THE EXPLORER

BY

W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM

AUTHOR OF "THE MOON AND SIXPENCE, ""OF HUMAN BONDAGE, " ETC. , ETC. 

NEW YORK

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY

WILLIAM HEINEMANN

COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY

THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TO

MY DEAR MRS. G. W. STEEVENS

THE EXPLORER

I

The sea was very calm. There was no ship in sight, and the sea-gullswere motionless upon its even greyness. The sky was dark with loweringclouds, but there was no wind. The line of the horizon was clear anddelicate. The shingly beach, no less deserted, was thick with tangledseaweed, and the innumerable shells crumbled under the feet that trodthem. The breakwaters, which sought to prevent the unceasingencroachment of the waves, were rotten with age and green with thesea-slime. It was a desolate scene, but there was a restfulness in itsmelancholy; and the great silence, the suave monotony of colour, mighthave given peace to a heart that was troubled. They could not assuagethe torment of the woman who stood alone upon that spot. She did notstir; and, though her gaze was steadfast, she saw nothing. Nature hasneither love nor hate, and with indifference smiles upon the light atheart and to the heavy brings a deeper sorrow. It is a great irony thatthe old Greek, so wise and prudent, who fancied that the gods livedutterly apart from human passions, divinely unconscious in their highpalaces of the grief and joy, the hope and despair, of the turbulentcrowd of men, should have gone down to posterity as the apostle ofbrutish pleasure. 

But the silent woman did not look for solace. She had a vehement pridewhich caused her to seek comfort only in her own heart; and when, against her will, heavy tears rolled down her cheeks, she shook her headimpatiently. She drew a long breath and set herself resolutely to changeher thoughts. 

But they were too compelling, and she could not drive from her mind thememories that absorbed it. Her fancy, like a homing bird, hovered withlight wings about another coast; and the sea she looked upon remindedher of another sea. The Solent. From her earliest years that sheet ofwater had seemed an essential part of her life, and the calmness at herfeet brought back to her irresistibly the scenes she knew so well. Butthe rippling waves washed the shores of Hampshire with a persuasivecharm that they had not elsewhere, and the broad expanse of it, lackingthe illimitable majesty of the open sea, could be loved like a familiarthing. Yet there was in it, too, something of the salt freshness of theocean, and, as the eye followed its course, the heart could exult with asense of freedom. Sometimes, in the dusk of a winter afternoon, sheremembered the Solent as desolate as the Kentish sea before her; but herimagination presented it to her more often with the ships, outward boundor homeward bound, that passed continually. She loved them all. Sheloved the great liners that sped across the ocean, unmindful of wind orweather, with their freight of passengers; and at night, when sherecognised them only by the long row of lights, they fascinated her bythe mystery of their thousand souls going out strangely into theunknown. She loved the little panting ferries that carried the goodfolk of the neighbourhood across the water to buy their goods inSouthampton, or to sell the produce of their farms; she was intimatewith their sturdy skippers, and she delighted in their airs ofself-importance. She loved the fishing boats that went out in allweathers, and the neat yachts that fled across the bay with such adainty grace. She loved the great barques and the brigantines that camein with a majestic ease, all their sails set to catch the remainder ofthe breeze; they were like wonderful, stately birds, and her soulrejoiced at the sight of them. But best of all she loved the tramps thatplodded with a faithful, grim tenacity from port to port; often theywere squat and ugly, battered by the tempest, dingy and ill-painted; buther heart went out to them. They touched her because their fate seemedso inglorious. No skipper, new to his craft, could ever admire thebeauty of their lines, nor look up at the swelling canvas and exult heknew not why; no passengers would boast of their speed or praise theirelegance. They were honest merchantmen, laborious, trustworthy, and ofgood courage, who took foul weather and peril in the day's journey andmade no outcry. And with a sure instinct she saw the romance in thehumble course of their existence and the beauty of an unboastingperformance of their duty; and often, as she watched them, her fancyglowed with the thought of the varied merchandise they carried, andtheir long sojourning in foreign parts. There was a subtle charm in thembecause they went to Southern seas and white cities with tortuousstreets, silent under the blue sky. 

Striving still to free herself of a passionate regret, the lonely womanturned away and took a path that led across the marshes. But her heartsank, for she seemed to recognise the flats, the shallow dykes, thecoastguard station, which she had known all her life. Sheep were grazinghere and there, and two horses, put out to grass, looked at herlistlessly as she passed. A cow heavily whisked its tail. To theindifferent, that line of Kentish coast, so level and monotonous, mightbe merely dull, but to her it was beautiful. It reminded her of the homeshe would never see again. 

And then her thoughts, which had wandered around the house in which shewas born, ever touching the fringe as it were, but never quite settlingwith the full surrender of attention, gave themselves over to itentirely. 

* * *

Hamlyn's Purlieu had belonged to the Allertons for three hundred years, and the recumbent effigy, in stone, of the founder of the family'sfortunes, with his two wives in ruffs and stiff martingales, was to beseen in the chancel of the parish church. It was the work of an Italiansculptor, lured to England in company of the craftsmen who made thelady-chapel of Westminster Abbey; and the renaissance delicacy of itswork was very grateful in the homely English church. And for threehundred years the Allertons had been men of prudence, courage, andworth, so that the walls of the church by now were filled with the listsof their virtues and their achievements. They had intermarried with thegreat families of the neighbourhood, and with the help of these marbletablets you might have made out a roll of all that was distinguished inHampshire. The Maddens of Brise, the Fletchers of Horton Park, theDaunceys of Maiden Hall, the Garrods of Penda, had all, in the course oftime, given daughters to the Allertons of Hamlyn's Purlieu; and theAllertons of Hamlyn's Purlieu had given in exchange richly doweredmaidens to the Garrods of Penda, the Daunceys of Maiden Hall, theFletchers of Horton Park, and the Maddens of Brise. 

And with each generation the Allertons grew prouder. The peculiarsituation of their lands distinguished them a little from theirneighbours; for, whereas the Garrods, the Daunceys, and the Fletcherslived within walking distance of each other, and Madden of Brise, because of his rank and opulence the most distinguished person in thecounty, within six or seven miles, Hamlyn's Purlieu was near the sea andseparated by forest land from other places. The seclusion in which itsowners were thus forced to dwell differentiated their characters fromthose of the neighbouring gentlemen. They found much cause forself-esteem in the number of their acres, and, though many of theseconsisted of salt marshes, and more of wild heath, others were as goodas any in Hampshire; and the grand total made a formidable array inworks of reference. But they found greater reason still forself-congratulation in their culture. No pride is so great as the prideof intellect, and the Allertons never doubted that their neighbours wereboors beside them. Whether it was due to the peculiar lie of the land onwhich they were born and bred, that led them to introspection, orwhether it was due to some accident of inheritance, the Allertons hadall an interest in the things of the mind, which had never troubled theFletchers or the Garrods of Penda, the Daunceys or my lords Madden ofBrise. They were as good sportsmen as the others, and hunted or shotwith the best of them, but they read books as well, and had a subtletyof intelligence which was no less unexpected than pleasing. The fatsquires of the county looked up to them as miracles of learning, andcongratulated themselves over their port on possessing in their midstpersons who combined, in such excellent proportions, gentle birth and agood seat in the saddle with adequate means and an encyclopedicknowledge. Everything conspired to give the Allertons a good opinion ofthemselves. They not only looked down from superior heights on thepersons with whom they habitually came in contact-that is commonenough--but these very persons without question looked up to them. 

The Allertons made the grand tour in a style befitting their dignity;and the letters which each son of the house wrote in turn, describingParis, Vienna, Dresden, Munich, and Rome, with the persons ofconsequence who entertained him, were preserved with scrupulous careamong the family papers. They testified to an agreeable interest in thearts; and each of them had made a point of bringing back with him, according to the fashion of his day, beautiful things which he hadpurchased on his journey. Hamlyn's Purlieu, a fine stone house goodly tolook upon, was thus filled with Italian pictures, French cabinets ofdelicate workmanship, bronzes of all kinds, tapestries, and old Easterncarpets. The gardens had been tended with a loving care, and there grewin them trees and flowers which were unknown to other parts of England. Each Allerton in his time cherished the place with a passionate pride, looking upon it as his greatest privilege that he could add a little toits beauty and hand on to his successor a more magnificent heritage. 

* * *

But at length Hamlyn's Purlieu came into the hands of Fred Allerton; andthe gods, blind for so long to the prosperity of this house, determinednow, it seemed, to wreak their malice. Fred Allerton had many of thecharacteristics of his race, but in him they took a sudden turn whichbore him swiftly to destruction. They had been marked always by goodlooks, a persuasive manner, and a singular liberality of mind; and hewas perhaps the handsomest, and certainly the most charming of them all. But the freedom from prejudice which had prevented the others fromgiving way too much to their pride had in him degenerated into asingular unscrupulousness. His parents died when he was twenty, and ayear later he found himself master of a great estate. The times werehard then for those who depended upon their land, and Fred Allerton wasnot so rich as his forebears. But he flung himself extravagantly intothe pursuit of pleasure. He was the only member of his family who hadfailed to reside habitually at Hamlyn's Purlieu. He seemed to take nointerest in it, and except now and then to shoot, never came near hisnative county. He lived much in Paris, which in the early years of thethird republic had still something of the wanton gaiety of the Empire;and here he soon grew notorious for his prodigality and his adventures. He was an unlucky man, and everything he did led to disaster. But thisnever impaired his cheerfulness. He boasted that he had lost money inevery gambling hell in Europe, and vowed that he would give up racing indisgust if ever a horse of his won a race. His charm of manner wasirresistible, and no one had more friends than he. His generosity wasgreat, and he was willing to lend money to everyone who asked. But it iseven more expensive to be a man whom everyone likes than to keep a stud, and Fred Allerton found himself in due course much in need of readymoney. He did not hesitate to mortgage his lands, and till he came tothe end of these resources also, continued gaily to lead a life ofsplendour. 

At length he had raised on Hamlyn's Purlieu every penny that he could, and was crippled with debt besides; but he still rode a fine horse, lived in expensive chambers, dressed better than any man in London, andgave admirable dinners to all and sundry. He realised then that he couldonly retrieve his fortunes by a rich marriage. Fred Allerton was still ahandsome man, and he knew from long experience how easy it was to saypleasant things to a woman. There was a peculiar light in his blue eyeswhich persuaded everyone of the goodness of his heart. He was amusingand full of spirits. He fixed upon a Miss Boulger, one of the twodaughters of a Liverpool manufacturer, and succeeded after asurprisingly short time in assuring her of his passion. There was aconvincing air of truth in all he said, and she returned his flame withreadiness. It was clear to him that her sister was equally prepared tofall in love with him, and he regretted with diverting frankness to hismore intimate friends that the laws of the land prevented him frommarrying them both and acquiring two fortunes instead of one. He marriedthe younger Miss Boulger, and on her dowry paid off the mortgages onHamlyn's Purlieu, his own debts, and succeeded for several years inhaving an excellent time. The poor woman, happily blind to his defects, adored him with all her soul. She trusted him entirely with themanagement of her money and only regretted that the affairs connectedwith it kept him so much in town. With marriage and his new connectionwith commerce Fred Allerton had come to the conclusion that he hadbusiness abilities, and he occupied himself thenceforward with allmanner of financial schemes. With unwearied enthusiasm he entered uponsome new affair which was going to bring him untold wealth as soon asthe last had finally sunk into the abyss of bankruptcy. Hamlyn's Purlieuhad never known such gaieties as during the fifteen years of Mrs. Allerton's married life. All kinds of people were brought down by Fred;and the dignified dining-room, which for centuries had witnesseddiscussions, learned or flippant, on the merits of Greek and Latinauthors, or the excellencies of Italian masters, now heard strange talkof stocks and shares, companies, syndicates, options and holdings. WhenMrs. Allerton died suddenly she was entirely unconscious that herhusband had squandered every penny of the money which had been settledon her children, had mortgaged once more the broad fields of hisancestors, and was head over ears in debt. She expired with his nameupon her lips, and blessed the day on which she had first seen him. Shehad one son and one daughter. Lucy was a girl of fifteen when her motherdied, and George, the boy, was ten. 

It was Lucy, now a woman of twenty-five, who turned her back upon theKentish sea and slowly walked across the marsh. And as she walked, therecollection of the ten years that had passed since then was placedbefore her as it were in a single Sash. 

At first her father had seemed the most wonderful being in the world, and she had worshipped him with all her childish heart. The love thatbound her to her mother was pale in comparison, for Lucy could notdivide her affections, giving part here, part there; her father, withhis wonderful gift of sympathy, his indescribable charm, conquered herentirely. It was her greatest delight to be with him. She wasentertained and exhilarated by his society, and she hated the men ofbusiness who absorbed so much of his time. 

When Mrs. Allerton died George was sent to school, but Lucy, in chargeof a governess, remained year in, year out, at Hamlyn's Purlieu with herbooks, her dogs, and her horses. And gradually, she knew not how, it wasborne in upon her that the father who had seemed such a paragon ofchivalry, was weak, unreliable, and shifty. She fought against thesuspicions that poisoned her mind, charging herself bitterly withmeanness of spirit, but one small incident after another brought thetruth home to her. She recognised with a shiver of anguish that hisstandard of veracity was utterly different from hers. He was not verycareful to keep his word. He was not scrupulous in money matters. Withher, honesty, truthfulness, exactness in all affairs, were not onlyinstinctive, but deliberate; for the pride of her birth was so greatthat she felt it incumbent upon her to be ten times more careful inthese things than the ordinary run of men. 

And then, from a word here and a word there, by horrified guesses and bya kind of instinctive surmise, she realised presently the whole truth ofher father's life. She found out that Hamlyn's Purlieu was mortgagedfor every penny it was worth, she found out that there was a bill ofsale on the furniture, that money had been raised on the pictures; and, at last, that her mother's money, left in her father's trust to her andGeorge, had been spent. And still Fred Allerton lived with prodigalmagnificence. 

It was only very gradually that Lucy discovered these things. There wasno one whom she could consult, and she had to devise some mode ofconduct by herself. It was all a matter of supposition, and she knewalmost nothing for certain. She made up her mind that she would probe nodeeper. But since such knowledge as she had came to her only by degrees, she was able the better to adapt her behaviour to it. The pride whichfor so long had been a characteristic of the Allertons, but hadunaccountably missed Fred, in her enjoyed all its force; and what sheknew now served only to augment it. In the ruin of her ideals she hadnothing but that to cling to, and she cherished it with an unreasoningpassion. She had a cult for the ancestors whose portraits looked downupon her in one room after another of Hamlyn's Purlieu, and from theirnames and the look of them, which was all that remained, she made themin her fancy into personalities whose influence might somehow counteractthe weakness of her father. In them there was so much uprightness, strength, and simple goodness; the sum total of it must prevail in thelong run against the unruly instincts of one man. And she loved her oldhome, with all its exquisite contents, with its rich gardens, its broad, fertile fields, above all with its wild heath and flat sea-marshes, sheloved it with a hungry devotion, saddened and yet more vehement becauseher hold on it was jeopardised. She set the whole strength of her willon preserving the place for her brother. Her greatest desire was to fillhim with the determination to reclaim it from the foreign hands that hadsome hold upon it, and to restore it to its ancient freedom. 

Upon George were set all Lucy's hopes. He could restore the fallenfortunes of their race, and her part must be to train him to theglorious task. He was growing up, and she made up her mind to keep fromhim all knowledge of her father's weakness. To George he must seem tothe last an honest gentleman. 

Lucy transferred to her brother all the love which she had lavished onher father. She watched his growth fondly, interesting herself in hisaffairs, and seeking to be to him not only a sister, but the mother hehad lost and the father who was unworthy. When he was of a fit age shesaw that he was sent to Winchester. She followed his career with passionand entered eagerly into all his interests. 

But if Lucy had lost her old love for her father, its place had beentaken by a pitying tenderness; and she did all she could to conceal fromhim the change in her feelings. It was easy when she was with him, forthen it was impossible to resist his charm; and it was only afterwards, when he was no longer there to explain things away, that she could notcrush the horror and resentment with which she regarded him. But of thisno one knew anything; and she set herself deliberately not only to makesuch headway as she could in the tangle of their circumstances, but toconceal from everyone the actual state of things. 

For presently Fred Allerton seemed no longer to have an inexhaustiblesupply of ready money, and Lucy had to resort to a very careful economy. She reduced expenses in every way she could, and when left alone in thehouse, lived with the utmost frugality. She hated to ask her father formoney, and since often he did not pay the allowance that was due to her, she was obliged to exercise a good deal of self-denial. As soon as shewas old enough, Lucy had taken the household affairs into her own handsand had learned to conduct them in such a way as to hide from the worldhow difficult it was to make both ends meet. Now, feeling that thingswere approaching a crisis, she sold the horses and dismissed most of theservants. A great fear seized her that it would be impossible to keepHamlyn's Purlieu, and she was stricken with panic. She was willing tomake every sacrifice but that, and if she were only allowed to remainthere, did not care how penuriously she lived. 

But the struggle was growing harder. None knew what she had endured inher endeavour to keep their heads above water. And she had borneeverything with perfect cheerfulness. Though she saw a good deal of theneighbouring gentry, connected with her by blood or long friendship, notone of them divined her great anxiety. She felt vaguely that they knewhow things were going, but she held her head high and gave no one anopportunity to pity her. Her father was now absent from home morefrequently and seemed to avoid being alone with her. They had neverdiscussed the state of their affairs, for he assumed with Lucy adetermined flippancy which prevented any serious conversation. On hertwenty-first birthday he had made some facetious observation about themoney of which she was now mistress, but had treated the matter withsuch an airy charm that she had felt unable to proceed with it. Nor didshe wish to, for if he had spent her money nothing could be done, and itwas better not to know for certain. Notwithstanding settlements andwills, she felt that it was really his to do what he liked with, and shemade up her mind that nothing in her behaviour should be construed as areproach. 

At length the crash came. 

She received a telegram one day--she was nearly twenty-three then--fromRichard Lomas, an old friend of her mother's, to say that he was comingdown for luncheon. She walked to the station to meet him. She was veryfond of him, not only for his own sake, but because her mother had beenfond of him, too; and the affection which had existed between them, drewher nearer to the mother whom she felt now she had a little neglected. Dick Lomas was a barrister, who, after contesting two seatsunsuccessfully, had got into Parliament at the last general election andhad made already a certain name for himself by the wittiness of hisspeeches and the bluntness of his common sense. He had neither theportentous gravity nor the dogmatic airs which afflicted most of hislegal colleagues in the house. He was a man who had solved thedifficulty of being sensible without tediousness and pointed withoutimpertinence. He was wise enough not to speak too often, and if only hehad not possessed a sense of humour--which his countrymen always regardwith suspicion in an English politician--he might have looked forward toa brilliant future. He was a wiry little man, with a sharp, good-humoured face and sparkling eyes. He carried his seven and thirtyyears with gaiety. 

But on this occasion he was unusually grave. Lucy, already surprised athis sudden visit, divined at once from the uneasiness of his pleasant, grey eyes that something was amiss. Her heart began to beat morequickly. He forced himself to smile as he took her hand, congratulatingher on the healthiness of her appearance; and they walked slowly fromthe station. Dick spoke of indifferent things, while Lucy distractedlyturned over in her mind all that could have happened. Luncheon was readyfor them, and Dick sat down with apparent gusto, praising emphaticallythe good things she set before him; but he ate as little as she did. Heseemed impatient for the meal to end, but unwilling to enter upon thesubject which oppressed him. They drank their coffee. 

'Shall we go for a turn in the garden?' he suggested. 

'Certainly. '

After his last visit, Dick had sent down an old sundial which he hadpicked up in a shop in Westminster, and Lucy took him to the place whichthey had before decided needed just such an ornament. They discussed itat some length, but then silence fell suddenly upon them, and theywalked side by side without a word. Dick slipped his arm through herswith a caressing motion, and Lucy, unused to any tenderness, felt a sobrise to her throat. They went in once more and stood in thedrawing-room. From the walls looked down the treasures of the house. There was a portrait by Reynolds, and another by Hoppner, and there wasa beautiful picture of the Grand Canal by Guardi, and there was aportrait by Goya of a General Allerton who had fought in the PeninsularWar. Dick gave them a glance, and his blood tingled with admiration. Heleaned against the fireplace. 

'Your father asked me to come down and see you, Lucy. He was too worriedto come himself. '

Lucy looked at him with grave eyes, but made no reply. 

'He's had some very bad luck lately. Your father is a man who prideshimself on his business ability, but he has no more knowledge of suchmatters than a child. He's an imaginative man, and when some schemeappeals to his feeling for romance, he loses all sense of proportion. '

Dick paused again. It was impossible to soften the blow, and he couldonly put it bluntly. 

'He's been gambling on the Stock Exchange, and he's been badly let down. He was bulling a number of South American railways, and there's been apanic in the market. He's lost enormously. I don't know if anysettlement can be made with his creditors, but if not he must gobankrupt. In any case, I'm afraid Hamlyn's Purlieu must be sold. '

Lucy walked to the window and looked out. But she could see nothing. Hereyes were blurred with tears. She breathed quickly, trying to controlherself. 

'I've been expecting it for a long time, ' she said at last. 'I'verefused to face it, and I put the thought away from me, but I knewreally that it must come to that. '

'I'm very sorry, ' said Dick helplessly. 

She turned on him fiercely, and the colour rose to her cheeks. But sherestrained herself and left unsaid the bitter words that had come toher tongue. She made a pitiful gesture of despair. He felt how poor werehis words of consolation, and how inadequate to her great grief, and hewas silent. 

'And what about George?' she asked. 

George was then eighteen, and on the point of leaving Winchester. It hadbeen arranged that he should go to Oxford at the beginning of the nextterm. 

'Lady Kelsey has offered to pay his expenses at the 'Varsity, ' answeredDick, 'and she wants you to go and stay with her for the present. '

'Do you mean to say we're penniless?' asked Lucy, desperately. 

'I think you cannot depend on your father for much regular assistance. '

Lucy was silent again. 

Lady Kelsey was the elder sister of Mrs. Allerton, and some time afterthat lady's marriage had accepted a worthy merchant whose father hadbeen in partnership with hers; and he, after a prosperous career crownedby surrendering his seat in Parliament to a defeated cabinet-minister--apatriotic act for which he was rewarded with a knighthood--had died, leaving her well off and childless. She had but one other nephew, RobertBoulger, her brother's only son, but he was rich with all the inheritedwealth of the firm of Boulger & Kelsey; and her affections were placedchiefly upon the children of the man whom she had loved devotedly andwho had married her sister. 

