had he succeeded in concealing the unbounded surprise--largely mingled with dismay--which flashed across his face. She for her part, if she had failed to read it, and in that fraction of a minute to resolve to turn it to account--well, she would not have been Hermia Saint Clair.

To both the surprise was equal and complete. They had no more idea of each other's propinquity than they had--say, of the Sultan of Turkey suddenly arriving to take part in the day's sport. Yet, of the two, the woman was the more self-controlled.

"Are you fond of sport?" she murmured sweetly, striving not to render too palpable to other observers the dart of mingled warning and defiance which she flashed at him.

"Yes, as a rule," he answered indifferently, taking his cue. "Been rather off colour of late. Touch of fever."

There was a touch of irony in the tone, to the only one there who had the key to its burden. For the words brought back the long and helpless bout of the dread malady, when this woman had left him alone--to die, but for the chance arrival of a staunch comrade.

"Well, lug that big coat off, old chap," said Earle, whose jovial nature moved him to prompt familiarity. "Unless you still feel it too cold, that is. We're going to have breakfast."

The coat referred to was not without its importance in the situation.

With the collar partly turned up, Blachland had congratulated himself that it helped to conceal the effect of this extraordinary and unwelcome surprise from the others, and such, in fact, was the case. For nothing is more difficult to dissemble in the eyes of bystanders, in a chance and unwelcome meeting, than the fact of previous acquaintanceship. It may be accounted for by the explanation of extraordinary resemblance, but such is so thin as to be absolutely transparent, and calculated to impose upon n.o.body. And of this Hilary Blachland was thoroughly aware.

They sorted themselves into their places. Hilary, by a kind of process of natural selection, found himself seated next to Lyn. Hermia was nearly opposite, and next to her three of the Earle progeny-- preternaturally well-behaved. But on her other side was a vacant chair, and a place laid as though for somebody. There was plenty of talk going on, which enabled Blachland to keep out of it and observe.

First of all, what the deuce was she doing there? Hermia masquerading as instructor of youth! Oh, Heavens, the joke would have been enough to send him into a fit, had he only heard of it! But there she was, and it would be safe to say that there was not a living being on the wide earth, however detestable, whose presence would not have been warmly welcome to him in comparison with that of this one seated there opposite. What on earth was her game, he wondered, and what had become of Spence? Here she was, pa.s.sing as a widow under the name of Fenham.

And this was the unknown fair who had been the subject of their jokes, and Lyn's disapproval! Why, even on the way over that morning, Bayfield had been full of chaff, pre-calculating the effect of her charms upon himself. Great Heavens, yes! It was all too monstrous--too grotesque entirely.

"Are you still feeling cold?"

It was Lyn who had turned to him, amid all the chatter, and there was a sort of indefinably confidential ring in her voice, begotten of close friendship and daily intercourse. Was it something of the kind that softened his as he replied to her? But even while he did so he met the dark eyes opposite, the snap of which seemed to convey that to their owner nothing could go un.o.bserved.

"Oh no, I'm quite all right now," he answered lightly. And then, under cover of all the fanning talk that was going on between Earle and Bayfield, he talked to Lyn, mostly about matters they had discussed before. A sort of ironical devil moved him. He would let this woman opposite, imperceptibly watching every look, weighing every word, understand that she and her malevolence, whether dormant or active, counted absolutely nothing with him.

There was the sound of a footstep outside, and the door was opened.

"Awful sorry I'm so late, Mrs Earle," cried a voice--a young and refined English voice--as its owner entered. "How d'you do, Miss Bayfield--Er--how d'you do?"

This to the only one who was personally unknown to the speaker, and who for that very reason seemed to have the effect of a damper upon his essentially English temperament.

"Mr Blachland--Mr West," introduced their host.

"What?" almost shouted the last-named. "Blachland, did you say? Not Hilary! Why--it is! Hilary, my dear old chap, why, this is real good.

By Jove, to think of my running against you here. Where on earth have you dropped from? Earle, you've heard me talk about this chap. He's my first cousin." And grabbing hold of the other's hands, he started wringing them as though that newly found relative were the harmless, necessary village pump. "Who'd have thought of running against you here?" went on Percival West volubly. "Why, I thought you were in some out-of-way place up-country. Well, this is a gaudy surprise!"