'I was hoping you would come up to town with me now, ' said Dick. 'LadyKelsey is expecting you, and I cannot bear to think of you by yourselfhere. '

'I shall stay till the last moment. '

Dick hesitated again. He had wished to keep back the full brutality ofthe blow, but sooner or later it must be given. 

'The place is already sold. Your father accepted an offer fromJarrett--you remember him, he has been down here; he is your father'sbroker and chief creditor--and everything else is to go to Christy's atonce. '

'Then there is no more to be said. '

She gave Dick her hand. 

'You won't mind if I don't come to the station with you?'

'Won't you come up to London?' he asked again. 

She shook her head. 

'I want to be alone. Forgive me if I make you go so abruptly. '

'My dear girl, it's very good of you to make sure that I don't miss mytrain, ' he smiled drily. 

'Good-bye and thank you. '

II

While Lucy wandered by the seashore, occupied with painful memories, herold friend Dick, too lazy to walk with her, sat in the drawing-room ofCourt Leys, talking to his hostess. 

Mrs. Crowley was an American woman, who had married an Englishman, andon being left a widow, had continued to live in England. She was aperson who thoroughly enjoyed life; and indeed there was every reasonthat she should do so, since she was young, pretty, and rich; she had aquick mind and an alert tongue. She was of diminutive size, so smallthat Dick Lomas, by no means a tall man, felt quite large by the side ofher. Her figure was exquisite, and she had the smallest hands in theworld. Her features were so good, regular and well-formed, hercomplexion so perfect, her agile grace so enchanting, that she did notseem a real person at all. She was too delicate for the hurly-burly oflife, and it seemed improbable that she could be made of the ordinaryclay from which human beings are manufactured. She had the artificialgrace of those dainty, exquisite ladies in the _Embarquement pourCithère_ of the charming Watteau; and you felt that she was fit tosaunter on that sunny strand, habited in satin of delicate colours, witha witty, decadent cavalier by her side. It was preposterous to talk toher of serious things, and nothing but an airy badinage seemed possiblein her company. 

Mrs. Crowley had asked Lucy and Dick Lomas to stay with her in thehouse she had just taken for a term of years. She had spent a week byherself to arrange things to her liking, and insisted that Dick shouldadmire all she had done. After a walk round the park he vowed that hewas exhausted and must rest till tea-time. 

'Now tell me what made you take it. It's so far from anywhere. '

'I met the owner in Rome last winter. It belongs to a Mrs. Craddock, andwhen I told her I was looking out for a house, she suggested that Ishould come and see this. '

'Why doesn't she live in it herself?'

'Oh, I don't know. It appears that she was passionately devoted to herhusband, and he broke his neck in the hunting-field, so she couldn'tbear to live here any more. '

Mrs. Crowley looked round the drawing-room with satisfaction. At firstit had borne the cheerless look of a house uninhabited, but she hadquickly made it pleasant with flowers, photographs, and silverornaments. The Sheraton furniture and the chintzes suited the style ofher beauty. She felt that she looked in place in that comfortable room, and was conscious that her frock fitted her and the circumstancesperfectly. Dick's eye wandered to the books that were scattered here andthere. 

'And have you put out these portentous works in order to improve yourmind, or with the laudable desire of impressing me with the serious turnof your intellect?'

'You don't think I'm such a perfect fool as to try and impress anentirely flippant person like yourself?'

On the table at his elbow were a copy of the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ andone of the _Fortnightly Review_. He took up two books, and saw that onewas the _Fröhliche Wissenschaft_ of Nietzsche, who was then beginning tobe read in England by the fashionable world and was on the eve of beingdiscovered by men of letters, while the other was a volume of Mrs. Crowley's compatriot, William James. 

'American women amaze me, ' said Dick, as he put them down. 'They buytheir linen at Doucet's and read Herbert Spencer with avidity. Andwhat's more, they seem to like him. An Englishwoman can seldom read aserious book without feeling a prig, and as soon as she feels a prig sheleaves off her corsets. '

'I feel vaguely that you're paying me a compliment, ' returned Mrs. Crowley, 'but it's so elusive that I can't quite catch it. '

'The best compliments are those that flutter about your head likebutterflies around a flower. '

'I much prefer to fix them down on a board with a pin through theirinsides and a narrow strip of paper to hold down each wing. '

It was October, but the autumn, late that year, had scarcely colouredthe leaves, and the day was warm. Mrs. Crowley, however, was a chillybeing, and a fire burned in the grate. She put another log on it andwatched the merry crackle of the flames. 

'It was very good of you to ask Lucy down here, ' said Dick, suddenly. 

'I don't know why. I like her so much. And I felt sure she would fit theplace. She looks a little like a Gainsborough portrait, doesn't she? AndI like to see her in this Georgian house. '

'She's not had much of a time since they sold the family place. It was agreat grief to her. '

'I feel such a pig to have here the things I bought at the sale. '

When the contents of Hamlyn's Purlieu were sent to Christy's, Mrs. Crowley, recently widowed and without a home, had bought one or twopictures and some old chairs. She had brought these down to Court Leys, and was much tormented at the thought of causing Lucy a new grief. 

'Perhaps she didn't recognise them, ' said Dick. 

'Don't be so idiotic. Of course she recognised them. I saw her eyes fallon the Reynolds the very moment she came into the room. '

'I'm sure she would rather you had them than any stranger. '

'She's said nothing about them. You know, I'm very fond of her, and Iadmire her extremely, but she would be easier to get on with if she wereless reserved. I never shall get into this English way of bottling up myfeelings and sitting on them. '

'It sounds a less comfortable way of reposing oneself than sitting in anarmchair. '

'I would offer to give Lucy back all the things I bought, only I'm sureshe'd snub me. '

'She doesn't mean to be unkind, but she's had a very hard life, and it'shad its effect on her character. I don't think anyone knows what she'sgone through during these ten years. She's borne the responsibilities ofher whole family since she was fifteen, and if the crash didn't comesooner, it was owing to her. She's never been a girl, poor thing; shewas a child, and then suddenly she was a woman. '

'But has she never had any lovers?'

'I fancy that she's rather a difficult person to make love to. It wouldbe a bold young man who whispered sweet nothings into her ear; they'dsound so very foolish. '

'At all events there's Bobbie Boulger. I'm sure he's asked her to marryhim scores of times. '

Sir Robert Boulger had succeeded his father, the manufacturer, as secondbaronet; and had promptly placed his wealth and his personal advantagesat Lucy's feet. His devotion to her was well known to his friends. Theyhad all listened to the protestations of undying passion, which Lucy, with gentle humour, put smilingly aside. Lady Kelsey, his aunt andLucy's, had done all she could to bring the pair together; and it wasevident that from every point of view a marriage between them wasdesirable. He was not unattractive in appearance, his fortune wasconsiderable, and his manners were good. He was a good-natured, pleasantfellow, with no great strength of character perhaps, but Lucy had enoughof that for two; and with her to steady him, he had enough brains tomake some figure in the world. 

'I've never seen Mr. Allerton, ' remarked Mrs. Crowley, presently. 'Hemust be a horrid man. '

'On the contrary, he's the most charming creature I ever met, and Idon't believe there's a man in London who can borrow a hundred pounds ofyou with a greater air of doing you a service. If you met him you'd fallin love with him before you'd got well into your favourite conversationon bimetallism. '

'I've never discussed bimetallism in my life, ' protested Mrs. Crowley. 

'All women do. '

'What?'

'Fall in love with him. He knows exactly what to talk to them about, andhe has the most persuasive voice you ever heard. I believe Lady Kelseyhas been in love with him for five and twenty years. It's lucky they'venot yet passed the deceased wife's sister's bill, or he would havemarried her and run through her money as he did his first wife's. He'sstill very good-looking, and there's such a transparent honesty abouthim that I promise you he's irresistible. '

'And what has happened to him since the catastrophe?'

'Well, the position of an undischarged bankrupt is never particularlyeasy, though I've known men who've cavorted about in motors and givendinners at the _Carlton_ when they were in that state, and seemedperfectly at peace with the world in general. But with Fred Allerton theproceedings before the Official Receiver seem to have broken down thelast remnants of his self-respect. He was glad to get rid of hischildren, and Lady Kelsey was only too happy to provide for them. Heavenonly knows how he's lived during the last two years. He's still occupiedwith a variety of crack-brained schemes, and he's been to me more thanonce for money to finance them with. '

'I hope you weren't such a fool as to give it. '

'I wasn't. I flatter myself that I combined frankness with good-naturein the right proportion, and in the end he was always satisfied with thenimble fiver. But I'm afraid things are going harder with him. He haslost his old alert gaiety, and he's a little down at heel in characteras well as in person. There's a furtive look about him, as though hewere ready for undertakings that were not quite above board, and there'sa shiftiness in his eye which makes his company a little disagreeable. '

'You don't think he'd do anything dishonest?' asked Mrs. Crowleyquickly. 

'Oh, no. I don't believe he has the nerve to sail closer to the windthan the law allows, and really, at bottom, notwithstanding all I knowof him, I think he's an honest man. It's only behind his back that Ihave any doubts about him; when he's there face to face with me Isuccumb to his charm. I can believe nothing to his discredit. '

At that moment they saw Lucy walking towards them. Dick Lomas got up andstood at the window. Mrs. Crowley, motionless, watched her from herchair. They were both silent. A smile of sympathy played on Mrs. Crowley's lips, and her heart went out to the girl who had undergone somuch. A vague memory came back to her, and for a moment she was puzzled;but then she hit upon the idea that had hovered about her mind, and sheremembered distinctly the admirable picture by John Furse at Millbank, which is called _Diana of the Uplands_. It had pleased her always, notonly because of its beauty and the fine power of the painter, butbecause it seemed to her as it were a synthesis of the English spirit. Her nationality gave her an interest in the observation of this, and herwide, systematic reading the power to compare and analyse. This portraitof a young woman holding two hounds in leash, the wind of the northernmoor on which she stands, blowing her skirts and outlining her lithefigure, seemed to Mrs. Crowley admirably to follow in the tradition ofthe eighteenth century. And as Reynolds and Gainsborough, with theirelegant ladies in powdered hair and high-waisted gowns, standing inleafy, woodland scenes, had given a picture of England in the age ofReason, well-bred and beautiful, artificial and a little airless, so hadFurse in this represented the England of to-day. It was an England thatvalued cleanliness above all things, of the body and of the spirit, anEngland that loved the open air and feared not the wildness of naturenor the violence of the elements. And Mrs. Crowley had lived long enoughin the land of her fathers to know that this was a true England, simpleand honest; narrow perhaps, and prejudiced, but strong, brave, and ofgreat ideals. The girl who stood on that upland, looking so candidly outof her blue eyes, was a true descendant of the ladies that Sir Joshuapainted, but she had a bath every morning, loved her dogs, and wore ashort, serviceable skirt. With an inward smile, Mrs. Crowleyacknowledged that she was probably bored by Emerson and ignorant ofEnglish literature; but for the moment she was willing to pardon thesefailings in her admiration for the character and all it typified. 

Lucy came in, and Mrs. Crowley gave her a nod of welcome. She was fondof her fantasies and would not easily interrupt them. She noted thatLucy had just that frank look of _Diana of the Uplands_, and thedelicate, sensitive face, refined with the good-breeding of centuries, but strengthened by an athletic life. Her skin was very clear. It hadgained a peculiar freshness by exposure to all manner of weather. Herbright, fair hair was a little disarranged after her walk, and she wentto the glass to set it right. Mrs. Crowley observed with delight thestraightness of her nose and the delicate curve of her lips. She wastall and strong, but her figure was very slight; and there was acharming litheness about her which suggested the good horse-woman. 

But what struck Mrs. Crowley most was that only the keenest observercould have told that she had endured more than other women of her age. Astranger would have delighted in her frank smile and the kindly sympathyof her eyes; and it was only if you knew the troubles she had sufferedthat you saw how much more womanly she was than girlish. There was aself-possession about her which came from the responsibilities she hadborne so long, and an unusual reserve, unconsciously masked by a greatcharm of manner, which only intimate friends discerned, but which evento them was impenetrable. Mrs. Crowley, with her American impulsiveness, had tried in all kindliness to get through the barrier, but she hadnever succeeded. All Lucy's struggles, her heart-burnings and griefs, her sudden despairs and eager hopes, her tempestuous angers, took placein the bottom of her heart. She would have been as dismayed at thethought of others seeing them as she would have been at the thought ofbeing discovered unclothed. Shyness and pride combined to make her hideher innermost feelings so that no one should venture to offer sympathyor commiseration. 

'Do ring the bell for tea, ' said Mrs. Crowley to Lucy, as she turnedaway from the glass. 'I can't get Mr. Lomas to amuse me till he's hadsome stimulating refreshment. '

'I hope you like the tea I sent you, ' said Dick. 

'Very much. Though I'm inclined to look upon it as a slight that youshould send me down only just enough to last over your visit. '

'I always herald my arrival in a country house by a little present oftea, ' said Dick. 'The fact is it's the only good tea in the world. Isent my father to China for seven years to find it, and I'm sure youwill agree that my father has not lived an ill-spent life. '

The tea was brought and duly drunk. Mrs. Crowley asked Lucy how herbrother was. He had been at Oxford for the last two years. 

'I had a letter from him yesterday, ' the girl answered. 'I think he'sgetting on very well. I hope he'll take his degree next year. '

A happy brightness came into her eyes as she talked of him. Sheapologised, blushing, for her eagerness. 

'You know, I've looked after George ever since he was ten, and I feellike a mother to him. It's only with the greatest difficulty I canprevent myself from telling you how he got through the measles, and howwell he bore vaccination. '

Lucy was very proud of her brother. She found a constant satisfaction inhis good looks, and she loved the openness of his smile. She had strivenwith all her might to keep away from him the troubles that oppressedher, and had determined that nothing, if she could help it, shoulddisturb his radiant satisfaction with the world. She knew that he wasapt to lean on her, but though she chid herself sometimes for fosteringthe tendency, she could not really prevent the intense pleasure it gaveher. He was young yet, and would soon enough grow into manly ways; itcould not matter if now he depended upon her for everything. Sherejoiced in the ardent affection which he gave her; and the implicittrust he placed in her, the complete reliance on her judgment, filledher with a proud humility. It made her feel stronger and better capableof affronting the difficulties of life. And Lucy, living much in thefuture, was pleased to see how beloved George was of all his friends. Everyone seemed willing to help him, and this seemed of good omen forthe career which she had mapped out for him. 

The recollection of him came to Lucy now as she had last seen him. Theyhad been spending part of the summer with Lady Kelsey at her house onthe Thames. George was going to Scotland to stay with friends, and Lucy, bound elsewhere, was leaving earlier in the afternoon. He came to seeher off. She was touched, in her own sorrow at leaving him, by hisobvious emotion. The tears were in his eyes as he kissed her on theplatform. She saw him waving to her as the train sped towards London, slender and handsome, looking more boyish than ever in his whites; andshe felt a thrill of gratitude because, with all her sorrows andregrets, she at least had him. 

'I hope he's a good shot, ' she said inconsequently, as Mrs. Crowleyhanded her a cap of tea. 'Of course it's in the family. '

'Marvellous family!' said Dick, ironically. 'You would be wiser to wishhe had a good head for figures. '

'But I hope he has that, too, ' she answered. 

It had been arranged that George should go into the business in whichLady Kelsey still had a large interest. Lucy wanted him to make greatsums of money, so that he might pay his father's debts, and perhaps buyback the house which her family had owned so long. 

'I want him to be a clever man of business--since business is the onlything open to him now--and an excellent sportsman. '

She was too shy to describe her ambition, but her fancy had already casta glow over the calling which George was to adopt. There was in thefamily an innate tendency toward the more exquisite things of life, andthis would colour his career. She hoped he would become a merchantprince after the pattern of those Florentines who have left an ideal forsucceeding ages of the way in which commerce may be ennobled by aliberal view of life. Like them he could drive hard bargains and amassriches--she recognised that riches now were the surest means ofpower--but like them also he could love music and art and literature, cherishing the things of the soul with a careful taste, and at the sametime excel in all sports of the field. Life then would be as full as aman's heart could wish; and this intermingling of interests might socolour it that he would lead the whole with a certain beauty andgrandeur. 

'I wish I were a man, ' she cried, with a bright smile. 'It's so hardthat I can do nothing but sit at home and spur others on. I want to dothings myself. '

Mrs. Crowley leaned back in her chair. She gave her skirt a little twistso that the line of her form should be more graceful. 

'I'm so glad I'm a woman, ' she murmured. 'I want none of the privilegesof the sex which I'm delighted to call stronger. I want men to be nobleand heroic and self-sacrificing; then they can protect me from atroublesome world, and look after me, and wait upon me. I'm anirresponsible creature with whom they can never be annoyed howeverexacting I am--it's only pretty thoughtlessness on my part--and theymust never lose their tempers however I annoy--it's only nerves. Oh, no, I like to be a poor, weak woman. '

'You're a monster of cynicism, ' cried Dick. 'You use an imaginaryhelplessness with the brutality of a buccaneer, and your ingenuousnessis a pistol you put to one's head, crying: your money or your life. '

'You look very comfortable, dear Mr. Lomas, ' she retorted. 'Would youmind very much if I asked you to put my footstool right for me?'

'I should mind immensely, ' he smiled, without moving. 

'Oh, please do, ' she said, with a piteous little expression of appeal. 'I'm so uncomfortable, and my foot's going to sleep. And you needn't behorrid to me. '

'I didn't know you really meant it, ' he said, getting up obediently anddoing what was required of him. 

'I didn't, ' she answered, as soon as he had finished. 'But I know you'rea lazy creature, and I merely wanted to see if I could make you movewhen I'd warned you immediately before that--I was a womanly woman. '

'I wonder if you'd make Alec MacKenzie do that?' laughed Dick, good-naturedly. 

'Good heavens, I'd never try. Haven't you discovered that women know byinstinct what men they can make fools of, and they only try their artson them? They've gained their reputation for omnipotence only on accountof their robust common-sense, which leads them only to attackfortresses which are already half demolished. '

'That suggests to my mind that every woman is a Potiphar's wife, thoughevery man isn't a Joseph, ' said Dick. 

'Your remark is too blunt to be witty, ' returned Mrs. Crowley, 'but it'snot without its grain of truth. '

Lucy, smiling, listened to the nonsense they talked. In their companyshe lost all sense of reality; Mrs. Crowley was so fragile, and Dick hadsuch a whimsical gaiety, that she could not treat them as real persons. She felt herself a grown-up being assisting at some childish game inwhich preposterous ideas were bandied to and fro like answers in thegame of consequences. 

'I never saw people wander from the subject as you do, ' she protested. 'I can't imagine what connection there is between whether Mr. MacKenziewould arrange Julia's footstool, and the profligacy of the female sex. '

'Don't be hard on us, ' said Mrs. Crowley. 'I must work off my flippancybefore he arrives, and then I shall be ready to talk imperially. '

'When does Alec come?' asked Dick. 

'Now, this very minute. I've sent a carriage to meet him at the station. You won't let him depress me, will you?'

'Why did you ask him if he affects you in that way?' asked Lucy, laughing. 

'But I like him--at least I think I do--and in any case, I admire him, and I'm sure he's good for me. And Mr. Lomas wanted me to ask him, andhe plays bridge extraordinarily well. And I thought he would beinteresting. The only thing I have against him is that he never laughswhen I say a clever thing, and looks so uncomfortably at me when I say afoolish one. '

'I'm glad I laugh when you say a clever thing, ' said Dick. 

'You don't. But you roar so heartily at your own jokes that if I hurryup and slip one in before you've done, I can often persuade myself thatyou're laughing at mine. '

'And do you like Alec MacKenzie, Lucy?' asked Dick. 

She paused for a moment before she answered, and hesitated. 

'I don't know, ' she said. 'Sometimes I think I rather dislike him. ButI'm like Julia, I certainly admire him. '

'I suppose he is rather alarming, ' said Dick. 'He's difficult to know, and he's obviously impatient with other people's affectations. There's acertain grimness about him which disturbs you unless you know himintimately. '

'He's your greatest friend, isn't he?'

'He is. '

Dick paused for a little while. 

'I've known him for twenty years now, and I look upon him as thegreatest man I've ever set eyes on. I think it's an inestimableprivilege to have been his friend. '

'I've not noticed that you treated him with especial awe, ' said Mrs. Crowley. 

'Heaven save us!' cried Dick. 'I can only hold my own by laughing at himpersistently. '

'He bears it with unexampled good-nature. '

'Have I ever told you how I made his acquaintance? It was in aboutfifty fathoms of water, and at least a thousand miles from land. '

'What an inconvenient place for an introduction!'

'We were both very wet. I was a young fool in those days, and I wasplaying the giddy goat--I was just going up to Oxford, and my wisefather had sent me to America on a visit to enlarge my mind--I fellover-board, and was proceeding to drown, when Alec jumped in after meand held me up by the hair of my head. '

'He'd have some difficulty in doing that now, wouldn't he?' suggestedMrs. Crowley, with a glance at Dick's thinning locks. 

'And the odd thing is that he was absurdly grateful to me for lettingmyself be saved. He seemed to think I had done him an intentionalservice, and fallen into the Atlantic for the sole purpose of lettinghim pull me out. '

Dick had scarcely said these words when they heard the carriage drive upto the door of Court Leys. 

'There he is, ' cried Dick eagerly. 

Mrs. Crowley's butler opened the door and announced the man they hadbeen discussing. Alexander MacKenzie came in. 

He was just under six feet high, spare and well-made. He did not at thefirst glance give you the impression of particular strength, but hislimbs were well-knit, there was no superfluous flesh about him, and youfelt immediately that he had great powers of endurance. His hair wasdark and cut very close. His short beard and his moustache were red. They concealed the squareness of his chin and the determination of hismouth. His eyes were not large, but they rested on the object thatattracted his attention with a peculiar fixity. When he talked to youhe did not glance this way or that, but looked straight at you with adeliberate steadiness that was a little disconcerting. He walked with aneasy swing, like a man in the habit of covering a vast number of mileseach day, and there was in his manner a self-assurance which suggestedthat he was used to command. His skin was tanned by exposure to tropicalsuns. 

Mrs. Crowley and Dick chattered light-heartedly, but it was clear thathe had no power of small-talk, and after the first greetings he fellinto silence; he refused tea, but Mrs. Crowley poured out a cup andhanded it to him. 

'You need not drink it, but I insist on your holding it in your hand. Ihate people who habitually deny themselves things, and I can't allow youto mortify the flesh in my house. '

Alec smiled gravely. 

'Of course I will drink it if it pleases you, ' he answered. 'I got inthe habit in Africa of eating only two meals a day, and I can't get outof it now. But I'm afraid it's very inconvenient for my friends. ' Helooked at Lomas, and though his mouth did not smile, a look came intohis eyes, partly of tenderness, partly of amusement. 'Dick, of course, eats far too much. '

'Good heavens, I'm nearly the only person left in London who iscompletely normal. I eat my three square meals a day regularly, and Ialways have a comfortable tea into the bargain. I don't suffer from anydisease. I'm in the best of health. I have no fads. I neither nibblenuts like a squirrel, nor grapes like a bird--I care nothing for allthis jargon about pepsins and proteids and all the rest of it. I'm not avegetarian, but a carnivorous animal; I drink when I'm thirsty, and Idecidedly prefer my beverages to be alcoholic. '

'I was thinking at luncheon to-day, ' said Mrs. Crowley, 'that thepleasure you took in roast-beef and ale showed a singularly gross andunemotional nature. '

'I adore good food as I adore all the other pleasant things of life, andbecause I have that gift I am able to look upon the future withequanimity. '

'Why?' asked Alec. 

'Because a love for good food is the only thing that remains with manwhen he grows old. Love? What is love when you are five and fifty andcan no longer hide the disgraceful baldness of your pate. Ambition? Whatis ambition when you have discovered that honours are to the pushing andglory to the vulgar. Finally we must all reach an age when every passionseems vain, every desire not worth the trouble of achieving it; but thenthere still remain to the man with a good appetite three pleasures eachday, his breakfast, his luncheon, and his dinner. '

Alec's eyes rested on him quietly. He had never got out of the habit oflooking upon Dick as a scatter-brained boy who talked nonsense for thefun of it; and his expression wore the amused disdain which one mighthave seen on a Saint Bernard when a toy-terrier was going through itstricks. 

'Please say something, ' cried Dick, half-irritably. 

'I suppose you say those things in order that I may contradict you. Whyshould I? They're perfectly untrue, and I don't agree with a single wordyou say. But if it amuses you to talk nonsense, I don't see why youshouldn't. '

'My dear Alec, I wish you wouldn't use the mailed fist in yourconversation. It's so very difficult to play a game with a spillikin onone side and a sledge-hammer on the other. '

Lucy, sitting back in her chair, quietly, was observing the new arrival. Dick had asked her and Mrs. Crowley to meet him at luncheon immediatelyafter his arrival from Mombassa. This was two months ago now, and sincethen she had seen much of him. But she felt that she knew him littlemore than on that first day, and still she could not make up her mindwhether she liked him or not. She was glad that they were stayingtogether at Court Leys; it would give her an opportunity of reallybecoming acquainted with him, and there was no doubt that he was worththe trouble. The fire lit up his face, casting grim shadows upon it, sothat it looked more than ever masterful and determined. He wasunconscious that her eyes rested upon him. He was always unconscious ofthe attention he aroused. 

Lucy hoped that she would induce him to talk of the work he had done, and the work upon which he was engaged. With her mind fixed always ongreat endeavours, his career interested her enormously; and it gainedsomething mysterious as well because there were gaps in her knowledge ofhim which no one seemed able to fill. He knew few people in London, butwas known in one way or another of many; and all who had come in contactwith him were unanimous in their opinion. He was supposed to know Africaas no other man knew it. During fifteen years he had been through everypart of it, and had traversed districts which the white man had leftuntouched. But he had never written of his experiences, partly fromindifference to chronicle the results of his undertakings, partly from anatural secrecy which made him hate to recount his deeds to all andsundry. It seemed that reserve was a deep-rooted instinct with him, andhe was inclined to keep to himself all that he discovered. But if onthis account he was unknown to the great public, his work wasappreciated very highly by specialists. He had read papers before theGeographical Society, (though it had been necessary to exercise muchpressure to induce him to do so), which had excited profound interest;and occasionally letters appeared from him in _Nature_, or in one of theethnographical publications, stating briefly some discovery he had made, or some observation which he thought necessary to record. He had beenasked now and again to make reports to the Foreign Office upon matterspertaining to the countries he knew; and Lucy had heard his perspicacitypraised in no measured terms by those in power. 

She put together such facts as she knew of his career. 

Alec MacKenzie was a man of considerable means. He belonged to an oldScotch family, and had a fine place in the Highlands, but his incomedepended chiefly upon a colliery in Lancashire. His parents died duringhis childhood, and his wealth was much increased by a long minority. Having inherited from an uncle a ranch in the West, his desire to seethis occasioned his first voyage from England in the interval betweenleaving Eton and going up to Oxford; and it was then he madeacquaintance with Richard Lomas, who had remained his most intimatefriend. The unlikeness of the two men caused perhaps the strength ofthe tie between them, the strenuous vehemence of the one finding arelief in the gaiety of the other. Soon after leaving Oxford, MacKenziemade a brief expedition into Algeria to shoot, and the mystery of thegreat continent seized him. As sometimes a man comes upon a new placewhich seems extraordinarily familiar, so that he is almost convincedthat in a past state he has known it intimately, Alec suddenly foundhimself at home in the immense distances of Africa. He felt a singularexhilaration when the desert was spread out before his eyes, andcapacities which he had not suspected in himself awoke in him. He hadnever thought himself an ambitious man, but ambition seized him. He hadnever imagined himself subject to poetic emotion, but all at once afeeling of the poetry of an adventurous life welled up within him. Andthough he had looked upon romance with the scorn of his Scottish commonsense, an irresistible desire of the romantic surged upon him, like thewaves of some unknown, mystical sea. 

When he returned to England a peculiar restlessness took hold of him. Hewas indifferent to the magnificence of the bag, which was the pride ofhis companions. He felt himself cribbed and confined. He could notbreathe the air of cities. 

He began to read the marvellous records of African exploration, and hisblood tingled at the magic of those pages. Mungo Park, a Scot likehimself, had started the roll. His aim had been to find the source andtrace the seaward course of the Niger. He took his life in his hands, facing boldly the perils of climate, savage pagans, and jealousMohammedans, and discovered the upper portions of that great river. On asecond expedition he undertook to follow it to the sea. Of his partysome died of disease, and some were slain by the natives. Not onereturned; and the only trace of Mungo Park was a book, known to havebeen in his possession, found by British explorers in the hut of anative chief. 

Then Alec MacKenzie read of the efforts to reach Timbuktu, which was thegreat object of ambition to the explorers of the nineteenth century. Itexercised the same fascination over their minds as did El Dorado, withits golden city of Monoa, to the adventurers in the days of QueenElizabeth. It was thought to be the capital of a powerful and wealthystate; and those ardent minds promised themselves all kinds of wonderswhen they should at last come upon it. But it was not the desire forgold that urged them on, rather an irresistible curiosity, and a pridein their own courage. One after another desperate attempts were made, and it was reached at last by another Scot, Alexander Gordon Laing. Andhis success was a symbol of all earthly endeavours, for the golden cityof his dreams was no more than a poverty-stricken village. 

One by one Alec studied the careers of these great men; and he saw thatthe best of them had not gone with half an army at their backs, butalmost alone, sometimes with not a single companion, and had dependedfor their success not upon the strength of their arms, but upon thestrength of their character. Major Durham, an old Peninsular officer, was the first European to cross the Sahara. Captain Clapperton, with hisservant, Richard Lander, was the first who traversed Africa from theMediterranean to the Guinea Coast. And he died at his journey's end. Andthere was something fine in the devotion of Richard Lander, thefaithful servant, who went on with his master's work and cleared up atlast the great mystery of the Niger. And he, too, had no sooner done hiswork than he died, near the mouth of the river he had so long travelledon, of wounds inflicted by the natives. There was not one of those earlyvoyagers who escaped with his life. It was the work of desperate menthat they undertook, but there was no recklessness in them. They countedthe cost and took the risk; the fascination of the unknown was too greatfor them, and they reckoned death as nothing if they could accomplishthat on which they had set out. 

Two men above all attracted Alec Mackenzie's interest. One was RichardBurton, that mighty, enigmatic man, more admirable for what he was thanfor what he did; and the other was Livingstone, the greatest of Africanexplorers. There was something very touching in the character of thatgentle Scot. MacKenzie's enthusiasm was seldom very strong, but here wasa man whom he would willingly have known; and he was strangely affectedby the thought of his lonely death, and his grave in the midst of theDark Continent he loved so well. On that, too, might have been writtenthe epitaph which is on the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren. 

Finally he studied the works of Henry M. Stanley. Here the man excitedneither admiration nor affection, but a cold respect. No one could helprecognising the greatness of his powers. He was a man of Napoleonicinstinct, who suited his means to his end, and ruthlessly fought his wayuntil he had achieved it. His books were full of interest, and they werepractical. From them much could be learned, and Alec studied them witha thoroughness which was in his nature. 

When he arose from this long perusal, his mind was made up. He had foundhis vocation. 

He did not disclose his plans to any of his friends till they weremature, and meanwhile set about seeing the people who could give himinformation. At last he sailed for Zanzibar, and started on a journeywhich was to try his powers. In a month he fell ill, and it was thoughtat the mission to which his bearers brought him that he could not live. For ten weeks he was at death's door, but he would not give in to theenemy. He insisted in the end on being taken back to the coast, andhere, as if by a personal effort of will, he recovered. The season hadpassed for his expedition, and he was obliged to return to England. Mostmen would have been utterly discouraged, but Alec was only strengthenedin his determination. He personified in a way that deadly climate andwould not allow himself to be beaten by it. His short experience hadshown him what he needed, and as soon as he was back in England heproceeded to acquire a smattering of medical knowledge, and someacquaintance with the sciences which were wanted by a traveller. He hadimmense powers of concentration, and in a year of tremendous labouracquired a working knowledge of botany and geology, and the elements ofsurveying; he learnt how to treat the maladies which were likely toattack people in tropical districts, and enough surgery to set a brokenlimb or to conduct a simple operation. He felt himself ready now for aconsiderable undertaking; but this time he meant to start fromMombassa. 

So far Lucy was able to go, partly from her own imaginings, and partlyfrom what Dick had told her. He had given her the proceedings of theRoyal Geographical Society, and here she found Alec MacKenzie's accountof his wanderings during the five years that followed. The countrieswhich he explored then, became afterwards British East Africa. 

But the bell rang for dinner, and so interrupted her meditations. 

III

They played bridge immediately afterwards. Mrs. Crowley looked uponconversation as a fine art, which could not be pursued while the bodywas engaged in the process of digestion; and she was of opinion that agame of cards agreeably diverted the mind and prepared the intellect forthe quips and cranks which might follow when the claims of the body weresatisfied. Lucy drew Alec MacKenzie as her partner, and so was able towatch his play when her cards were on the table. He did not play lightlyas did Dick, who kept up a running commentary the whole time, but threwhis whole soul into the game and never for a moment relaxed hisattention. He took no notice of Dick's facetious observations. PresentlyLucy grew more interested in his playing than in the game; she wasstruck, not only by his great gift of concentration, but by hisboldness. He had a curious faculty for knowing almost from the beginningof a hand where each card lay. She saw, also, that he was plainly mostabsorbed when he was playing both hands himself; he was a man who likedto take everything on his own shoulders, and the division ofresponsibility irritated him. 

At the end of the rubber Dick flung himself back in his chair irritably. 

'I can't make it out, ' he cried. 'I play much better than you, and Ihold better hands, and yet you get the tricks. '

Dick was known to be an excellent player, and his annoyance wasexcusable. 

'We didn't make a single mistake, ' he assured his partner, 'and weactually had the odd in our hands, but not one of our finesses came off, and all his did. ' He turned to Alec. 'How the dickens did you guess Ihad those two queens?'

'Because I've known you for twenty years, ' answered Alec, smiling. 'Iknow that, though you're impulsive and emotional, you're not withoutshrewdness; I know that your brain acts very quickly and sees all kindsof remote contingencies; then you're so pleased at having noticed themthat you act as if they were certain to occur. Given these data, I cantell pretty well what cards you have, after they've gone round two orthree times. '

'The knowledge you have of your opponents' cards is too uncanny, ' saidMrs. Crowley. 

'I can tell a good deal from people's faces. You see, in Africa I havehad a lot of experience; it's apparently so much easier for the nativeto lie than to tell the truth that you get into the habit of paying noattention to what he says, and a great deal to the way he looks. '

While Mrs. Crowley made herself comfortable in the chair, which she hadalready chosen as her favourite, Dick went over to the fire and stood infront of it in such a way as effectually to prevent the others fromgetting any of its heat. 

'What made you first take to exploration?' asked Mrs. Crowley suddenly. 

Alec gave her that slow, scrutinising look of his, and answered, with asmile:

'I don't know. I had nothing to do and plenty of money. '

'Not a bit of it, ' interrupted Dick. 'A lunatic wanted to find out aboutsome district that people had never been to, and it wouldn't have beenany use to them if they had, because, if the natives didn't kill you, the climate made no bones about it. He came back crippled with fever, having failed in his attempt, and, after asserting that no one could getinto the heart of Rofa's country and return alive, promptly gave up theghost. So Alec immediately packed up his traps and made for the place. '

'I proved the man was wrong, ' said Alec quietly. 'I became great friendswith Rofa, and he wanted to marry my sister, only I hadn't one. '

'And if anyone said it was impossible to hop through Asia on one foot, you'd go and do it just to show it could be done, ' retorted Dick 'Youhave a passion for doing things because they're difficult or dangerous, and, if they're downright impossible, you chortle with joy. '

'You make me really too melodramatic, ' smiled Alec. 

'But that's just what you are. You're the most transpontine person Iever saw in my life. ' Dick turned to Lucy and Mrs. Crowley with a waveof the hand. 'I call you to witness. When he was at Oxford, Alec was aregular dab at classics; he had a gift for writing verses in languagesthat no one except dons wanted to read, and everyone thought that he wasgoing to be the most brilliant scholar of his day. '

'This is one of Dick's favourite stories, ' said Alec. 'It would be quiteamusing if there were any truth in it. '

But Dick would not allow himself to be interrupted. 

'At mathematics, on the other hand, he was a perfect ass. You know, somepeople seem to have that part of their brains wanting that deals withfigures, and Alec couldn't add two and two together without making ahexameter out of it. One day his tutor got in a passion with him andsaid he'd rather teach arithmetic to a brick wall. I happened to bepresent, and he was certainly very rude. He was a man who had a preciousgift for making people feel thoroughly uncomfortable. Alec didn't sayanything, but he looked at him; and, when he flies into a temper, hedoesn't get red and throw things about like a pleasant, normalperson--he merely becomes a little paler and stares at you. '

'I beg you not to believe a single word he says, ' remonstrated Alec. 

'Well, Alec threw over his classics. Everyone concerned reasoned withhim; they appealed to his common sense; they were appealing to the mostobstinate fool in Christendom. Alec had made up his mind to be amathematician. For more than two years he worked ten hours a day at asubject he loathed; he threw his whole might into it and forced out ofnature the gifts she had denied him, with the result that he got a firstclass. And much good it's done him. '

Alec shrugged his shoulders. 

'It wasn't that I cared for mathematics, but it taught me to conquer theone inconvenient word in the English language. '

'And what the deuce is that?'

'I'm afraid it sounds very priggish, ' laughed Alec. 'The word_impossible_. '

Dick gave a little snort of comic rage. 

'And it also gave you a ghastly pleasure in doing things that hurt you. Oh, if you'd only been born in the Middle Ages, what a fiendish joy youwould have taken in mortifying your flesh, and in denying yourselfeverything that makes life so good to live! You're never thoroughlyhappy unless you're making yourself thoroughly miserable. '

'Each time I come back to England I find that you talk more and greaternonsense, Dick, ' returned Alec drily. 

'I'm one of the few persons now alive who can talk nonsense, ' answeredhis friend, laughing. 'That's why I'm so charming. Everyone else is sodeadly earnest. '

He settled himself down to make a deliberate speech. 

'I deplore the strenuousness of the world in general. There is an ideaabroad that it is praiseworthy to do things, and what they are is of noconsequence so long as you do them. I hate the mad hurry of the presentday to occupy itself. I wish I could persuade people of the excellenceof leisure. '

'One could scarcely accuse you of cultivating it yourself, ' said Lucy, smiling. 

Dick looked at her for a moment thoughtfully. 

'Do you know that I'm hard upon forty?'

'With the light behind, you might still pass for thirty-two, 'interrupted Mrs. Crowley. 

He turned to her seriously. 

'I haven't a grey hair on my head. '

'I suppose your servant plucks them out every morning?'

'Oh, no, very rarely; one a month at the outside. '

'I think I see one just beside the left temple. '

He turned quickly to the glass. 

'Dear me, how careless of Charles! I shall have to give him a piece ofmy mind. '

'Come here, and let me take it out, ' said Mrs. Crowley. 

'I will let you do nothing of the sort I should consider it mostfamiliar. '

'You were giving us the gratuitous piece of information that you werenearly forty, ' said Alec. 

'The thought came to me the other day with something of a shock, and Iset about a scrutiny of the life I was leading. I've worked at the barpretty hard for fifteen years now, and I've been in the House since thegeneral election. I've been earning two thousand a year, I've got nearlyfour thousand of my own, and I've never spent much more than half myincome. I wondered if it was worth while to spend eight hours a daysettling the sordid quarrels of foolish people, and another eight hoursin the farce of governing the nation. '

'Why do you call it that?'

Dick Lomas shrugged his shoulders scornfully. 

'Because it is. A few big-wigs rule the roost, and the rest of us areonly there to delude the British people into the idea that they're aself-governing community. '

'What is wrong with you is that you have no absorbing aim in politics, 'said Alec gravely. 

'Pardon me, I am a suffragist of the most vehement type, ' answered Dick, with a thin smile. 

'That's the last thing I should have expected you to be, ' said Mrs. Crowley, who dressed with admirable taste. 'Why on earth have you takento that?'

Dick shrugged his shoulders. 

'No one can have been through a parliamentary election withoutdiscovering how unworthy, sordid, and narrow are the reasons for whichmen vote. There are very few who are alive to the responsibilities thathave been thrust upon them. They are indifferent to the importance ofthe stakes at issue, but make their vote a matter of ignoble barter. Theparliamentary candidate is at the mercy of faddists and cranks. Now, Ithink that women, when they have votes, will be a trifle more narrow, and they will give them for motives that are a little more sordid and alittle more unworthy. It will reduce universal suffrage to the absurd, and then it may be possible to try something else. '

Dick had spoken with a vehemence that was unusual to him. Alec watchedhim with a certain interest. 

'And what conclusions have you come to?'

For a moment he did not answer, then he gave a deprecating smile. 

'I feel that the step I want to take is momentous for me, though I amconscious that it can matter to nobody else whatever. There will be ageneral election in a few months, and I have made up my mind to informthe whips that I shall not stand again. I shall give up my chambers inLincoln's Inn, put up the shutters, so to speak, and Mr. Richard Lomaswill retire from active life. '

'You wouldn't really do that?' cried Mrs. Crowley. 

'Why not?'

'In a month complete idleness will simply bore you to death. '

'I doubt it. Do you know, it seems to me that a great deal of nonsenseis talked about the dignity of work. Work is a drug that dull peopletake to avoid the pangs of unmitigated boredom. It has been adorned withfine phrases, because it is a necessity to most men, and men always gildthe pill they're obliged to swallow. Work is a sedative. It keeps peoplequiet and contented. It makes them good material for their leaders. Ithink the greatest imposture of Christian times is the sanctification oflabour. You see, the early Christians were slaves, and it was necessaryto show them that their obligatory toil was noble and virtuous. But whenall is said and done, a man works to earn his bread and to keep his wifeand children; it is a painful necessity, but there is nothing heroic init. If people choose to put a higher value on the means than on the end, I can only pass with a shrug of the shoulders, and regret the paucity oftheir intelligence. '

'It's really unfair to talk so much all at once, ' said Mrs. Crowley, throwing up her pretty hands. 

But Dick would not be stopped. 

'For my part I have neither wife nor child, and I have an income that ismore than adequate. Why should I take the bread out of somebody else'smouth? And it's not on my own merit that I get briefs--men seldom do--Ionly get them because I happen to have at the back of me a very largefirm of solicitors. And I can find nothing worthy in attending to thesefoolish disputes. In most cases it's six of one and half a dozen of theother, and each side is very unjust and pig-headed. No, the bar is afair way of earning your living like another, but it's no more thanthat; and, if you can exist without, I see no reason why Quixoticmotives of the dignity of human toil should keep you to it. I've alreadytold you why I mean to give up my seat in Parliament. '

'Have you realised that you are throwing over a career that may be verybrilliant? You should get an under-secretaryship in the nextgovernment. '

'That would only mean licking the boots of a few more menwhom I despise. '

'It's a very dangerous experiment that you're making. '

Dick looked straight into Alec MacKenzie's eyes. 

'And is it you who counsel me not to make it on that account?' he said, smiling. 'Surely experiments are only amusing if they're dangerous. '

'And to what is it precisely that you mean to devote your time?' askedMrs. Crowley. 

'I should like to make idleness a fine art, ' he laughed. 'People, now-a-days, turn up their noses at the dilettante. Well, I mean to be adilettante. I want to devote myself to the graces of life. I'm forty, and for all I know I haven't so very many years before me: in the timethat remains, I want to become acquainted with the world and all thegraceful, charming things it contains. '

Alec, fallen into deep thought, stared into the fire. Presently he tooka long breath, rose from his chair, and drew himself to his full height. 

'I suppose it's a life like another, and there is no one to say which isbetter and which is worse. But, for my part, I would rather go on till Idropped. There are ten thousand things I want to do. If I had ten livesI couldn't get through a tithe of what, to my mind, so urgently needsdoing. '

'And what do you suppose will be the end of it?' asked Dick. 

'For me?'

Dick nodded, but did not otherwise reply. Alec smiled faintly. 

'Well, I suppose the end of it will be death in some swamp, obscurely, worn out with disease and exposure; and my bearers will make off with myguns and my stores, and the jackals will do the rest. '

'I think it's horrible, ' said Mrs. Crowley, with a shudder. 

'I'm a fatalist. I've lived too long among people with whom it is thedeepest rooted article of their faith, to be anything else. When my timecomes, I cannot escape it. ' He smiled whimsically. 'But I believe inquinine, too, and I think that the daily use of that admirable drug willmake the thread harder to cut. '

To Lucy it was an admirable study, the contrast between the man whothrew his whole soul into a certain aim, which he pursued with a savageintensity, knowing that the end was a dreadful, lonely death; and theman who was making up his mind deliberately to gather what was beautifulin life, and to cultivate its graces as though it were a flower garden. 

'And the worst of it is that it will all be the same in a hundredyears, ' said Dick. 'We shall both be forgotten long before then, youwith your strenuousness, and I with my folly. '

'And what conclusion do you draw from that?' asked Mrs. Crowley. 