"Isn't it? But somebody or other has defined this country as the land of surprises, Percy. So it's got to keep up its character," said Blachland, with a queer smile, fully conscious that the irony of the rejoinder would not be lost upon at any rate one other at the table.

"I say, West. Get on with your grub, old chap," said Earle. "You can have a yarn on the way. We want to make a start, you know."

"Right you are!" cried Percival, with a jolly laugh, as he slid into the vacant chair beside Hermia. But even amid his surprise, he did not omit to give the latter the good morning in an unconscious change of tone, which in its turn was not lost upon Hilary Blachland; for in it was an unconscious softening, which with the look which came into the young fellow's eyes as he turned to the woman beside him, caused those of his newly found relative to open--figuratively--very wide indeed. For two considerable surprises had been sprung upon him--enough in all conscience for one morning, yet here was a third. This young fool was already soft upon Hermia. As to that there could be no doubt. Here was a situation with a vengeance, the thinker told himself. How on earth was it going to pan out? And his antic.i.p.ations on that head were of no pleasurable nature.

"I say, West!" cried Bayfield. "That old ram we drove over you the other day has come to a bad end at last. Blachland's knocked him over."

"Oh, well done, Hilary, old chap. I suppose you've had a great time with big game, eh? Shocked over no end of lions and elephants, and all that sort of thing?"

"A few, yes," answered the other, rising, for a signal for a move had been given.

A few minutes of filling up cartridge-belts and fastening _reims_ to saddles, and other preparations, and the sporting party was ready.

"Good luck, father. Good luck, Mr Blachland," said Lyn, as she stood watching them start.

"That ought to bring it," answered the latter, as he swung himself into his saddle. But Hermia was not among those who were outside. Percival, who had been, had dived inside again Blachland did not fail to notice.

He emerged in a moment, however, looking radiantly happy and br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with light-hearted spirits.

"Now, Hilary, old chap, we can have a yarn," he said, as they started, for the others had the start of them by a hundred yards or so. "So you're stopping with Bayfield? If only I'd known that, wouldn't I have been over to look you up. Good chap Bayfield. Nice little girl of his too, but--not much in her, I fancy."

"There you're wrong, Percy. There's a great deal in her. But--how did you fall in with Earle?"

"Knew him through another Johnny I was thick with on board ship, and he asked me over to his place. Had a ripping good time here, too. I say, what d'you think of that Mrs Fenham? Fancy a splendid woman like that spending life hammering a lot of unlicked cubs into shape. Isn't it sinful?"

"Why didn't you say you were coming out, Percy? Drop a line or something?" went on his relative, feeling unaccountably nauseated by what he termed to himself the boy's brainless rattle.

"Drop a line! Why, that's just where the joke comes in! We none of us knew where on earth you were exactly. In point of fact, I came over here to find you, and by George I have! Never expected to find you so easily, though."

"Nothing wrong, eh?"

"No. But Uncle Luke is dying to see you again. He said I must be sure and bring you back with me."

The other looked surprised. Then his face softened very perceptibly.

"Is that a fact, Percy? Why, I thought he never wanted to set eyes on me again as long as he lived."

"Then you thought jolly well wrong. He does. So you must just make up your mind to go home when I do."

"Why are you so keen on it, Percy? Why, man, it might be immeasurably to your advantage if I never went back at all."

"Look here, Hilary, if you really mean that, I'm not a beastly cad yet."

"Well, I don't really mean it," said the other, touched by the young fellow's chivalrous single-heartedness. "Perhaps we may bring off your scheme all right. I would like to see the dear old chap again. I must have treated him very shabbily. And the old Canon--is he still to the fore?"

"Rather, and as nailing good an old sort as ever. He wants to see you again too--almost as much as Uncle Luke does."

"Ah, he always was a straight 'un--not an ounce of shoddy or humbug about him--"

"Come on, you fellows, or we'll never get to work," shouted Earle's voice, now very far ahead of them.

And leaving their home talk and reminiscences for the present, they spurred on their steeds--to join the rest of the party.

CHAPTER SEVEN.