'Only that the psychological moment has arrived for a whisky and soda. '

IV

These was some rough shooting on the estate which Mrs. Crowley hadrented, and next day Dick went out to see what he could find. Alecrefused to accompany him. 

'I think shooting in England bores me a little, ' he said. 'I have aprejudice against killing things unless I want to eat them, and theseEnglish birds are so tame that it seems to me rather like shootingchickens. '

'I don't believe a word of it, ' said Dick, as he set out. 'The fact isthat you can't hit anything smaller than a hippopotamus, and you knowthat there is nothing here to suit you except Mrs. Crowley's cows. '

After luncheon Alec MacKenzie asked Lucy if she would take a stroll withhim. She was much pleased. 

'Where would you like to go?' she asked. 

'Let us walk by the sea. '

She took him along a road called Joy Lane, which ran from the fishingtown of Blackstable to a village called Waveney. The sea there had apeculiar vastness, and the salt smell of the breeze was pleasant to thesenses. The flatness of the marsh seemed to increase the distances thatsurrounded them, and unconsciously Alec fell into a more rapid swing. Itdid not look as if he walked fast, but he covered the ground with thesteady method of a man who has been used to long journeys, and it wasgood for Lucy that she was accustomed to much walking. At first theyspoke of trivial things, but presently silence fell upon them. Lucy sawthat he was immersed in thought, and she did not interrupt him. Itamused her that, after asking her to walk with him, this odd man shouldtake no pains to entertain her. Now and then he threw back his head witha strange, proud motion, and looked out to sea. The gulls, with theirmelancholy flight, were skimming upon the surface of the water. Thedesolation of that scene--it was the same which, a few days before, hadrent poor Lucy's heart--appeared to enter his soul; but, strangelyenough, it uplifted him, filling him with exulting thoughts. Hequickened his pace, and Lucy, without a word, kept step with him. Heseemed not to notice where they walked, and presently she led him awayfrom the sea. They tramped along a winding road, between trim hedges andfertile fields; and the country had all the sweet air of Kent, with itseasy grace and its comfortable beauty. They passed a caravan, with ashaggy horse browsing at the wayside, and a family of dinglers sittingaround a fire of sticks. The sight curiously affected Lucy. Thewandering life of those people, with no ties but to the ramshacklecarriage which was their only home, their familiarity with the fieldsand with strange hidden places, filled her with a wild desire forfreedom and for vast horizons. At last they came to the massive gates ofCourt Leys. An avenue of elms led to the house. 

'Here we are, ' said Lucy, breaking the long silence. 

'Already?' He seemed to shake himself. 'I have to thank you for apleasant stroll, and we've had a good talk, haven't we?'

'Have we?' she laughed. She saw his look of surprise. 'For two hoursyou've not vouchsafed to make an observation. '

'I'm so sorry, ' he said, reddening under his tan. 'How rude you musthave thought me! I've been alone so much that I've got out of the way ofbehaving properly. '

'It doesn't matter at all, ' she smiled. 'You must talk to me anothertime. '

She was subtly flattered. She felt that, for him, it was a queer kind-ofcompliment that he had paid her. Their silent walk, she did not knowwhy, seemed to have created a bond between them; and it appeared that hefelt it, too, for afterwards he treated her with a certain intimacy. Heseemed to look upon her no longer as an acquaintance, but as a friend. 

* * *

A day or two later, Mrs. Crowley having suggested that they should driveinto Tercanbury to see the cathedral, MacKenzie asked her if she wouldallow him to walk. 

He turned to Lucy. 

'I hardly dare to ask if you will come with me, ' he said. 

'It would please me immensely. '

'I will try to behave better than last time. '

'You need not, ' she smiled. 

Dick, who had an objection to walking when it was possible to drive, setout with Mrs. Crowley in a trap. Alec waited for Lucy. She went round tothe stable to fetch a dog to accompany them, and, as she came towardshim, he looked at her. Alec was a man to whom most of his fellows wereabstractions. He saw them and talked to them, noting theirpeculiarities, but they were seldom living persons to him. They wereshadows, as it were, that had to be reckoned with, but they never becamepart of himself. And it came upon him now with a certain shock ofsurprise to notice Lucy. He felt suddenly a new interest in her. Heseemed to see her for the first time, and her rare beauty strangelymoved him. In her serge dress and her gauntlets, with a motor cap and aflowing veil, a stick in her hand, she seemed on a sudden to express thecountry through which for the last two or three days he had wandered. Hefelt an unexpected pleasure in her slim erectness and in her buoyantstep. There was something very charming in her blue eyes. 

He was seized with a great desire to talk. And, without thinking for aninstant that what concerned him so intensely might be of no moment toher, he began forthwith upon the subject which was ever at his heart. But he spoke as his interest prompted, of each topic as it most absorbedhim, starting with what he was now about and going back to what hadfirst attracted his attention to that business; then telling his plansfor the future, and to make them clear, finishing with the events thathad led up to his determination. Lucy listened attentively, now and thenasking a question; and presently the whole matter sorted itself in hermind, so that she was able to make a connected narrative of his lifesince the details of it had escaped from Dick's personal observation. 

* * *

For some years Alec MacKenzie had travelled in Africa with no objectbeyond a great curiosity, and no ambition but that of the unknown. Hisfirst important expedition had been, indeed, occasioned by the failureof a fellow-explorer. He had undergone the common vicissitudes ofAfrican travel, illness and hunger, incredible difficulties of transitthrough swamps that seemed never ending, and tropical forest throughwhich it was impossible to advance at the rate of more than one mile aday; he had suffered from the desertion of his bearers and the perfidyof native tribes. But at last he reached the country which had been theaim of his journey. He had to encounter then a savage king's determinedhostility to the white man, and he had to keep a sharp eye on hisfollowers who, in abject terror of the tribe he meant to visit, tookevery opportunity to escape into the bush. The barbarian chief sent hima warning that he would have him killed if he attempted to enter hiscapital. The rest of the story Alec told with an apologetic air, as ifhe were ashamed of himself, and he treated it with a deprecating humourthat sought to minimise both the danger he had run and the courage hehad displayed. On receiving the king's message, Alec MacKenzie took up ahigh tone, and returned the answer that he would come to the royal kraalbefore midday. He wanted to give the king no time to recover from hisastonishment, and the messengers had scarcely delivered the reply beforehe presented himself, unarmed and unattended. 

'What did you say to him?' asked Lucy. 

'I asked him what the devil he meant by sending me such an impudentmessage, ' smiled Alec. 

'Weren't you frightened?' said Lucy. 

'Yes, ' he answered. 

He paused for a moment, and, as though unconsciously he were callingback the mood which had then seized him, he began to walk more slowly. 

'You see, it was the only thing to do. We'd about come to the end of ourfood, and we were bound to get some by hook or by crook. If we'd shownthe white feather they would probably have set upon us without more ado. My own people were too frightened to make a fight of it, and we shouldhave been wiped out like sheep. Then I had a kind of instinctive feelingthat it would be all right. I didn't feel as if my time had come. '

But, notwithstanding, for three hours his life had hung in the balance;and Lucy understood that it was only his masterful courage which had wonthe day and turned a sullen, suspicious foe into a warm ally. 

He achieved the object of his expedition, discovered a new species ofantelope of which he was able to bring back to the Natural HistoryMuseum a complete skeleton and two hides; took some geographicalobservations which corrected current errors, and made a carefulexamination of the country. When he had learnt all that was possible, still on the most friendly terms with the ferocious ruler, he set outfor Mombassa. He reached it in one month more than five years after hehad left it. 

The results of this journey had been small enough, but Alec looked uponit as his apprenticeship. He had found his legs, and believed himselffit for much greater undertakings. He had learnt how to deal withnatives, and was aware that he had a natural influence over them. He hadconfidence in himself. He had surmounted the difficulties of theclimate, and felt himself more or less proof against fever and heat. Hereturned to the coast stronger than he had ever been in his life, andhis enthusiasm for African travel increased tenfold. The siren had takenhold of him, and no escape now was possible. 

He spent a year in England, and then went back to Africa. He haddetermined now to explore certain districts to the northeast of thegreat lakes. They were in the hinterland of British East Africa, andEngland had a vague claim over them; but no actual occupation had takenplace, and they formed a series of independent states under Arab emirs. He went this time with a roving commission from the government, andauthority to make treaties with the local chieftains. Spending six yearsin these districts, he made a methodical survey of the country, and wasable to prepare valuable maps. He collected an immense amount ofscientific material. He studied the manners and customs of theinhabitants, and made careful observations on the political state. Hefound the whole land distracted with incessant warfare, and broad tractsof country, fertile and apt for the occupation of white men, given overto desolation. It was then that he realised the curse of slave-raiding, the abolition of which was to become the great object of his futureactivity. His strength was small, and, anxious not to arouse at once theenmity of the Arab slavers, he had to use much diplomacy in order toestablish himself in the country. He knew himself to be an object ofintense suspicion, and he could not trust even the petty rulers who werebound to him by ties of gratitude and friendship. For some time thesultan of the most powerful state kept him in a condition bordering oncaptivity, and at one period his life was for a year in the greatestdanger. He never knew from day to day whether he would see the settingof the sun. The Arab, though he treated him with honour, would not lethim go; and, at last, Alec, seizing an opportunity when the sultan wasengaged in battle with a brother who sought to usurp his sovereignty, fled for his life, abandoning his property, and saving only his notes, his specimens, and his guns. 

When MacKenzie reached England, he laid before the Foreign Office theresult of his studies. He pointed out the state of anarchy to which theconstant slave-raiding had reduced this wealthy country, and imploredthose in authority, not only for the sake of humanity, but for theprestige of the country, to send an expedition which should stamp outthe murderous traffic. He offered to accompany this in any capacity;and, so long as he had the chance of assisting in a righteous war, agreed to serve under any leader they chose. His knowledge of thecountry and his influence over its inhabitants were indispensable. Heguaranteed that, if they gave him a certain number of guns with threeBritish officers, the whole affair could be settled in a year. 

But the government was crippled by the Boer War; and though, appreciating the strength of his arguments, it realised the necessity ofintervention, was disinclined to enter upon fresh enterprises. Theselittle expeditions in Africa had a way of developing into much moreimportant affairs than first appeared. They had been taught bitterlessons before now, and could not risk, in the present state of things, even an insignificant rebuff. If they sent out a small party, which wasdefeated, it would be a great blow to the prestige of the countrythrough Africa--the Arabs would carry the news to India--and it would benecessary, then, to despatch such a force that failure was impossible. To supply this there was neither money nor men. 

Alec was put off with one excuse after another. To him it seemed thathindrances were deliberately set in his way, and in fact the relationsof England with the rest of Europe made his small schemes appear anintolerable nuisance. At length he was met with a flat refusal. 

But Alec MacKenzie could not rest with this, and opposition only madehim more determined to carry his business through. He understood that itwas hard at second hand to make men realise the state of things in thatdistant land. But he had seen horrors beyond description. He knew theruthless cruelty of the slave-raiders, and in his ears rang, still, thecries of agony when a village was set on fire and attacked by the Arabs. Not once, nor twice, but many times he had left some tiny kraal nestlingsweetly among its fields of maize, an odd, savage counterpart to thecountry hamlet described in prim, melodious numbers by the gentleGoldsmith: the little naked children were playing merrily; the women satin groups grinding their corn and chattering; the men worked in thefields or lounged idly about the hut doors. It was a charming scene. Youfelt that here, perhaps, one great mystery of life had been solved; forhappiness was on every face, and the mere joy of living was a sufficientreason for existence. And, when he returned, the village was a pile ofcinders, smoking still; here and there were lying the dead and wounded;on one side he recognised a chubby boy with a great spear wound in hisbody; on another was a woman with her face blown away by some clumsygun; and there a man in the agony of death, streaming with blood, layheaped upon the ground in horrible disorder. And the rest of theinhabitants had been hurried away pellmell on the cruel journey acrosscountry, brutally treated and half starved, till they could be deliveredinto the hands of the slave merchant. 

Alec MacKenzie went to the Foreign Office once more. He was willing totake the whole business on himself, and asked only for a commission toraise troops at his own expense. Timorous secretaries did not know intowhat difficulties this determined man might lead them, and if he wentwith the authority of an official, but none of his responsibilities, hemight land them in grave complications. The spheres of influence of thecontinental powers must be respected, and at this time of all others itwas necessary to be very careful of national jealousies. Alec MacKenziewas told that if he went he must go as a private person. No help couldbe given him, and the British Government would not concern itself, evenindirectly, with his enterprise. Alec had expected the reply and was notdissatisfied. If the government would not undertake the matter itself, he preferred to manage it without the hindrance of official restraints. And so this solitary man made up his mind, single handed, to crush theslave traffic in a district larger than England, and to wage war, unassisted, with a dozen local chieftains and against twenty thousandfighting men The attempt seemed Quixotic, but Alec had examined therisks and was willing to take them. He had on his side a thoroughknowledge of the country, a natural power over the natives, and someskill in managing them. He was accustomed now to the diplomacy which wasneedful, and he was well acquainted with the local politics. 

He did not think it would be hard to collect a force on the coast, andthere were plenty of hardy, adventurous fellows who would volunteer toofficer the native levies, if he had money to pay them. Ready money wasessential, so he crossed the Atlantic and sold his estate in Texas; hemade arrangements to raise a further sum, if necessary, on the incomewhich his colliery in Lancashire brought him. He engaged a surgeon, whomhe had known for some years, and could trust in an emergency, and thensailed for Zanzibar, where he expected to find white men willing to takeservice under him. At Mombassa he collected the bearers who had beenwith him during his previous expeditions, and, his fame among thenatives being widely spread, he was able to take his pick of those bestsuited for his purpose. His party consisted altogether of over threehundred. 

When he arrived upon the scene of his operations, everything for a timewent well. He showed great skill in dividing his enemies. The pettyrulers were filled with jealousy of one another and eager always to fallupon their friends, when slave-raiding for a season was unsuccessful. Alec's plan was to join two or three smaller states in an attack uponthe most powerful of them all, to crush this completely, and then totake his old allies one by one, if they would not guarantee to give uptheir raids on peaceful tribes. His influence with the natives was suchthat he felt certain it was possible to lead them into action againsttheir dreaded foes, the Arabs, if he was once able to give themconfidence. Everything turned out as he had hoped. 

The great state which had aimed at the hegemony of the whole districtwas defeated; and Alec, with the method habitual to him, set aboutorganising each strip of territory which was reclaimed from barbarism. He was able to hold in check the emirs who had fought with him, and asharp lesson given to one who had broken faith with him, struck terrorin the others. The land was regaining its old security. Alec trustedthat in five years a man would be able to travel from end to end of itas safely as in England. But suddenly everything he had achieved wasundone. As sometimes happens in countries of small civilisation, aleader arose from among the Arabs. None knew from where he sprang, andit was said that he had been a camel driver. He was called Mohammed theLame, because a leg badly set after a fracture had left him halting, andhe was a shrewd man, far-seeing, ruthless, and ambitious. With a fewcompanions as desperate as himself, he attacked the capital of a smallstate in the North which was distracted by the death of its ruler, seized it, and proclaimed himself king. 

In a year he had brought under his sway all those shadowy lands whichborder upon Abyssinia, and was leading a great rabble, mad with the lustof conquest, fanatic with hatred of the Christian, upon the South. Consternation reigned among the tribes to whom MacKenzie was the onlyhope of salvation. He pointed out to the Arabs who had accepted hisinfluence, that their safety, as well as his, lay in resistance to theLame One; but the war cry of the Prophet prevailed against the call ofreason, and he found that they were against him to a man. His nativeallies were faithful, with the fidelity of despair, and these he broughtup against the enemy. A pitched battle was fought, but the issue wasundecided. The losses were great on both sides, and Alec was himselfbadly wounded. 

Fortunately the wet season was approaching, and Mohammed the Lame, witha wholesome respect for the white man who for the moment, at least, hadchecked his onward course, withdrew to the Northern regions where hispower was more secure. Alec knew that he would resume the attack at thefirst opportunity, and he knew also that he had not the means towithstand a foe who was astute and capable. His only chance was to getback to the coast, return to England, and try again to interest thegovernment in the undertaking; if they still refused help he determinedto go out once more himself, taking this time Maxim guns and men capableof handling them. He knew that his departure would seem like flight, buthe could not help that. He was obliged to go. His wound prevented himfrom walking, but he caused himself to be carried; and, firing hiscaravan with his own indomitable spirit, he reached the coast by forcedmarches. 

His brief visit to England was already drawing to its close, and, inless than a month now, he proposed to set out for Africa once more. Thistime he meant to finish the work. If only his life were spared, he wouldcrush for ever the infamous trade which turned a paradise into awilderness. 

Alec stopped speaking as they entered the cathedral close, and theypaused for a moment to look at the stately pile. The trim lawns thatsurrounded it, in a manner enhanced its serene majesty. They entered thenave. There was a vast and solemn stillness. And there was somethingsubtly impressive in the naked space; it uplifted the heart, and onefelt a kind of scorn for all that was mean and low. The soaring of theGothic columns, with their straight simplicity, raised the thoughts to anobler standard. And, though that place had been given for three hundredyears to colder rites, the atmosphere of an earlier, more splendid faithseemed still to cling to it. A vague odour of a spectral incense hungabout the pillars, a sweet, sad smell, and the shadows of ghostlypriests in vestments of gold, and with embroidered copes, wound in along procession through the empty aisles. 

Lucy was glad that they had come there, and the restful grandeur of theplace fitted in with the emotions that had filled her mind during thewalk from Blackstable. Her spirit was enlarged, and she felt that herown small worries were petty. The consciousness came to her that the manwith whom she had been speaking was making history, and she wasfascinated by the fulness of his life and the greatness of hisundertakings. Her eyes were dazzled with the torrid African sun whichhad shone through his words, and she felt the horror of the primevalforest and the misery of the unending swamps. And she was proud becausehis outlook was so clear, because he bore his responsibilities soeasily, because his plans were so vast. She looked at him. He wasstanding by her side, and his eyes were upon her. She felt the colourrise to her cheeks, she knew not why, and in embarrassment looked down. 

By some chance they missed Dick Lomas and Mrs. Crowley. Neither wassorry. When they left the cathedral and started for home, they spoke fora while of indifferent things. It seemed that Alec's tongue wasloosened, and he was glad of it. Lucy knew instinctively that he hadnever talked to anyone as he talked to her, and she was curiouslyflattered. 

But it seemed to both of them that the conversation could not proceed onthe strenuous level on which it had been during the walk intoTercanbury, and they fell upon a gay discussion of their commonacquaintance. Alec was a man of strong passions, hating fools fiercely, and he had a sardonic manner of gibing at persons he despised, whichcaused Lucy much amusement. 

He described interviews with the great ones of the land in a broadlycomic spirit; and, when telling an amusing story, he had a way ofassuming a Scottish drawl that added vastly to its humour. 

Presently they began to speak of books. Being strictly limited as tonumber, he was obliged to choose for his expeditions works which couldstand reading an indefinite number of times. 

'I'm like a convict, ' he said. 'I know Shakespeare by heart, and I'veread Boswell's _Johnson_ till I think you couldn't quote a line which Icouldn't cap with the next. '

But Lucy was surprised to hear that he read the Greek classics withenthusiasm. She had vaguely imagined that people recognised theirsplendour, but did not read them unless they were dons orschoolmasters, and it was strange to find anyone for whom they wereliving works. To Alec they were a deliberate inspiration. Theystrengthened his purpose and helped him to see life from the heroicpoint of view. He was not a man who cared much for music or forpainting; his whole æsthetic desires were centred in the Greek poets andthe historians. To him Thucydides was a true support, and he felt inhimself something of the spirit which had animated the great Athenian. His blood ran faster as he spoke of him, and his cheeks flushed. He feltthat one who lived constantly in such company could do nothing base. Buthe found all he needed, put together with a power that seemed almostdivine, within the two covers that bound his Sophocles. The mere look ofthe Greek letters filled him with exultation. Here was all he wanted, strength and simplicity, and the greatness of life, and beauty. 

He forgot that Lucy did not know that dead language and could not sharehis enthusiasm. He broke suddenly into a chorus from the _Antigone_; thesonorous, lovely words issued from his lips, and Lucy, notunderstanding, but feeling vaguely the beauty of the sounds, thoughtthat his voice had never been more fascinating. It gained now a peculiarand entrancing softness. She had never dreamed that it was capable ofsuch tenderness. 

At last they reached Court Leys and walked up the avenue that led to thehouse. They saw Dick hurrying towards them. They waved their hands, buthe did not reply, and, when he approached, they saw that his face waswhite and anxious. 

'Thank God, you've come at last! I couldn't make out what had come toyou. '

'What's the matter?'

The barrister, all his flippancy gone, turned to Lucy. 

'Bobbie Boulger has come down. He wants to see you. Please come atonce. '

Lucy looked at him quickly. Sick with fear, she followed him into thedrawing-room. 

V

Mrs. Crowley and Robert Boulger were standing by the fire, and there wasa peculiar agitation about them. They were silent, but it seemed to Lucythat they had been speaking of her. Mrs. Crowley impulsively seized herhands and kissed her. Lucy's first thought was that something hadhappened to her brother. Lady Kelsey's generous allowance had made itpossible for him to hunt, and the thought flashed through her that someterrible accident had happened. 

'Is anything the matter with George?' she asked, with a gasp of terror. 

'No, ' answered Boulger. 

The colour came to Lucy's cheeks as she felt a sudden glow of relief. 

'Thank God, ' she murmured. 'I was so frightened. '

She gave him, now, a smile of welcome as she shook hands with him. Itcould be nothing so very dreadful after all. 

Lucy's uncle, Sir George Boulger, had been for many years senior partnerin the great firm of Boulger & Kelsey. After sitting in Parliament forthe quarter of a century and voting assiduously for his party, he hadbeen given a baronetcy on the celebration of Queen Victoria's secondJubilee, and had finished a prosperous life by dying of apoplexy at theopening of a park, which he was presenting to the nation. He had been afine type of the wealthy merchant, far-sighted in business affairs andproud to serve his native city in every way open to him. His son, Robert, now reigned in his stead, but the firm had been made into acompany, and the responsibility that he undertook, notwithstanding thatthe greater number of shares were in his hands, was much less. Thepartner who had been taken into the house on Sir Alfred Kelsey's deathnow managed the more important part of the business in Manchester, whileRobert, brought up by his father to be a man of affairs, had takencharge of the London branch. Commerce was in his blood, and he settleddown to work with praiseworthy energy. He had considerable shrewdness, and it was plain that he would eventually become as good a merchant ashis father. He was little older than Lucy, but his fair hair and hisclean-shaven face gave him a more youthful look. With his spruce air andwell-made clothes, his conversation about hunting and golf, few wouldhave imagined that he arrived regularly at his office at ten in themorning, and was as keen to make a good bargain as any of the men hecame in contact with. 

Lucy, though very fond of him, was mildly scornful of his Philistineoutlook. He cared nothing for books, and the only form of art thatappealed to him was the musical comedy. She treated him as a rule withpleasant banter and refused to take him seriously. It required a gooddeal of energy to keep their friendship on a light footing, for she knewthat he had been in love with her since he was eighteen. She could nothelp feeling flattered, though on her side there was no more than thecousinly affection due to their having been thrown together all theirlives, and she was aware that they were little suited to one another. Hehad proposed to her a dozen times, and she was obliged to use manydevices to protect herself from his assiduity. It availed nothing totell him that she did not love him. He was only too willing to marry heron whatever conditions she chose to make. Her friends and her relationswere anxious that she should accept him. Lady Kelsey had reasoned withher. Here was a man whom she had known always and could trust utterly;he had ten thousand a year, an honest heart, and a kindly disposition. Her father, seeing in the match a resource in his constant difficulties, was eager that she should take the boy, and George, who was devoted tohim, had put in his word, too. Bobbie had asked her to marry him when hewas twenty-one, and again when she was twenty-one, when George went toOxford, when her father went into bankruptcy, and when Hamlyn's Purlieuwas sold. He had urged his own father to buy it, when it was known thata sale was inevitable, hoping that the possession of it would inclineLucy's heart towards him; but the first baronet was too keen a man ofbusiness to make an unprofitable investment for sentimental reasons. Bobbie had proposed for the last time when he succeeded to the baronetcyand a large fortune. Lucy recognised his goodness and the advantages ofthe match, but she did not care for him. She felt, too, that she neededa free hand to watch over her father and George. Even Mrs. Crowley'ssuggestion that with her guidance Robert Boulger might become a man ofconsequence, did not move her. Bobbie, on the other hand, had set allhis heart on marrying his cousin. It was the supreme interest of hislife, and he hoped that his patience would eventually triumph over everyobstacle. He was willing to wait. 

When Lucy's first alarm was stayed, it occurred to her that Bobbie hadcome once more to ask her the eternal question, but the anxious look inhis eyes drove the idea away. His pleasant, boyish expression wasovercast with gravity; Mrs. Crowley flung herself in a chair and turnedher face away. 

'I have something to tell you which is very terrible, Lucy, ' he said. 

The effort he made to speak was noticeable. His voice was strained bythe force with which he kept it steady. 

'Would you like me to leave you?' asked Alec, who had accompanied Lucyinto the drawing-room. 

She gave him a glance. It seemed to her that whatever it was, hispresence would help her to bear it. 

'Do you wish to see me alone, Bobbie?'

'I've already told Dick and Mrs. Crowley. '

'What is it?' she asked. 

Bobbie gave Dick an appealing look. It seemed too hard that he shouldhave to break the awful news to her. He had not the heart to give her somuch pain. And yet he had hurried down to the country so that he mightsoften the blow by his words: he would not trust to the callous crueltyof a telegram. Dick saw the agitation which made his good-humoured mouthtwitch with pain, and stepped forward. 

'Your father has been arrested for fraud, ' he said gravely. 

For a moment no one spoke. The silence was intolerable to Mrs. Crowley, and she inveighed inwardly against the British stolidity. She could notlook at Lucy, but the others, full of sympathy, kept their eyes uponher. Mrs. Crowley wondered why she did not faint. It seemed to Lucythat an icy hand clutched her heart so that the blood was squeezed outof it. She made a determined effort to keep her clearness of mind. 

'It's impossible, ' she said at last, quietly. 

'He was arrested last night, and brought up at Bow Street Police Courtthis morning. He was remanded for a week. '

Lucy felt the tears well up to her eyes, but with all her strength sheforced them back. She collected her thoughts. 

'It was very good of you to come down and tell me, ' she said to Boulgergently. 

'The magistrate agreed to accept bail in five thousand pounds. AuntAlice and I have managed it between us. '

'Is he staying with Aunt Alice now?'

'No, he wouldn't do that. He's gone to his flat in Shaftesbury Avenue. '

Lucy's thoughts went to the lad who was dearest to her in the world, andher heart sank. 

'Does George know?'

'Not yet. '

Dick saw the relief that came into her face, and thought he divined whatwas in her mind. 

'But he must be told at once, ' he said. 'He's sure to see somethingabout it in the papers. We had better wire to him to come to Londonimmediately. '

'Surely father could have shown in two minutes that the whole thing wasa mistake. '

Bobbie made a hopeless gesture. He saw the sternness of her eyes, and hehad not the heart to tell her the truth. Mrs. Crowley began to cry. 

'You don't understand, Lucy, ' said Dick. 'I'm afraid it's a very seriouscharge. Your father will be committed for trial. '

'You know just as well as I do that father can't have done anythingillegal. He's weak and rash, but he's no more than that. He would assoon think of doing anything wrong as of flying to the moon. If in hisignorance of business he's committed some technical offence, he caneasily show that it was unintentional. '

'Whatever it is, he'll have to stand his trial at the Old Bailey, 'answered Dick gravely. 

He saw that Lucy did not for a moment appreciate the gravity of herfather's position. After the first shock of dismay she was disposed tothink that there could be nothing in it. Robert Boulger saw there wasnothing for it but to tell her everything. 

'Your father and a man called Saunders have been running a bucketshopunder the name of Vernon and Lawford. They were obliged to trade underdifferent names, because Uncle Fred is an undischarged bankrupt, andSaunders is the sort of man who only uses his own name on the chargesheet of a police court. '

'Do you know what a bucketshop is, Lucy?' asked Dick. 

He did not wait for a reply, but explained that it was a term used todescribe a firm of outside brokers whose dealings were more or lessdishonest. 

'The action is brought against the pair of them by a Mrs. Sabidon, whoaccuses them of putting to their own uses various sums amountingaltogether to more than eight thousand pounds, which she intrusted tothem to invest. '

Now that the truth was out, Lucy quailed before it. The intenseseriousness on the faces of Alec and Dick Lomas, the piteous anxiety ofher cousin, terrified her. 

'You don't think there's anything in it?' she asked quickly. 

Robert did not know what to answer. Dick interrupted with wise advice. 

'We'll hope for the best. The only thing to do is to go up to London atonce and get the best legal advice. '

But Lucy would not allow herself, even for a moment, to doubt herfather. Now that she thought of the matter, she saw that it was absurd. She forced herself to give a laugh. 

'I'm quite reassured. You don't think for a moment that father woulddeliberately steal somebody else's money. And it's nothing short oftheft. '

'At all events it's something that we've been able to get him releasedon bail. It will make it so much easier to arrange the defence. '

A couple of hours later Lucy, accompanied by Dick Lomas and Bobbie, wason her way to London. Alec, thinking his presence would be a nuisance tothem, arranged with Mrs. Crowley to leave by a later train; and, whenthe time came for him to start, his hostess suddenly announced that shewould go with him. With her party thus broken up and her house empty, she could not bear to remain at Court Leys. She was anxious about Lucyand eager to be at hand if her help were needed. 

* * *

A telegram had been sent to George, and it was supposed that he wouldarrive at Lady Kelsey's during the evening. Lucy wanted to tell himherself what had happened. But she could not wait till then to see herfather, and persuaded Dick to drive with her from the station toShaftesbury Avenue. Fred Allerton was not in. Lucy wanted to go into theflat and stay there till he came, but the porter had no key and did notknow when he would return. Dick was much relieved. He was afraid thatthe excitement and the anxiety from which Fred Allerton had suffered, would have caused him to drink heavily; and he could not let Lucy seehim the worse for liquor. He induced her, after leaving a note to saythat she would call early next morning, to go quietly home. When theyarrived at Charles Street, where was Lady Kelsey's house, they found awire from George to say he could not get up to town till the followingday. 

To Lucy this had, at least, the advantage that she could see her fatheralone, and at the appointed hour she made her way once more to his flat. He took her in his arms and kissed her warmly. She succumbed at once tothe cheeriness of his manner. 

'I can only give you two minutes, darling, ' he said. 'I'm full ofbusiness, and I have an appointment with my solicitor at eleven. '

Lucy could not speak. She clung to her father, looking at him withanxious, sombre eyes; but he laughed and patted her hand. 

'You mustn't make too much of all this, my love, ' he said brightly. 'These little things are always liable to happen to a man of business;they are the perils of the profession, and we have to put up with them, just as kings and queens have to put up with bomb-shells. '

'There's no truth in it, father?'

She did not want to ask that wounding question, but the words slippedfrom her lips against her will. He broke away from her. 

'Truth? My dear child, what do you mean? You don't suppose I'm the manto rob the widow and the orphan? Of course, there's no truth in it. '

'Oh, I'm so glad to hear that, ' she exclaimed, with a deep sigh ofrelief. 

'Have they been frightening you?'

Lucy flushed under his frank look of amusement. She felt that there wasa barrier between herself and him, the barrier that had existed foryears, and there was something in his manner which filled her withunaccountable anxiety. She would not analyse that vague emotion. It wasa dread to see what was so carefully hidden by that breezy reserve. Sheforced herself to go on. 

'I know that you're often carried away by your fancies, and I thoughtyou might have got into an ambiguous position. '

'I can honestly say that no one can bring anything up against me, ' heanswered. 'But I do blame myself for getting mixed up with that manSaunders. I'm afraid there's no doubt that he's a wrong 'un--and heavenonly knows what he's been up to--but for my own part I give you mysolemn word of honour that I've done nothing, absolutely nothing, that Ihave the least reason to be ashamed of. '

Lucy took his hand, and a charming smile lit up her face. 

'Oh, father, you've made me so happy by saying that. Now I shall be ableto tell George that there's nothing to worry about. '

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Dick. Fred Allertongreeted him heartily. 

'You've just come in time to take Lucy home. I've got to go out. Butlook here, George is coming up, isn't he? Let us all lunch at the_Carlton_ at two, and get Alice to come. We'll have a jolly little mealtogether. '

Dick was astounded to see the lightness with which Allerton took theaffair. He seemed unconscious of the gravity of his position andunmindful of the charge which was hanging over him. Dick was not anxiousto accept the invitation, but Allerton would hear of no excuses. Hewanted to have his friends gathered around him, and he needed relaxationafter the boredom of spending a morning in his lawyer's office. 

'Come on, ' he said. 'I can't wait another minute. '

He opened the door, and Lucy walked out. It seemed to Dick that Allertonwas avoiding any chance of conversation with him. But no man likes tomeet his creditor within four walls, and this disinclination might bedue merely to the fact that Allerton owed him a couple of hundredpounds. But he meant to get in one or two words. 

'Are you fixed up with a solicitor?' he asked. 

'Do you think I'm a child, Dick?' answered the other. 'Why, I've got thesmartest man in the whole profession, Teddie Blakeley--you know him, don't you?'

'Only by reputation, ' answered Dick drily. 'I should think that wasenough for most people. '

Fred Allerton gave that peculiarly honest laugh of his, which was soattractive. Dick knew that the solicitor he mentioned was a man of evilodour, who had made a specialty of dealing with the most doubtful sortof commercial work, and his name had been prominent in every scandal forthe last fifteen years. It was surprising that he had never followed anyof his clients to the jail he richly deserved. 

'I thought it no good going to one of the old crusted family solicitors. I wanted a man who knew the tricks of the trade. '

They were walking down the stairs, while Lucy waited at the bottom. Dickstopped and turned round. He looked at Allerton keenly. 

'You're not going to do a bolt, are you?'

Allerton's face lit up with amusement. He put his hands on Dick'sshoulders. 

'My dear old Dick, don't be such an ass. I don't know aboutSaunders--he's a fishy sort of customer--but I shall come out of allthis with flying colours. The prosecution hasn't a leg to stand on. '

Allerton, reminding them that they were to lunch together, jumped into acab. Lucy and Dick walked slowly back to Charles Street. Dick was verysilent. He had not seen Fred Allerton for some time and was surprised tosee that he had regained his old smartness. The flat had pretty thingsin it which testified to the lessee's taste and to his means, and theclothes he wore were new and well-cut. The invitation to the _Carlton_showed that he was in no want of ready money, and there was a generalair of prosperity about him which gave Dick much to think of. 

Lucy did not ask him to come in, since George, by now, must havearrived, and she wished to see him alone. They agreed to meet again attwo. As she shook hands with Dick, Lucy told him what her father hadsaid. 

'I had a sleepless night, ' she said. 'It was so stupid of me; I couldn'tget it out of my head that father, unintentionally, had done somethingrash or foolish; but I've got his word of honour that nothing is thematter, and I feel as if a whole world of anxiety were suddenly liftedfrom my shoulders. '

* * *

The party at the _Carlton_ was very gay. Fred Allerton seemed in thebest of spirits, and his good-humour was infectious. He was full ofmerry quips. Lucy had made as little of the affair as possible toGeorge. Her eyes rested on him, as he sat opposite to her, and she felthappy and proud. Now and then he looked at her, and an affectionatesmile came to his lips. She was delighted with his slim handsomeness. There was a guileless look in his blue eyes which was infinitelyattractive. His mouth was beautifully modelled. She took an immensepride in the candour of soul which shone with so clear a light on hisface, and she was affected as a stranger might have been by theexquisite charm of manner which he had inherited from his father. Shewanted to have him to herself that evening and suggested that theyshould go to a play together. He accepted the idea eagerly, for headmired his sister with all his heart; he felt in himself a need forprotection, and she was able to minister to this. He was never so happyas when he was by her side. He liked to tell her all he did, and, whenshe fired him with noble ambitions, he felt capable of anything. 

They were absurdly light-hearted, as they started on their little jaunt. Lady Kelsey had slipped a couple of banknotes into George's hand andtold them to have a good time. They dined at the _Carlton_, went to amusical comedy, which amused Lucy because her brother laughed soheartily--she was fascinated by his keen power of enjoyment--andfinished by going to the _Savoy_ for supper. For the moment all heranxieties seemed to fall from her, and the years of trouble wereforgotten. She was as merry and as irresponsible as George. He wasenchanted. He had never seen Lucy so tender and so gay; there was a newbrilliancy in her eyes; and, without quite knowing what it was thatdiffered, he found a soft mellowness in her laughter which filled himwith an uncomprehended delight. Neither did Lucy know why the world on asudden seemed fuller than it had ever done before, nor why the futuresmiled so kindly: it never occurred to her that she was in love. 

When Lucy, exhausted but content, found herself at length in her room, she thanked God for the happiness of the evening. It was the last timeshe could do that for many weary years. 

* * *

A few days later Allerton appeared again at the police court, and themagistrate, committing him for trial, declined to renew his bail. Theprisoner was removed in custody. 

VI

During the fortnight that followed, Alec spent much time with Lucy. Together, in order to cheat the hours that hung so heavily on her hands, they took long walks in Hyde Park, and, when Alec's business permitted, they went to the National Gallery. Then he took her to the NaturalHistory Museum, and his conversation, in face of the furred andfeathered things from Africa, made the whole country vivid to her. Lucywas very grateful to him because he drew her mind away from the topicthat constantly absorbed it. Though he never expressed his sympathy inso many words, she felt it in every inflection of his voice. Hispatience was admirable. 

At last came the day fixed for the trial. 

Fred Allerton insisted that neither Lucy nor George should come to theOld Bailey, and they were to await the verdict at Lady Kelsey's. Dickand Robert Boulger were subpoenaed as witnesses. In order that she mightbe put out of her suspense quickly, Lucy asked Alec MacKenzie to go intocourt and bring her the result as soon as it was known. 

The morning passed with leaden feet. 

After luncheon Mrs. Crowley came to sit with Lady Kelsey, and togetherthey watched the minute hand go round the clock. Now the verdict mightbe expected at any moment. After some time Canon Spratte, the vicar ofthe church which Lady Kelsey attended, sent up to ask if he might seeher; and Mrs. Crowley, thinking to distract her, asked him to come in. The Canon's breezy courtliness as a rule soothed Lady Kelsey's gravesttroubles, but now she would not be comforted. 

'I shall never get over it, ' she said, with a handkerchief to her eyes. 'I shall never cease blaming myself. Nothing of all this would havehappened, if it hadn't been for me. '

Canon Spratte and Mrs. Crowley watched her without answering. She was astout, amiable woman, who had clothed herself in black because theoccasion was tragic. Grief had made her garrulous. 

'Poor Fred came to me one day and said he must have eight thousandpounds at once. He told me his partner had cheated him, and it was amatter of life and death. But it was such a large sum, and I've givenhim so much already. After all, I've got to think of Lucy and George. They only have me to depend on, and I refused to give it. Oh, I'd havegiven every penny I own rather than have this horrible shame. '

'You mustn't take it too much to heart, Lady Kelsey, ' said Mrs. Crowley. 'It will soon be all over. '

'Our ways have parted for some time now, ' said Canon Spratte, 'but atone period I used to see a good deal of Fred Allerton. I can't tell youhow distressed I was to hear of this terrible misfortune. '

'He's always been unlucky, ' returned Lady Kelsey. 'I only hope this willbe a lesson to him. He's like a child in business matters. Oh, it'sawful to think of my poor sister's husband standing in the felon'sdock!'

'You must try not to think of it. I'm sure everything will turn outquite well. In another hour you'll have him with you again. '

The Canon got up and shook hands with Lady Kelsey. 

'It was so good of you to come, ' she said. 

He turned to Mrs. Crowley, whom he liked because she was American, rich, and a widow. 

'I'm grateful, too, ' she murmured, as she bade him farewell. 'Aclergyman always helps one so much to bear other people's misfortunes. '

Canon Spratte smiled and made a mental note of the remark, which hethought would do very well from his own lips. 

'Where is Lucy?' asked Mrs. Crowley, when he had gone. 

Lady Kelsey threw up her hands with the feeling, half of amazement, halfof annoyance, which a very emotional person has always for one who isself-restrained. 

'She's sitting in her room, reading. She's been reading all day. Heavenonly knows how she can do it. I tried, and all the letters swam beforemy eyes. It drives me mad to see how calm she is. '

They began to talk of the immediate future. Lady Kelsey had put a largesum at Lucy's disposal, and it was arranged that the two children shouldtake their father to some place in the south of France where he couldrest after the terrible ordeal. 

'I don't know what they would all have done without you, ' said Mrs. Crowley. 'You have been a perfect angel. '

'Nonsense, ' smiled Lady Kelsey. 'They're my only relations in the world, except Bobbie, who's very much too rich as it is, and I love Lucy andGeorge as if they were my own children. What is the good of my moneyexcept to make them happy and comfortable?'

Mrs. Crowley remembered Dick's surmise that Lady Kelsey had loved FredAllerton, and she wondered how much of the old feeling still remained. She felt a great pity for the kind, unselfish creature. Lady Kelseystarted as she heard the street door slam. But it was only George whoentered. 

'Oh, George, where have you been? Why didn't you come in to luncheon?'

He looked pale and haggard. The strain of the last fortnight had told onhim enormously, and it was plain that his excitement was almostunbearable. 

'I couldn't eat anything. I've been walking about, waiting for thedamned hours to pass. I wish I hadn't promised father not to go intocourt. Anything would have been better than this awful suspense. I sawthe man who's defending him when they adjourned for luncheon, and hetold me it was all right. '

'Of course it's all right. You didn't imagine that your father would befound guilty. '

'Oh, I knew he wouldn't have done a thing like that, ' said Georgeimpatiently. 'But I can't help being frightfully anxious. The papers areawful. They've got huge placards out: _County gentleman at the OldBailey. Society in a Bucket Shop. _'

George shivered with horror. 

'Oh, it's awful!' he cried. 

Lady Kelsey began to cry again, and Mrs. Crowley sat in silence, notknowing what to say. George walked about in agitation. 

'But I know he's not guilty, ' moaned Lady Kelsey. 

'If he's guilty or not he's ruined me, ' said George. 'I can't go up toOxford again after this. I don't know what the devil's to become of me. We're all utterly disgraced. Oh, how could he! How could he!'

'Oh, George, don't, ' said Lady Kelsey. 

But George, with a weak man's petulance, could not keep back the bitterwords that he had turned over in his heart so often since the brutaltruth was told him. 

'Wasn't it enough that he fooled away every penny he had, so that we'resimply beggars, both of us, and we have to live on your charity? Ishould have thought that would have satisfied him, without gettinglocked up for being connected in a beastly bucketshop swindle. '

'George, how can you talk of your father like that!'

He gave a sort of sob and looked at her with wild eyes. But at thatmoment a cab drove up, and, he sprang on to the balcony. 

'It's Dick Lomas and Bobbie. They've come to tell us. '

He ran to the door and opened it. They walked up the stairs. 

'Well?' he cried. 'Well?'

'It's not over yet. We left just as the judge was summing up. '

'Damn you!' cried George, with an explosion of sudden fury. 

'Steady, old man, ' said Dick. 

'Why didn't you stay?' moaned Lady Kelsey. 

'I couldn't, ' said Dick. 'It was too awful. '

'How was it going?'

'I couldn't make head or tail of it. My mind was in a whirl. I'm anhysterical old fool. '

Mrs. Crowley went up to Lady Kelsey and kissed her. 

'Why don't you go and lie down for a little while, dear, ' she said. 'Youlook positively exhausted. '

* * *

'I have a racking headache, ' groaned Lady Kelsey. 

'Alec MacKenzie has promised to come here as soon as its over. But youmustn't expect him for another hour. '

'Yes, I'll go and lie down, ' said Lady Kelsey. 

George, unable to master his impatience, flung open the window and stoodon the balcony, watching for the cab that would bring the news. 

'Go and talk to him, there's a good fellow, ' said Dick to RobertBoulger. 'Cheer him up a bit. '

'Yes, of course I will. It's rot to make a fuss now that it's nearlyover. Uncle Fred will be here himself in an hour. '

Dick looked at him without answering. When Robert had gone on to thebalcony, he flung himself wearily in a chair. 

'I couldn't stand it any longer, ' he said. 'You can't imagine how awfulit was to see that wretched man in the dock. He looked like a huntedbeast, his face was all grey with fright, and once I caught his eyes. Ishall never forget the look that was in them. '

'But I thought he was bearing it so well, ' said Mrs. Crowley. 

'You know, he's a man who's never looked the truth in the face. He neverseemed to realise the gravity of the charges that were brought againsthim, and even when the magistrate refused to renew his bail, hisconfidence never deserted him. It was only to-day, when the whole thingwas unrolled before him, that he appeared to understand. Oh, if you'dheard the evidence that was given! And then the pitiful spectacle ofthose two men trying to throw the blame on one another!'

A look of terror came into Mrs. Crowley's face. 

'You don't think he's guilty?' she gasped. 

Dick looked at her steadily, but did not answer. 

'But Lucy's convinced that he'll be acquitted. '

'I wonder. '

'What on earth do you mean?'

Dick shrugged his shoulders. 

'But he can't be guilty, ' cried Mrs. Crowley. 'It's impossible. '

Dick made an effort to drive away from his mind the dreadful fears thatfilled it. 

'Yes, that's what I feel, too, ' he said. 'With all his faults FredAllerton can't have committed such a despicable crime. You've never methim, you don't know him; but I've known him intimately for twenty years. He couldn't have swindled that wretched woman out of every penny shehad, knowing that it meant starvation to her. He couldn't have been sobrutally cruel. '

'Oh, I'm so glad to hear you say that'

Silence fell upon them for a while, and they waited. From the balconythey heard George talking rapidly, but they could not distinguish hiswords. 

'I felt ashamed to stay in court and watch the torture of that unhappyman. I've dined with him times out of number; I've stayed at his house;I've ridden his horses. Oh, it was too awful. '

He got up impatiently and walked up and down the room. 

'It must be over by now. Why doesn't Alec come? He swore he'd boltround the very moment the verdict was given. '

'The suspense is dreadful, ' said Mrs. Crowley. 

Dick stood still. He looked at the little American, but his eyes did notsee her. 

'There are some people who are born without a moral sense. They are asunable to distinguish between right and wrong as a man who is colourblind, between red and green. '

'Why do you say that?' asked Mrs. Crowley. 

He did not answer. She went up to him anxiously. 

'Mr. Lomas, I can't bear it. You must tell me. Do _you_ think he'sguilty?'

He passed his hands over his eyes. 

'The evidence was damnable. '

At that moment George sprang into the room. 

'There's Alec. He's just driving along in a cab. '

'Thank God, thank God!' cried Mrs. Crowley. 'If it had lasted longer Ishould have gone mad. '

George went to the door. 

'I must tell Miller. He has orders to let no one up. '

He leaned over the banisters, as the bell of the front door was rung. 

'Miller, Miller, let Mr. MacKenzie in. '

'Very good, sir, ' answered the butler. 

Lucy had heard the cab drive up, and she came into the drawing-room withLady Kelsey. The elder woman had broken down altogether and was sobbingdistractedly. Lucy was very white, but otherwise quite composed. Sheshook hands with Dick and Mrs. Crowley. 

'It was kind of you to come, ' she said. 

'Oh, my poor Lucy, ' said Mrs. Crowley, with a sob in her voice. 

Lucy smiled bravely. 

'It's all over now. '

Alec came in, and she walked eagerly towards him. 

'Well? I was hoping you'd bring father with you. When is he coming?'

She stopped. She gave a gasp as she saw Alec's face. Though her cheekswere pale before, now their pallor was deathly. 

'What is the matter?'

'Isn't it all right?' cried George. 

Lucy put her hand on his arm to quieten him. It seemed that Alec couldnot find words. There was a horrible silence, but they all knew what hehad to tell them. 

'I'm afraid you must prepare yourself for a great unhappiness, ' he said. 

'Where's father?' cried Lucy. 'Where's father? Why didn't you bring himwith you?'

With the horrible truth dawning upon her, she was losing herself-control. She made an effort. Alec would not speak, and she wasobliged to question him. When the words came, her voice was hoarse andlow. 

'You've not told us what the verdict was. '

'Guilty, ' he answered. 

Then the colour flew back to her cheeks, and her eyes flashed withanger. 

'But it's impossible. He was innocent. He swore that he hadn't done it. There must be some horrible mistake. '

'I wish to God there were, ' said Alec. 

'You don't think he's guilty?' she cried. 

He did not answer, and for a moment they looked at one another steadily. 

'What was the sentence?' she asked. 

'The judge was dead against him. He made some very violent remarks as hepassed it. '

'Tell me what he said. '

'Why should you wish to torture yourself?'

'I want to know. '

'He seemed to think the fact that your father was a gentleman made thecrime more odious, and the way in which he had induced that woman topart with her money made no punishment too severe. He sentenced him toseven years penal servitude. '

George gave a cry and sinking into a chair, burst into tears. Lucy puther hand on his shoulder. 

'Don't, George, ' she said. 'You must bear up. Now we want all ourcourage, now more than ever. '

'Oh, I can't bear it, ' he moaned. 

She bent down and kissed him tenderly. 

'Be brave, my dearest, be brave for my sake. '

But he sobbed uncontrollably. It was a horribly painful sight. Dick tookhim by the arm and led him away. Lucy turned to Alec, who was standingwhere first he had stopped. 

'I want to ask you a question. Will you answer me quite truthfully, whatever the pain you think it will cause me?'

'I will. '

'You followed the trial from the beginning, you know all the details ofit. Do _you_ think my father is guilty?'

'What can it matter what I think?'

'I beg you to tell me. '

Alec hesitated for a moment. His voice was very low. 

'If I had been on the jury I'm afraid I should have had no alternativebut to decide as they did. '

Lucy bent her head, and heavy tears rolled down her cheeks. 

VII

Next morning Lucy received a note from Alec MacKenzie, asking if hemight see her that day; he suggested calling upon her early in theafternoon and expressed the hope that he might find her alone. She satin the library at Lady Kelsey's and waited for him. She held a book inher hands, but she could not read. And presently she began to weep. Eversince the dreadful news had reached her, Lucy had done her utmost topreserve her self-control, and all night she had lain with clenchedhands to prevent herself from giving way. For George's sake and for herfather's, she felt that she must keep her strength. But now the strainwas too great for her; she was alone; the tears began to flowhelplessly, and she made no effort to restrain them. 

She had been allowed to see her father. Lucy and George had gone to theprison, and she recalled now the details of the brief interview. Thewhole thing was horrible. She felt that her heart would break. 

In the night indignation had seized Lucy. After reading accounts of thecase in half a dozen papers she could not doubt that her father wasjustly condemned, and she was horrified at the baseness of the crime. His letters to the poor woman he had robbed, were read in court, andLucy flushed as she thought of them. They were a tissue of lies, hypocritical and shameless. Lucy remembered the question she had put toAlec and his answer. 

But neither the newspapers nor Alec's words were needed to convince herof her father's guilt; in the very depths of her being, notwithstandingthe passion with which she reproached herself, she had been convinced ofit. She would not acknowledge even to herself that she doubted him; andall her words, all her thoughts even, expressed a firm belief in hisinnocence; but a ghastly terror had lurked in some hidden recess of herconsciousness. It haunted her soul like a mysterious shadow which therewas no bodily shape to explain. The fear had caught her, as though withmaterial hands, when first the news of his arrest was brought to CourtLeys by Robert Boulger, and again at her father's flat in ShaftesburyAvenue, when she saw a secret shame cowering behind the good-humouredflippancy of his smile. Notwithstanding his charm of manner and thetenderness of his affection for his children, she had known that he wasa liar and a rascal. She hated him. 

But when Lucy saw him, still with the hunted look that Dick had noticedat the trial, so changed from when last they had met, her anger meltedaway, and she felt only pity. She reproached herself bitterly. How couldshe be so heartless when he was suffering? At first he could not speak. He looked from one to the other of his children silently, with appealingeyes; and he saw the utter wretchedness which was on George's face. George was ashamed to look at him and kept his eyes averted. FredAllerton was suddenly grown old and bent; his poor face was sunken, andthe skin had an ashy look like that of a dying man. He had already acringing air, as if he must shrink away from his fellows. It washorrible to Lucy that she was not allowed to take him in her arms. Hebroke down utterly and sobbed. 

'Oh, Lucy, you don't hate me?' he whispered. 

'No, I've never loved you more than I love you now, ' she said. 

And she said it truthfully. Her conscience smote her, and she wonderedbitterly what she had left undone that might have averted this calamity. 

'I didn't mean to do it, ' he said, brokenly. 

Lucy looked at his poor, wearied eyes. It seemed very cruel that shemight not kiss them. 

'I'd have paid her everything if she'd only have given me time. Luck wasagainst me all through. I've been a bad father to both of you. '

Lucy was able to tell him that Lady Kelsey would pay the eight thousandpounds the woman had lost. The good creature had thought of it evenbefore Lucy made the suggestion. At all events none of them need have onhis conscience the beggary of that unfortunate person. 

'Alice was always a good soul, ' said Allerton. He clung to Lucy asthough she were his only hope. 'You won't forget me while I'm away, Lucy?'

'I'll come and see you whenever I'm allowed to. '

'It won't be very long. I hope I shall die quickly. '

'You mustn't do that. You must keep well and strong for my sake andGeorge's. We shall never cease to love you, father. '

'What's going to happen to George now?' he asked. 

'We shall find something for him. You need not worry about him. '

George flushed. He could find nothing to say. He was ashamed and angry. He wanted to get away quickly from that place of horror, and he wasrelieved when the warder told them it was time to go. 

'Good-bye, George, ' said Fred Allerton. 

'Good-bye. '

He kept his eyes sullenly fixed on the ground. The look of despair inAllerton's face grew more intense. He saw that his son hated him. And ithad been on him that all his light affection was placed. He had beenvery proud of the handsome boy. And now his son merely wanted to be ridof him. Bitter words rose to his lips, but his heart was too heavy toutter them, and they expressed themselves only in a sob. 

'Forgive me for all I've done against you, Lucy. '

'Have courage, father, we will never love you less. '

He forced a sad smile to his lips. She included George in what she said, but he knew that she spoke only for herself. They went. And he turnedaway into the darkness. 

* * *

Lucy's tears relieved her a little. They exhausted her, and so made heragony more easy to bear. It was necessary now to think of the future. Alec MacKenzie must be there soon. She wondered why he had written, andwhat he could have to say that mattered. She could only think of herfather, and above all of George. She dried her eyes, and with a deepsigh set herself methodically to consider the difficult problem. 

* * *

When Alec came she rose gravely to receive him. For a moment he wasovercome by her loveliness, and he gazed at her in silence. Lucy was awoman who was at her best in the tragic situations of life; her beautywas heightened by the travail of her soul, and the heaviness of hereyes gave a pathetic grandeur to her wan face. She advanced to meetsorrow with an unquailing glance, and Alec, who knew something ofheroism, recognised the greatness of her heart. Of late he had been morethan once to see that portrait of _Diana of the Uplands_, in which he, too, found the gracious healthiness of Lucy Allerton; but now she seemedlike some sad queen, English to the very bones, who bore with a royaldignity an intolerable grief, and yet by the magnificence of her spiritturned into something wholly beautiful. 

'You must forgive me for forcing myself upon you to-day, ' he saidslowly. 'But my time is very short, and I wanted to speak to you atonce. '

'It is very good of you to come. ' She was embarrassed, and did not knowwhat exactly to say. 'I am always very glad to see you. '

He looked at her steadily, as though he were turning over in his mindher commonplace words. She smiled. 

'I wanted to thank you for your great kindness to me during these two orthree weeks. You've been very good to me, and you've helped me to bearall that--I've had to bear. '

'I would do far more for you than that, ' he answered. Suddenly itflashed through her mind why he had come. Her heart gave a great beatagainst her chest. The thought had never entered her head. She sat downand waited for him to speak. He did not move. There was a singularimmobility about him when something absorbed his mind. 

'I wrote and asked if I might see you alone, because I had somethingthat I wanted to say to you. I've wanted to say it ever since we were atCourt Leys together, but I was going away--heaven only knows when Ishall come back, and perhaps something may happen to me--and I thoughtit was unfair to you to speak. '

He paused. His eyes were fixed upon hers. She waited for him to go on. 

'I wanted to ask you if you would marry me. '

She drew a long breath. Her face kept its expression of intense gravity. 

'It's very kind and chivalrous of you to suggest it. You mustn't thinkme ungrateful if I tell you I can't. '

'Why not?' he asked quietly. 

'I must look after my father. If it is any use I shall go and live nearthe prison. '

'There is no reason why you should not do that if you married me. '

She shook her head. 

'No, I must be free. As soon as my father is released I must be ready tolive with him. And I can't take an honest man's name. It looks as if Iwere running away from my own and taking shelter elsewhere. '

She hesitated for a while, since it made her very shy to say what shehad in mind. When she spoke it was in a low and trembling voice. 

'You don't know how proud I was of my name and my family. For centuriesthey've been honest, decent people, and I felt that we'd had a part inthe making of England. And now I feel utterly ashamed. Dick Lomaslaughed at me because I was so proud of my family. I daresay I wasstupid. I never paid much attention to rank and that kind of thing, butit did seem to me that family was different. I've seen my father, andhe simply doesn't realise for a moment that he's done something horriblymean and shameful. There must be some taint in our nature. I couldn'tmarry you; I should be afraid that my children would inherit therottenness of my blood. '

He listened to what she said. Then he went up to her and put his handson her shoulders. His calmness, and the steadiness of his voice seemedto quieten her. 

'I think you will be able to help your father and George better if youare my wife. I'm afraid your position will be very difficult. Won't yougive me the great happiness of helping you?'

'We must stand on our own feet. I'm very grateful, but you can donothing for us. '

'I'm very awkward and stupid, I don't know how to say what I want to. Ithink I loved you from that first day at Court Leys. I did notunderstand then what had happened; I suddenly felt that something newand strange had come into my life. And day by day I loved you more, andthen it took up my whole soul. I've never loved anyone but you. I nevercan love anyone but you. I've been looking for you all my life. '

She could not stand the look of his eyes, and she cast hers down. He sawthe exquisite shadow of her eyelashes on her cheek. 

'But I didn't dare say anything to you then. Even if you had cared forme, it seemed unfair to bind you to me when I was starting on thisexpedition. But now I must speak. I go in a week. It would give me somuch strength and courage if I knew that I had your love. I love youwith all my heart. '

She looked up at him now, and her eyes were shining with tears, but theywere not the tears of a hopeless pain. 

'I can't marry you now. It would be unfair to you. I owe myself entirelyto my father. '

He dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped back. 

'It must be as you will. '

'But don't think I'm ungrateful, ' she said. 'I'm so proud that I haveyour love. It seems to lift me up from the depths. You don't know howmuch good you have done me. '

'I wanted to help you, and you will let me do nothing for you. '

On a sudden a thought flashed through her. She gave a little cry ofamazement, for here was the solution of her greatest difficulty. 

'Yes, you can do something for me. Will you take George with you?'

'George?'

He remained silent for a moment, while he considered the proposition. 

'I can trust him in your hands. You will make a good and a strong man ofhim. Oh, won't you give him this chance of washing out the stain that ison our name?'

'Do you know that he will have to undergo hunger and thirst and everykind of hardship? It's not a picnic that I'm going on. '

'I'm willing that he should undergo everything. The cause is splendid. His self-respect is wavering in the balance. If he gets to noble work hewill feel himself a man. '

'There will be a good deal of fighting. It has seemed foolish to dwellon the dangers that await me, but I do realise that they are greaterthan I have ever faced before. This time it is win or die. '

'The dangers can be no greater than those his ancestors have takencheerfully. '

'He may be wounded or killed. '

Lucy hesitated for an instant. The words she uttered came from unmovinglips. 

'If he dies a brave man's death I can ask for nothing more. '

Alec smiled at her infinite courage. He was immensely proud of her. 

'Then tell him that I shall be glad to take him. '

'May I call him now?'

Alec nodded. She rang the bell and told the servant who came that shewished to see her brother. George came in. The strain of the lastfortnight, the horrible shock of his father's conviction, had told onhim far more than on Lucy. He looked worn and ill. He was broken downwith shame. The corners of his mouth drooped querulously, and hishandsome face bore an expression of utter misery. Alec looked at himsteadily. He felt infinite pity for his youth, and there was a charm ofmanner about him, a way of appealing for sympathy, which touched thestrong man. He wondered what character the boy had. His heart went outto him, and he loved him already because he was Lucy's brother. 

'George, Mr. MacKenzie has offered to take you with him to Africa, ' shesaid eagerly. 'Will you go?'

'I'll go anywhere so long as I can get out of this beastly country, ' heanswered wearily. 'I feel people are looking at me in the street when Igo out, and they're saying to one another: there's the son of thatswindling rotter who was sentenced to seven years. '

He wiped the palms of his hands with his handkerchief. 

'I don't mind what I do. I can't go back to Oxford; no one would speakto me. There's nothing I can do in England at all. I wish to God I weredead. '

'George, don't say that. '

'It's all very well for you. You're a girl, and it doesn't matter. Doyou suppose anyone would trust me with sixpence now? Oh, how could he?How could he?'

'You must try and forget it, George, ' said Lucy, gently. 

The boy pulled himself together and gave Alec a charming smile. 

'It's awfully ripping of you to take pity on me. '

'I want you to know before you decide that you'll have to rough it allthe time. It'll be hard and dangerous work. '

'Well, as far as I'm concerned it's Hobson's choice, isn't it?' heanswered, bitterly. 

Alec held out his hand, with one of his rare, quiet smiles. 

'I hope we shall pull well together and be good friends. '

'And when you come back, George, everything will be over. I wish I werea man so that I might go with you. I wish I had your chance. You've goteverything before you, George. I think no man has ever had such anopportunity. All our hope is in you. I want to be proud of you. All myself-respect depends on you. I want you to distinguish yourself, sothat I may feel once more honest and strong and clean. '

Her voice was trembling with a deep emotion, and George, quick torespond, flushed. 

'I am a selfish beast, ' he cried. 'I've been thinking of myself all thetime. I've never given a thought to you. '

'I don't want you to: I only want you to be brave and honest andsteadfast. '

The tears came to his eyes, and he put his arms around her neck. Henestled against her heart as a child might have done. 

'It'll be awfully hard to leave you, Lucy. '

'It'll be harder for me, dear, because you will be doing great andheroic things, while I shall be able only to wait and watch. But I wantyou to go. ' Her voice broke, and she spoke almost in a whisper. 'Anddon't forget that you're going for my sake as well as for your own. Ifyou did anything wrong or disgraceful it would break my heart. '

'I swear to you that you'll never be ashamed of me, Lucy, ' he said. 

She kissed him and smiled. Alec had watched them silently. His heart wasvery full. 

'But we mustn't be silly and sentimental, or Mr. MacKenzie will think usa pair of fools. ' She looked at him gaily. 'We're both very grateful toyou. '

'I'm afraid I'm starting almost at once, ' he said. 'George must be readyin a week. '

'George can be ready in twenty-four hours if need be, ' she answered. 

The boy walked towards the window and lit a cigarette. He wanted tosteady his nerves. 

'I'm afraid I shall be able to see little of you during the next fewdays, ' said Alec. 'I have a great deal to do, and I must run up toLancashire for the week-end. '

'I'm sorry. '

'Won't you change your mind?'

She shook her head. 

'No, I can't do that. I must have complete freedom. '

'And when I come back?'

She smiled delightfully. 

'When you come back, if you still care, ask me again. '

'And the answer?'

'The answer perhaps will be different. '

VIII

A week later Alec MacKenzie and George Allerton started from CharingCross. They were to go by P. & O. From Marseilles to Aden, and therecatch a German boat which would take them to Mombassa. Lady Kelsey wasfar too distressed to see her nephew off; and Lucy was glad, since itgave her the chance of driving to the station alone with George. Shefound Dick Lomas and Mrs. Crowley already there. When the train steamedaway, Lucy was standing a little apart from the others. She was quitestill. She did not even wave her hand, and there was little expressionon her face. Mrs. Crowley was crying cheerfully, and she dried her eyeswith a tiny handkerchief. Lucy turned to her and thanked her for coming. 

'Shall I drive you back in the carriage?' sobbed Mrs. Crowley. 

'I think I'll take a cab, if you don't mind, ' Lucy answered quietly. 'Perhaps you'll take Dick. '

She did not bid them good-bye, but walked slowly away. 

'How exasperating you people are!' cried Mrs. Crowley. 'I wanted tothrow myself in her arms and have a good cry on the platform. You haveno heart. '

Dick walked along by her side, and they got into Mrs. Crowley'scarriage. She soliloquised. 

'I thank God that I have emotions, and I don't mind if I do show them. Iwas the only person who cried. I knew I should cry, and I brought threehandkerchiefs on purpose. Look at them. ' She pulled them out of her bagand thrust them into Dick's hand. 'They're soaking. '

'You say it with triumph, ' he smiled. 

'I think you're all perfectly heartless. Those two boys were going awayfor heaven knows how long on a dangerous journey, and they may nevercome back, and you and Lucy said good-bye to them just as if they weregoing off for a day's golf. I was the only one who said I was sorry, andthat we should miss them dreadfully. I hate this English coldness. WhenI go to America, it's ten to one nobody comes to see me off, and ifanyone does he just nods and says "Good-bye, I hope you'll have a jollytime. "'

'Next time you go I will come and hurl myself on the ground, and gnashmy teeth and shriek at the top of my voice. '

'Oh, yes, do. And then I'll cry all the way to Liverpool, and I shallhave a racking headache and feel quite miserable and happy. '

Dick meditated for a moment. 

'You see, we have an instinctive horror of exhibiting our emotion. Idon't know why it is, I suppose training or the inheritance of oursturdy fathers, but we're ashamed to let people see what we feel. But Idon't know whether on that account our feelings are any the less keen. Don't you think there's a certain beauty in a grief that forbids itselfall expression? You know, I admire Lucy tremendously, and as she cametowards us on the platform I thought there was something very fine inher calmness. '

'Fiddlesticks!' said Mrs. Crowley, sharply. 'I should have liked hermuch better if she had clung to her brother and sobbed and had to betorn away. '

'Did you notice that she left us without even shaking hands? It was avery small omission, but it meant that she was quite absorbed in hergrief. '

They reached Mrs. Crowley's tiny house in Norfolk Street, and she askedDick to come in. 

'Sit down and read the paper, ' she said, 'while I go and powder mynose. '

Dick made himself comfortable. He blessed the charming woman when abutler of imposing dimensions brought in all that was necessary to makea cocktail. Mrs. Crowley cultivated England like a museum specimen. Shehad furnished her drawing-room with Chippendale furniture of anexquisite pattern. No chintzes were so smartly calendered as hers, andon the walls were mezzotints of the ladies whom Sir Joshua had painted. The chimney-piece was adorned with Lowestoft china, and on the silvertable was a collection of old English spoons. She had chosen her butlerbecause he went so well with the house. His respectability wasportentous, his gravity was never disturbed by the shadow of a smile;and Mrs. Crowley treated him as though he were a piece of decoration, with an impertinence that fascinated him. He looked upon her as anoutlandish freak, but his heavy British heart was surrendered to herentirely, and he watched over her with a solicitude that amused andtouched her. 

Dick thought that the little drawing-room was very comfortable, and whenMrs. Crowley returned, after an unconscionable time at the toilet-table, he was in the happiest mood. She gave a rapid glance at the glasses. 

'You're a perfect hero, ' she said. 'You've waited till I came down tohave your cocktail. '

'Richard Lomas, madam, is the soul of courtesy, ' he replied, with aflourish. 'Besides, base is the soul that drinks in the morning byhimself. At night, in your slippers and without a collar, with a pipe inyour mouth and a good book in your hand, a solitary glass of whisky andsoda is eminently desirable; but the anteprandial cocktail needs thesparkle of conversation. '

'You seem to be in excellent health, ' said Mrs. Crowley. 

'I am. Why?'

'I saw in yesterday's paper that your doctor had ordered you to goabroad for the rest of the winter. '

'My doctor received the two guineas, and I wrote the prescription, 'returned Dick. 'Do you remember that I explained to you the other day atlength my intention of retiring into private life?'

'I do. I strongly disapprove of it. '

'Well, I was convinced that if I relinquished my duties without anyexcuse people would say I was mad and shut me up in a lunatic asylum. Iinvented a breakdown in my health, and everything is plain sailing. I'vegot a pair for the rest of the session, and at the general election theexcellent Robert Boulger will step into my unworthy shoes. '

'And supposing you regret the step you've taken?'

'In my youth I imagined, with the romantic fervour of my age, that inlife everything was irreparable. That is a delusion. One of the greatestadvantages of life is that hardly anything is. One can make ever so manyfresh starts. The average man lives long enough for a good manyexperiments, and it's they that give life its savour. '

'I don't approve of this flippant way you talk of life, ' said Mrs. Crowley severely. 'It seems to me something infinitely serious andcomplicated. '

'That is an illusion of moralists. As a matter of fact, it's merely whatyou make it. Mine is quite light and simple. '

Mrs. Crowley looked at Dick reflectively. 

'I wonder why you never married, ' she said. 

'I can tell you easily. Because I have a considerable gift for repartee. I discovered in my early youth that men propose not because they want tomarry, but because on certain occasions they are entirely at a loss fortopics of conversation. '

'It was a momentous discovery, ' she smiled. 

'No sooner had I made it than I began to cultivate my powers of smalltalk. I felt that my only chance was to be ready with appropriatesubjects at the smallest notice, and I spent a considerable part of mylast year at Oxford in studying the best masters. '

'I never noticed that you were particularly brilliant, ' murmured Mrs. Crowley, raising her eyebrows. 

'I never played for brilliancy, I played for safety. I flatter myselfthat when prattle was needed, I have never been found wanting. I havemet the ingenuousness of sweet seventeen with a few observations on FreeTrade, while the haggard efforts of thirty have struggled in vainagainst a brief exposition of the higher philosophy. '

'When people talk higher philosophy to me I make it a definite rule toblush, ' said Mrs. Crowley. 

'The skittish widow of uncertain age has retired in disorder before acomplete acquaintance with the Restoration dramatists, and I havefrequently routed the serious spinster with religious leanings by myremarkable knowledge of the results of missionary endeavour in CentralAfrica. Once a dowager sought to ask me my intentions, but I flung ather astonished head an article from the Encyclopedia Brittanica. AnAmerican _divorcée_ swooned when I poured into her shell-like ear a fewfacts about the McKinley Tariff. These are only my serious efforts. Ineed not tell you how often I have evaded a flash of the eyes by anepigram, or ignored a sigh by an apt quotation from the poets. '

'I don't believe a word you say, ' retorted Mrs. Crowley. 'I believe younever married for the simple reason that nobody would have you. '

'Do me the justice to acknowledge that I'm the only man who's known youfor ten days without being tempted by those coal-mines of yours inPennsylvania to offer you his hand and heart. '

'I don't believe the coal has anything to do with it, ' answered Mrs. Crowley. 'I put it down entirely to my very considerable personalattractions. '

Dick looked at the time and found that the cocktail had given him anappetite. He asked Mrs. Crowley if she would lunch with him, and gailythey set out for a fashionable restaurant. Neither of them gave athought to Alec and George speeding towards the unknown, nor to Lucyshut up in her room, given over to utter misery. 

* * *

For Lucy it was the first of many dreary days. Dick went to Naples, andenjoying his new-won idleness, did not even write to her. Mrs. Crowley, after deciding on a trip to Egypt, was called to America by the illnessof a sister; and Lady Kelsey, unable to stand the rigour of a Northernwinter, set out for Nice. Lucy refused to accompany her. Though she knewit would be impossible to see her father, she could not bear to leaveEngland; she could not face the gay people who thronged the Riviera, while he was bound to degrading tasks. The luxury of her own lifehorrified her when she compared it with his hard fare; and she could notlook upon the comfortable rooms she lived in, with their delicaterefinements, without thinking of the bare cell to which he was confined. Lucy was glad to be alone. 

She went nowhere, but passed her days in solitude, striving to acquirepeace of mind; she took long walks in the parks with her dogs, and spentmuch time in the picture galleries. Without realising the effect theyhad upon her, she felt vaguely the calming influence of beautifulthings; often she would sit in the National Gallery before some royalpicture, and the joy of it would fill her soul with quiet relief. Sometimes she would go to those majestic statues that decorated thepediment of the Parthenon, and the tears welled up in her clear eyes asshe thanked the gods for the graciousness of their peace. She did notoften listen to music, for then she could remain no longer mistress ofher emotions; the tumultuous sounds of a symphony, the final anguish of_Tristan_, made vain all her efforts at self-control; and when she gothome, she could only throw herself on her bed and weep passionately. 

In reading she found her greatest solace. Many things that Alec had saidreturned dimly to her memory; and she began to read the Greek writerswho had so profoundly affected him. She found a translation of Euripideswhich gave her some impression of the original, and her constant moodwas answered by those old, exquisite tragedies. The complexity of thatgreat poet, his doubt, despair, and his love of beauty, spoke to herheart as no modern writer could; and in the study of those sad deeds, inwhich men seemed always playthings of the fates, she found a relief toher own keen sorrow. She did not reason it out with herself, but almostunconsciously the thought came to her that the slings and arrows of thegods could be transformed into beauty by resignation and courage. Nothing was irreparable but a man's own weakness, and even in shame, disaster, and poverty, it was possible to lead a life that was notwithout grandeur. The man who was beaten to the ground by an outrageousfortune might be a finer thing than the unseeing, cruel powers thatconquered him. 

It was in this wise that Lucy battled with the intolerable shame thatoppressed her. In that quiet corner of Hampshire in which her earlyyears had been spent, among the memories of her dead kindred, the prideof her race had grown to unreasonable proportions; and now in thereaction she was terrified lest its decadence was in her, too, and inGeorge. She could do nothing but suffer whatever pain it pleased thegods to send; but George was a man. In him were placed all her hopes. But now and again wild panic seized her. Then the agony was too great tobear, and she pressed her hands to her eyes in order to drive away thehateful thought: what if George failed her? She knew well enough that hehad his father's engaging ways and his father's handsome face; but hisfather had had a smile as frank and a charm as great. What if with theson, too, they betokened only insincerity and weakness? A maliciousdevil whispered in her ear that now and again she had averted her eyesin order not to see George do things she hated. But it was youth thatdrove him. She had taken care to keep from him knowledge of the sordidstruggles that occupied her, and how could she wonder if he was recklessand uncaring? She would not doubt him, she could not doubt him, for ifanything went wrong with him there was no hope left. She could onlycease to believe in herself. 

When Lucy was allowed to write to her father, she set herself to cheerhim. The thought that over five years must elapse before she would havehim by her side once more, paralysed her pen; but she would not allowherself to be discouraged. And she sought to give courage to him. Shewanted him to see that her love was undiminished, and that he couldcount on it. Presently she received a letter from him. After a fewweeks, the unaccustomed food, the change of life, had told upon him; anda general breakdown in his health had driven him into the infirmary. Lucy was thankful for the respite which his illness afforded. It must bea little less dreary in a prison hospital than in a prison cell. 

A letter came from George, and another from Alec. Alec's was brief, telling of their journey down the Red Sea and their arrival at Mombassa;it was abrupt and awkward, making no reference to his love, or to theengagement which she had almost promised to make when he returned. Hebegan and ended quite formally. George, apparently in the best ofspirits, wrote as he always did, in a boyish, inconsequent fashion. Hisletter was filled with slang and gave no news. There was little to showthat it was written from Mombassa, on the verge of a dangerousexpedition into the interior, rather than from Oxford on the eve of afootball match. But she read them over and over again. They were verymatter of fact, and she smiled as she thought of Julia Crowley'sindignation if she had seen them. 

From her recollection of Alec's words, Lucy tried to make out the scenethat first met her brother's eyes. She seemed to stand by his side, leaning over the rail, as the ship approached the harbour. The sea wasblue with a blue she had never seen, and the sky was like an invertedbowl of copper. The low shore, covered with bush, stretched away in thedistance; a line of waves was breaking on the reef. They came in sightof the island of Mombassa, with the overgrown ruins of a battery thathad once commanded the entrance; and there were white-roofed houses, with deep verandas, which stood in little clearings with coral cliffsbelow them. On the opposite shore thick groves of palm-trees rose withtheir singular, melancholy beauty. Then as the channel narrowed, theypassed an old Portuguese fort which carried the mind back to the boldadventurers who had first sailed those distant seas, and directlyafterwards a mass of white buildings that reached to the edge of thelapping waves. They saw the huts of the native town, wattled andthatched, nestling close together; and below them was a fleet of nativecraft. On the jetty was the African crowd, shouting and jostling, somehalf-naked, and some strangely clad, Arabs from across the sea, Swahilis, and here and there a native from the interior. 

In course of time other letters came from George, but Alec wrote nomore. The days passed slowly. Lady Kelsey returned from the Riviera. Dick came back from Naples to enjoy the pleasures of the London season. He appeared thoroughly to enjoy his idleness, signally falsifying thepredictions of those who had told him that it was impossible to behappy without regular work. Mrs. Crowley settled down once more in herhouse in Norfolk Street. During her absence she had written reams byevery post to Lucy, and Lucy had looked forward very much to seeing heragain. The little American was almost the only one of her friends withwhom she did not feel shy. The apartness which her nationality gave her, made Mrs. Crowley more easy to talk to. She was too fond of Lucy to pityher. The general election came before it was expected, and RobertBoulger succeeded to the seat which Dick Lomas was only too glad tovacate. Bobbie was very charming. He surrounded Lucy with a protectingcare, and she could not fail to be touched by his entire devotion. Whenhe thought she had recovered somewhat from the first blow of herfather's sentence, he sent her a letter in which once more he besoughther to marry him. She was grateful to him for having chosen that methodof expressing himself, for it seemed possible in writing to tell himwith greater tenderness that if she could not accept his love she deeplyvalued his affection. 

* * *

It seemed to Lucy that the life she led in London, or at Lady Kelsey'shouse on the river, was no more than a dream. She was but a figure inthe procession of shadow pictures cast on a sheet in a fair, and nothingthat she did signified. Her spirit was away in the heart of Africa, andby a vehement effort of her fancy she sought to see what each day herfriend and her brother were doing. 

Now they had long left the railway and such civilisation as was to befound in the lands where white men had already made their mark. Sheknew the exultation which Alec felt, and the thrill of independence, when he left behind him all traces of it. He held himself more proudlybecause he knew that thenceforward he must rely on his own resources, and success or failure depended only on himself. 

Often as she lay awake and saw the ghostly dawn steal across the sky, she seemed borne to the African camp, where the break of day, like agust of wind in a field of ripe corn, brought a sudden stir among thesleepers. Alec had described to her so minutely the changing scene thatshe was able to bring it vividly before her eyes. She saw him come outof his tent, in heavy boots, buckling on his belt. He wore knee-breechesand a pith helmet, and he was more bronzed than when she had bidden himfarewell. He gave the order to the headman of the caravan to take up theloads. At the word there was a rush from all parts of the camp; eachporter seized his load, carrying it off to lash on his mat and hiscooking-pot, and then, sitting upon it, ate a few grains of roastedmaize or the remains of last night's game. And as the sun appeared abovethe horizon, Alec, as was his custom, led the way, followed by a fewaskari. A band of natives struck up a strange and musical chant, and thecamp, but now a scene of busy life, was deserted. The smouldering firesdied out with the rising sun, and the silent life of the forest replacedthe chatter and the hum of human kind. Giant beetles came from everyquarter and carried away pieces of offal; small shy beasts stole out tognaw the white bones upon which savage teeth had left but little; agaunt hyena, with suspicious looks, snatched at a bone and dashed backinto the jungle. Vultures settled down heavily, and with deliberate airsought out the foulest refuse. 

Then Lucy followed Alec upon his march, with his fighting men and hislong string of porters. They went along a narrow track, pushing theirway through bushes and thorns, or tall rank grass, sometimes withdifficulty forcing through elephant reeds which closed over their headsand showered the cold dew down on their faces. Sometimes they passedthrough villages, with rich soil and extensive population; sometimesthey plunged into heavy forests of gigantic trees, festooned withcreepers, where the silence was unbroken even by the footfall of thetraveller on the bottomless carpet of leaves; sometimes they traversedvast swamps, hurrying to avoid the deadly fever, and sometimes scrubjungles, in which as far as the eye could reach was a forest of cactusand thorn bush. Sometimes they made their way through grassy uplandswith trees as splendid as those of an English park, and sometimes theytoiled painfully along a game-track that ran by the bank of aswift-rushing river. 

At midday a halt was called. The caravan had opened out by then; men whowere sick or had stopped to adjust a load, others who were weak or lazy, had lagged behind; but at last they were all there; and the rear guard, perhaps with George in charge of it, whose orders were on no account toallow a single man to remain behind them, reported that no one wasmissing. During the heat of noon they made fires and cooked food. Presently they set off once more and marched till sundown. 

When they reached the place which had been fixed on for camping, acouple of shots were fired as signals; and soon the natives, men andwomen, began to stream in with little baskets of grain or flour, withpotatoes and chickens, and perhaps a pot or two of honey. Very quicklythe tents were pitched, the bed gear arranged, the loads counted andstacked. The party whose duty it was to construct the _zeriba_ cut downboughs and dragged them in to form a fence. Each little band of menselected the site for their bivouac; one went off to collect materialsto build the huts, another to draw water, a third for firewood andstones, on which to place the cooking-pot. At sunset the headman blewhis whistle and asked if all were present. A lusty chorus replied. Hereported to his chief and received the orders for the next day's march. 

Alec had told Lucy that from the cry that goes up in answer to theheadman's whistle, you could always gauge the spirit of the men. If gamehad been shot, or from scarcity the caravan had come to a land ofplenty, there was a perfect babel of voices. But if the march had beenlong and hard, or if food had been issued for a number of days, of whichthis was the last, isolated voices replied; and perhaps one, bolder thanthe rest, cried out: I am hungry. 

Then Alec and George, and the others sat down to their evening meal, while the porters, in little parties, were grouped around their hugepots of porridge. A little chat, a smoke, an exchange of sportinganecdotes, and the white men turned in. And Alec, gazing on the embersof his camp fire was alone with his thoughts: the silence of the nightwas upon him, and he looked up at the stars that shone in theircountless myriads in the blue African sky. Lucy got up and stood at heropen window. She, too, looked up at the sky, and she thought that shesaw the same stars as he did. Now in that last half hour, free from theburden of the day, with everyone at rest, he could give himself over tohis thoughts, and his thoughts surely were of her. 

* * *

During the months that had passed since Alec left England, Lucy's lovehad grown. In her solitude there was nothing else to give brightness toher life, and little by little it filled her heart. Her nature was sostrong that she could do nothing by half measures, and it was with afeeling of extreme relief that she surrendered herself to thisoverwhelming passion. It seemed to her that she was growing in adifferent direction. The yearning of her soul for someone on whom tolean was satisfied at last. Hitherto the only instincts that had beenfostered in her were those that had been useful to her father andGeorge; they had needed her courage and her self-reliance. It was verycomfortable to depend entirely upon Alec's love. Here she could be weak, here she could find a greater strength which made her own seem puny. Lucy's thoughts were absorbed in the man whom really she knew so little. She exulted in his unselfish striving and in his firmness of purpose, and when she compared herself with him she felt unworthy. She treasuredevery recollection she had of him. She went over in her mind all thatshe had heard him say, and reconstructed the conversations they had hadtogether. She walked where they had walked, remembering how the sky hadlooked on those days and what flowers then bloomed in the parks; shevisited the galleries they had seen in one another's company, and stoodbefore the pictures which he had lingered at. And notwithstanding allthere was to torment and humiliate her, she was happy. Something hadcome into her life which made all else tolerable. It was easy to bearthe extremity of grief when he loved her. 

After a long time Dick received a letter from Alec. MacKenzie was not agood letter-writer. He had no gift of self-expression, and when he had apen in his hand seemed to be seized with an invincible shyness. Theletter was dry and wooden. It was dated from the last trading-stationbefore he set out into the wild country which was to be the scene of hisoperations. It said that hitherto everything had gone well with him, andthe white men, but for fever occasionally, were bearing the climatewell. One, named Macinnery, had made a nuisance of himself, and had beensent back to the coast. Alec gave no reasons for this step. He had beenbusy making the final arrangements. A company had been formed, the NorthEast Africa Trading Company, to exploit the commercial possibilities ofthese unworked districts, and a charter had been given them; but theunsettled state of the land had so hampered them that the directors hadgladly accepted Alec's offer to join their forces with his, and thetraders at their stations had been instructed to take service under him. This increased the white men under his command to sixteen. He haddrilled the Swahilis whom he had brought from the coast, and given themguns, so that he had now an armed force of four hundred men. He wascollecting levies from the native tribes, and he gave the outlandishnames of the chiefs, armed with spears, who were to accompany him. Thepower of Mohammed the Lame was on the wane; for, during the three monthswhich Alec had spent in England, an illness had seized him, which thenatives asserted was a magic spell cast on him by one of his wives; anda son of his, taking advantage of this, had revolted and fortifiedhimself in a stockade. The dying Sultan had taken the field against him, and this division of forces made Alec's position immeasurably stronger. 

Dick handed Lucy the letter, and watched her while she read it. 

'He says nothing about George, ' he said. 

'He's evidently quite well. '

Though it seemed strange that Alec made no mention of the boy, Dick saidno more. Lucy appeared to be satisfied, and that was the chief thing. But he could not rid his mind of a certain uneasiness. He had receivedwith misgiving Lucy's plan that George should accompany Alec. He couldnot help wondering whether those frank blue eyes and that facile smiledid not conceal a nature as shallow as Fred Allerton's. But, after all, it was the boy's only chance, and he must take it. 

* * *

Then an immense silence followed. Alec disappeared into those unknowncountries as a man disappears into the night, and no more was heard ofhim. None knew how he fared. Not even a rumour reached the coast ofsuccess or failure. When he had crossed the mountains that divided theBritish protectorate from the lands that were to all intentsindependent, he vanished with his followers from human ken. The monthspassed, and there was nothing. It was a year now since he had arrived atMombassa, then it was a year since the last letter had come from him. Itwas only possible to guess that behind those gaunt rocks fierce battleswere fought, new lands explored, and the slavers beaten back foot byfoot. Dick sought to persuade himself that the silence was encouraging, for it seemed to him that if the expedition had been cut to pieces therejoicing of the Arabs would have spread itself abroad, and some news ofa disaster would have travelled through Somaliland to the coast, or beencarried by traders to Zanzibar. He made frequent inquiries at theForeign Office, but there, too, nothing was known. The darkness hadfallen upon them. 

But Lucy suffered neither from anxiety nor fear. She had an immenseconfidence in Alec, and she believed in his strength, his courage, andhis star. He had told her that he would not return till he hadaccomplished his task, and she expected to hear nothing till he hadbrought it to a triumphant conclusion. She did her little to help him. For at length the directors of the North East Africa Trading Company, growing anxious, proposed to get a question asked in Parliament, or tostart an outcry in the newspapers which should oblige the government tosend out a force to relieve Alec if he were in difficulties, or avengehim if he were dead. But Lucy knew that there was nothing Alec dreadedmore than official interference. He was convinced that if this workcould be done at all, he alone could do it; and she influenced RobertBoulger and Dick Lomas to use such means as they could to preventanything from being done. She was certain that all Alec needed was timeand a free hand. 

IX

But the monotonous round of Lucy's life, with its dreams and its fondimaginings, was interrupted by news of a different character. Anofficial letter came to her from Parkhurst to say that the grave stateof her father's health had decided the authorities to remit the rest ofhis sentence, and he would be set free the next day but one at eighto'clock in the morning. She knew not whether to feel relief or sorrow;for if she was thankful that the wretched man's long torture was ended, she could not but realise that his liberty was given him only because hewas dying. Mercy had been shown him, and Fred Allerton, in sight of afreedom from which no human laws could bar him, was given up to dieamong those who loved him. 

Lucy went down immediately to the Isle of Wight, and there engaged roomsin the house of a woman who had formerly served her at Hamlyn's Purlieu. 

It was midwinter, and a cold drizzle was falling when she waited for himat the prison gates. Three years had passed since they had parted. Shetook him in her arms and kissed him silently. Her heart was too full forwords. A carriage was waiting for them, and she drove to thelodging-house; breakfast was ready, and Lucy had seen that good thingswhich he liked should be ready for him to eat. Fred Allerton lookedwistfully at the clean table-cloth, and at the flowers and the daintyscones; but he shook his head. He did not speak, and the tears ranslowly down his cheeks. He sank wearily into a chair. Lucy tried toinduce him to eat; she brought him a cup of tea, but he put it away. Helooked at her with haggard, bloodshot eyes. 

'Give me the flowers, ' he muttered. 

They were his first words. There was a large bowl of daffodils in themiddle of the table, and she took them out of the water, deftly driedtheir stalks, and gave them to him. He took them with trembling handsand pressed them to his heart, then he buried his face in them, and thetears ran afresh, bedewing the yellow flowers. 

Lucy put her arm around her father's neck and placed her cheek againsthis. 

'Don't, father, ' she whispered. 'You must try and forget. '

He leaned back, exhausted, and the pretty flowers fell at his feet. 

'You know why they've let me out?' he said. 

She kissed him, but did not answer. 

'I'm so glad that we're together again, ' she murmured. 

'It's because I'm going to die. '

'No, you mustn't die. In a little while you'll get strong again. Youhave many years before you, and you'll be very happy. '

He gave her a long, searching look; and when he spoke, his voice had ahollowness in it that was strangely terrifying. 

'Do you think I want to live?'

The pain seemed almost greater than Lucy could bear, and for a momentshe had to remain silent so that her voice might grow steady. 

'You must live for my sake. '

'Don't you hate me?' he asked. 

'No, I love you more than I ever did. I shall never cease to love you. '

'I suppose no one would marry you while I was in prison. '

His remark was so inconsequent that Lucy found nothing to say. He gave abitter, short laugh. 

'I ought to have shot myself. Then people would have forgotten all aboutit, and you might have had a chance. Why didn't you marry Bobbie?'

'I haven't wanted to marry. '

He was so tired that he could only speak a little at a time, and now heclosed his eyes. Lucy thought that he was dozing, and began to pick upthe fallen flowers. But he noticed what she was doing. 

'Let me hold them, ' he moaned, with the pleading quaver of a sick child. 

As she gave them to him once more, he took her hands and began to caressthem. 

'The only thing for me is to hurry up and finish with life. I'm in theway. Nobody wants me, and I shall only be a burden. I didn't want themto let me go. I wanted to die there quietly. '

Lucy sighed deeply. She hardly recognised her father in the bent, brokenman who was sitting beside her. He had aged very much and seemed now tobe an old man, but it was a premature aging, and there was a horror init as of a process contrary to nature. He was very thin, and his handstrembled constantly. Most of his teeth had gone; his cheeks were sunken, and he mumbled his words so that it was difficult to distinguish them. There was no light in his eyes, and his short hair was quite white. Nowand again he was shaken with a racking cough, and this was followed byan attack of such pain in his heart that it was anguish even to watchit. The room was warm, but he shivered with cold and cowered over theroaring fire. 

When the doctor whom Lucy had sent for, saw him, he could only shrug hisshoulders. 

'I'm afraid nothing can be done, ' he said. 'His heart is all wrong, andhe's thoroughly broken up. '

'Is there no chance of recovery?'

'I'm afraid all we can do is to alleviate the pain. '

'And how long can he live?'

'It's impossible to say. He may die to-morrow, he may last six months. '

The doctor was an old man, and his heart was touched by the sight ofLucy's grief. He had seen more cases than one of this kind. 

'He doesn't want to live. It will be a mercy when death releases him. '

Lucy did not answer. When she returned to her father, she could notspeak. He was apathetic and did not ask what the doctor had said. LadyKelsey, hating the thought of Lucy and her father living amid thediscomfort of furnished lodgings, had written to offer the use of herhouse in Charles Street; and Mrs. Crowley, in case they wanted completesolitude, had put Court Leys at their disposal. Lucy waited a few daysto see whether her father grew stronger, but no change was apparent inhim, and it seemed necessary at last to make some decision. She putbefore him the alternative plans, but he would have none of them. 

'Then would you rather stay here?' she said. 

He looked at the fire and did not answer. Lucy thought the sense of herquestion had escaped him, for often it appeared to her that his mindwandered. She was on the point of repeating it when he spoke. 

'I want to go back to the Purlieu. '

Lucy stifled a gasp of dismay. She stared at the wretched man. Had heforgotten? He thought that the house of his fathers was his still; andall that had parted him from it was gone from his memory. How could shetell him?

'I want to die in my own home, ' he faltered. 

Lucy was in a turmoil of anxiety. She must make some reply. What heasked was impossible, and yet it was cruel to tell him the whole truth. 

'There are people living there, ' she answered. 

'Are there?' he said, indifferently. 

He looked at the fire still. The silence was dreadful. 

'When can we go?' he said at last. 'I want to get there quickly. '

Lucy hesitated. 

'We shall have to go into rooms. '

'I don't mind. '

He seemed to take everything as a matter of course. It was clear that hehad forgotten the catastrophe that had parted him from Hamlyn's Purlieu, and yet, strangely, he asked no questions. Lucy was tortured by thethought of revisiting the place she loved so well. She had been able todeaden her passionate regret only by keeping her mind steadfastlyaverted from all thoughts of it, and now she must actually go there. Theold wounds would be opened. But it was impossible to refuse, and she setabout making the necessary arrangements. The rector, who had been giventhe living by Fred Allerton, was an old friend, and Lucy knew that shecould trust in his affection. She wrote and told him that her father wasdying and had set his heart on seeing once more his old home. She askedhim to find rooms in one of the cottages. She did not mind how small norhow humble they were. The rector answered by telegram. He begged Lucy tobring her father to stay with him. She would be more comfortable than inlodgings, and, since he was a bachelor, there was plenty of room in thelarge rectory. Lucy, immensely touched by his kindness, gratefullyaccepted the invitation. 

Next day they took the short journey across the Solent. 

The rector had been a don, and Fred Allerton had offered him the livingin accordance with the family tradition that required a man ofattainments to live in the neighbouring rectory. He had been there nowfor many years, a spare, grey-haired, gentle creature, who lived thelife of a recluse in that distant village, doing his duty exactly, butgiven over for the most part to his beloved books. He seldom went away. The monotony of his daily round was broken only by the occasionalreceipt of a parcel of musty volumes, which he had ordered to be boughtfor him at some sale. He was a man of varied learning, full of remoteinformation, eccentric from his solitariness, but with a great sweetnessof nature. His life was simple, and his wants were few. 

In this house, in rooms lined from floor to ceiling with old books, Lucyand her father took up their abode. It seemed that Fred Allerton hadbeen kept up only by the desire to get back to his native place, for hehad no sooner arrived than he grew much worse. Lucy was busily occupiedwith nursing him and could give no time to the regrets which she hadimagined would assail her. She spent long hours in her father's room;and while he dozed, half-comatose, the kindly parson sat by the windowand read to her in a low voice from queer, forgotten works. 

One day Allerton appeared to be far better. For a week he had wanderedmuch in his mind, and more than once Lucy had suspected that the end wasnear; but now he was singularly lucid. He wanted to get up, and Lucyfelt it would be brutal to balk any wish he had. He asked if he might goout. The day was fine and warm. It was February, and there was a feelingin the air as if the spring were at hand. In sheltered places thesnowdrops and the crocuses gave the garden the blitheness of an Italianpicture; and you felt that on that multi-coloured floor might fitly tripthe delicate angels of Messer Perugino. The rector had an oldpony-chaise, in which he was used to visit his parishioners, and in thisall three drove out. 

'Let us go down to the marshes, ' said Allerton. 

They drove slowly along the winding road till they came to the broadsalt marshes. Beyond glittered the placid sea. There was no wind. Nearthem a cow looked up from her grazing and lazily whisked her tail. Lucy's heart began to beat more quickly. She felt that her father, too, looked upon that scene as the most typical of his home. Other places hadbroad acres and fine trees, other places had forest land and purpleheather, but there was something in those green flats that made themseem peculiarly their own. She took her father's hand, and silentlytheir eyes looked onwards. A more peaceful look came into FredAllerton's worn face, and the sigh that broke from him was notaltogether of pain. Lucy prayed that it might still remain hidden fromhim that those fair, broad fields were his no longer. 

That night, she had an intuition that death was at hand. Fred Allertonwas very silent. Since his release from prison he had spoken barely adozen sentences a day, and nothing served to wake him from his lethargy. But there was a curious restlessness about him now, and he would not goto bed. He sat in an armchair, and begged them to draw it near thewindow. The sky was cloudless, and the moon shone brightly. FredAllerton could see the great old elms that surrounded Hamlyn's Purlieu;and his eyes were fixed steadily upon them. Lucy saw them, too, and shethought sadly of the garden which she had loved so well, and of the deartrees which old masters of the place had tended so lovingly. Her heartfilled when she thought of the grey stone house and its happy, spaciousrooms. 

Suddenly there was a sound, and she looked up quickly. Her father's headhad fallen back, and he was breathing with a strange noisiness. Shecalled her friend. 

'I think the end has come at last, ' she said. 

'Would you like me to fetch the doctor?'

'It will be useless. '

The rector looked at the man's wan face, lit dimly by the light of theshaded lamp, and falling on his knees, began to recite the prayers forthe dying. A shiver passed through Lucy. In the farmyard a cock crew, and in the distance another cock answered cheerily. Lucy put her hand onthe good rector's shoulder. 

'It's all over, ' she whispered. 

She bent down and kissed her father's eyes. 

* * *

A week later Lucy took a walk by the seashore. They had buried FredAllerton three days before among the ancestors whom he had dishonoured. It was a lonely funeral, for Lucy had asked Robert Boulger, her onlyfriend then in England, not to come; and she was the solitary mourner. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the rector read the sad, beautiful words of the burial service. She could not grieve. Her fatherwas at peace. She could only hope that his errors and his crimes wouldbe soon forgotten; and perhaps those who had known him would rememberthen that he had been a charming friend, and a clever, sympatheticcompanion. It was little enough in all conscience that Lucy asked. 

On the morrow she was leaving the roof of the hospitable parson. Surmising her wish to walk alone once more through the country which wasso dear to her, he had not offered his company. Lucy's heart was full ofsadness, but there was a certain peace in it, too; the peace of herfather's death had entered into her, and she experienced a new feeling, the feeling of resignation. 

Now her mind was set upon the future, and she was filled with hope. Shestood by the water's edge, looking upon the sea as three years before, when she was staying at Court Leys, she had looked upon the sea thatwashed the shores of Kent. Many things had passed since then, and manygriefs had fallen upon her; but for all that she was happier than then;since on that distant day--and it seemed ages ago--there had beenscarcely a ray of brightness in her life, and now she had a great lovewhich made every burden light. 

Low clouds hung upon the sky, and on the horizon the greyness of theheavens mingled with the greyness of the sea. She looked into thedistance with longing eyes. Now all her life was set upon that far-offcorner of unknown Africa, where Alec and George were doing great deeds. She wondered what was the meaning of the silence which had covered themso long. 

'Oh, if I could only see, ' she murmured. 

She sent her spirit upon that vast journey, trying to pierce the realmsof space, but her spirit came back baffled. She could not know what theywere at. 

* * *

If Lucy's love had been able to bridge the abyss that parted them, if insome miraculous way she had been able to see what actions they did atthat time, she would have witnessed a greater tragedy than any which shehad yet seen. 

X

The night was stormy and dark. The rain was falling, and the ground inAlec's camp was heavy with mud. The faithful Swahilis whom he hadbrought from the coast, chattered with cold around their fires; and thesentries shivered at their posts. It was a night that took the spiritout of a man and made all that he longed for seem vain and trifling. InAlec's tent the water was streaming. Great rats ran about boldly. Thestout canvas bellied before each gust of wind, and the cordage creaked, so that one might have thought the whole thing would be blown cleanaway. The tent was unusually crowded, though there was in it nothing butAlec's bed, covered with a mosquito-curtain, a folding table, with acouple of garden chairs, and the cases which contained his more preciousbelongings. A small tarpaulin on the floor squelched as one walked onit. 

On one of the chairs a man sat, asleep, with his face resting on hisarms. His gun was on the table in front of him. It was Walker, a youngman who had been freshly sent out to take charge of the North EastAfrica Company's most northerly station, and had joined Alec'sexpedition a year before, taking the place of an older man who had gonehome on leave. He was a funny, fat person with a round face and a comicmanner, the most unexpected sort of fellow to find in the wildest ofAfrican districts; and he was eminently unsuited for the life he led. He had come into a little money on attaining his majority, and this hehad set himself resolutely to squander in every unprofitable way thatoccurred to him. When his last penny was spent he had been offered apost by a friend of his family's, who happened to be a director of thecompany, and had accepted it as his only refuge from starvation. Adversity had not been able to affect his happy nature. He was alwayscheerful no matter what difficulties he was in, and neither regrettedthe follies of his past nor repined over the hardships which hadfollowed them. Alec had taken a great liking to him. A silent manhimself, he found a certain relaxation in people like Dick Lomas andWalker who talked incessantly; and the young man's simplicity, hisconstant surprise at the difference between Africa and Mayfair, neverceased to divert him. 

Presently Adamson came into the tent. He was the Scotch doctor who hadalready been Alec's companion on two of his expeditions; and there was afirm friendship between them. He was an Edinburgh man, with a slow drawland a pawky humour, a great big fellow, far and away the largest of anyof the whites; and his movements were no less deliberate than hisconversation. 

'Hulloa, there, ' he called out, as he came in. 

Walker started to his feet as if he were shot and instinctively seizedhis gun. 

'All right!' laughed the doctor, putting up his hand. 'Don't shoot. It'sonly me. '

Walker put down the gun and looked at the doctor with a blank face. 

'Nerves are a bit groggy, aren't they?'

The fat, cheerful man recovered his wits and gave a short laugh. 

'Why the dickens did you wake me up? I was dreaming--dreaming of ahigh-heeled boot and a neat ankle and the swirl of a white lacepetticoat. '

'Were you indeed?' said the doctor, with a slow smile. 'Then it's aswell I woke ye up in the middle of it before ye made a fool of yourself. I thought I'd better have a look at your arm. '

'It's one of the most æsthetic sights I know. '

'Your arm?' asked the doctor, drily. 

'No, ' answered Walker. 'A pretty woman crossing Piccadilly at Swan &Edgar's. You are a savage, my good doctor, and a barbarian; you don'tknow the care and forethought, the hours of anxious meditation, it hasneeded to hold up that well-made skirt with the elegant grace thatenchants you. '

'I'm afraid you're a very immoral man, Walker, ' answered Adamson withhis long drawl, smiling. 

'Under the present circumstances I have to content myself withcondemning the behaviour of the pampered and idle. Just now a camp-bedin a stuffy tent, with mosquitoes buzzing all around me, has allurementsgreater than those of youth and beauty. And I would not sacrifice mydinner to philander with Helen of Troy herself. '

'You remind me considerably of the fox who said the grapes were sour. '

Walker flung a tin plate at a rat that sat up on its hind legs andlooked at him impudently. 

'Nonsense. Give me a comfortable bed to sleep in, plenty to eat, tobaccoto smoke; and Amaryllis may go hang. '

Dr. Adamson smiled quietly. He found a certain grim humour in thecontrast between the difficulties of their situation and Walker'sflippant talk. 

'Well, let us look at this wound of yours, ' he said, getting back to hisbusiness. 'Has it been throbbing?'

'Oh, it's not worth bothering about. It'll be as right as rainto-morrow. '

'I'd better dress it all the same. '

Walker took off his coat and rolled up his sleeve. The doctor removedthe bandages and looked at the broad flesh wound. He put a freshdressing on it. 

'It looks as healthy as one can expect, ' he murmured. 'It's odd whatgood recoveries men make here when you'd think that everything wasagainst them. '

'You must be pretty well done up, aren't you?' asked Walker, as hewatched the doctor neatly cut the lint. 

'Just about dropping. But I've a devil of a lot more work to do before Iturn in. '

'The thing that amuses me is to think that I came to Africa thinking Iwas going to have a rattling good time, plenty of shooting andpractically nothing to do. '

'You couldn't exactly describe it as a picnic, could you?' answered thedoctor. 'But I don't suppose any of us knew it would be such a tough jobas it's turned out. '

Walker put his disengaged hand on the doctor's arm. 

'My friend, if ever I return to my native land I will never be such acrass and blithering idiot as to give way again to a spirit ofadventure. I shall look out for something safe and quiet, and end mydays as a wine-merchant's tout or an insurance agent. '

'Ah, that's what we all say when we're out here. But when we're oncehome again, the recollection of the forest and the plains and theroasting sun and the mosquitoes themselves, come haunting us, and beforewe know what's up we've booked our passage back to this God-forsakencontinent. '

The doctor's words were followed by a silence, which was broken byWalker inconsequently. 

'Do you ever think of rumpsteaks?' he asked. 

The doctor stared at him blankly, and Walker went on, smiling. 

'Sometimes, when we're marching under a sun that just about takes theroof of your head off, and we've had the scantiest and mostuncomfortable breakfast possible, I have a vision. '

'I would be able to bandage you better if you only gesticulated with onearm, ' said Adamson. 

'I see the dining-room of my club, and myself seated at a little tableby the window looking out on Piccadilly. And there's a spotlesstable-cloth, and all the accessories are spick and span. An obsequiousmenial brings me a rumpsteak, grilled to perfection, and so tender thatit melts in the mouth. And he puts by my side a plate of crisp friedpotatoes. Can't you smell them? And then a liveried flunky brings me apewter tankard, and into it he pours a bottle, a large bottle, mind you, of foaming ale. '

'You've certainly added considerably to our cheerfulness, my friend, 'said Adamson. 

Walker gaily shrugged his fat shoulders. 

'I've often been driven to appease the pangs of raging hunger with acareless epigram, and by the laborious composition of a limerick I havesought to deceive a most unholy thirst. '

He liked that sentence and made up his mind to remember it for futureuse. The doctor paused for a moment, and then he looked gravely atWalker. 

'Last night I thought that you'd made your last joke, old man; and thatI had given my last dose of quinine. '

'We were in rather a tight corner, weren't we?'

'This is the third expedition I've been with MacKenzie, and I assure youI've never been so certain that all was over with us. '

Walker permitted himself a philosophical reflection. 

'Funny thing death is, you know! When you think of it beforehand, itmakes you squirm in your shoes, but when you've just got it face to faceit seems so obvious that you forget to be afraid. '

Indeed it was only by a miracle that any of them was alive, and they hadall a curious, light-headed feeling from the narrowness of the escape. They had been fighting, with their backs to the wall, and each one hadshown what he was made of. A few hours before things had been so seriousthat now, in the first moment of relief, they sought refugeinstinctively in banter. But Dr. Adamson was a solid man, and he wantedto talk the matter out. 

'If the Arabs hadn't hesitated to attack us just those ten minutes, wewould have been simply wiped out. '

'MacKenzie was all there, wasn't he?'

Walker had the shyness of his nationality in the exhibition ofenthusiasm, and he could only express his admiration for the commanderof the party in terms of slang. 

'He was, my son, ' answered Adamson, drily. 'My own impression is, hethought we were done for. '

'What makes you think that?'

'Well, you see, I know him pretty well. When things are going smoothlyand everything's flourishing, he's apt to be a bit irritable. He keepsrather to himself, and he doesn't say much unless you do something hedon't approve of. '

'And then, by Jove, he comes down on you like a thousand of bricks, 'Walker agreed heartily. He remembered observations which Alec on morethan one occasion had made to recall him to a sense of his greatinsignificance. 'It's not for nothing the natives call him _Thunder andLightning_. '

'But when things look black, his spirits go up like one o'clock, 'proceeded the doctor. 'And the worse they are the more cheerful he is. '

'I know. When you're starving with hunger, dead tired and soaked to theskin, and wish you could just lie down and die, MacKenzie simply bubblesover with good humour. It's a hateful characteristic. When I'm in a badtemper, I much prefer everyone else to be in a bad temper, too. '

'These last three days he's been positively hilarious. Yesterday he wascracking jokes with the natives. '

'Scotch jokes, ' said Walker. 'I daresay they sound funny in an Africandialect. '

'I've never seen him more cheerful, ' continued the other, sturdilyignoring the gibe. 'By the Lord Harry, said I to myself, the chiefthinks we're in a devil of a bad way. '

Walker stood up and stretched himself lazily. 

'Thank heavens, it's all over now. We've none of us had any sleep forthree days, and when I once get off I don't mean to wake up for a week. '

'I must go and see the rest of my patients. Perkins has got a bad doseof fever this time. He was quite delirious a little while ago. '

'By Jove, I'd almost forgotten. '

People changed in Africa. Walker was inclined to be surprised that hewas fairly happy, inclined to make a little jest when it occurred tohim; and it had nearly slipped his memory that one of the whites hadbeen killed the day before, while another was lying unconscious with abullet in his skull. A score of natives were dead, and the rest of themhad escaped by the skin of their teeth. 

'Poor Richardson, ' he said. 

'We couldn't spare him, ' answered the doctor slowly. 'The fates neverchoose the right man. '

Walker looked at the brawny doctor, and his placid face was clouded. Heknew to what the Scot referred and shrugged his shoulders. But thedoctor went on. 

'If we had to lose someone it would have been a damned sight better ifthat young cub Allerton had got the bullet which killed poorRichardson. '

'He wouldn't have been much loss, would he?' said Walker, after asilence. 

'MacKenzie has been very patient with him. If I'd been in his shoes I'dhave sent him back to the coast when he sacked Macinnery. '

Walker did not answer, and the doctor proceeded to moralise. 

'It seems to me that some men have natures so crooked that with everychance in the world to go straight, they can't manage it. The only thingis to let them go to the devil as best they may. '

At that moment Alec MacKenzie came in. He was dripping with rain andthrew off his macintosh. His face lit up when he saw Walker and thedoctor. Adamson was an old and trusted friend, and he knew that on himhe could rely always. 

'I've been going the round of the outlying sentries, ' he said. 

It was unlike him to volunteer even so trivial a piece of information, and Adamson looked up at him. 

'All serene?' he asked. 

'Yes. '

Alec's eyes rested on the doctor as though he were considering somethingstrange about him. The doctor knew him well enough to suspect thatsomething very grave had happened, but also he knew him too well tohazard an inquiry. Presently Alec spoke again. 

'I've just seen a native messenger that Mindabi sent me. '

'Anything important?'

'Yes. '

Alec's answer was so curt that it was impossible to question himfurther. He turned to Walker. 

'How's the arm?'

'Oh, that's nothing. It's only a scratch. '

'You'd better not make too light of it. The smallest wound has a way ofbeing troublesome in this country. '

'He'll be all right in a day or two, ' said the doctor. 

Alec sat down. For a minute he did not speak, but seemed plunged inthought. He passed his fingers through his beard, ragged now and longerthan when he was in England. 

'How are the others?' he asked suddenly, looking at Adamson. 

'I don't think Thompson can last till the morning. '

'I've just been in to see him. '

Thompson was the man who had been shot through the head and had lainunconscious since the day before. He was an old gold-prospector, who hadthrown in his lot with the expedition against the slavers. 

'Perkins of course will be down for several days longer. And some of thenatives are rather badly hurt. Those devils have got explosive bullets. '

'Is there anyone in great danger?'

'No, I don't think so. There are two men who are in a bad way, but Ithink they'll pull through with rest. '

'I see, ' said Alec, laconically. 

He stared intently at the table, absently passing his hand across thegun which Walker had left there. 

'I say, have you had anything to eat lately?' asked Walker, presently. 

Alec shook himself out of his meditation and gave the young man one ofhis rare, bright smiles. It was plain that he made an effort to be gay. 

'Good Lord, I quite forgot; I wonder when the dickens I had some foodlast. These Arabs have been keeping us so confoundedly busy. '

'I don't believe you've had anything to-day. You must be devilishhungry. '

'Now you mention it, I think I am, ' answered Alec, cheerfully. 'Andthirsty, by Jove! I wouldn't give my thirst for an elephant tusk. '

'And to think there's nothing but tepid water to drink!' Walkerexclaimed with a laugh. 

'I'll go and tell the boy to bring you some food, ' said the doctor. 'It's a rotten game to play tricks with your digestion like that. '

'Stern man, the doctor, isn't he?' said Alec, with twinkling eyes. 'Itwon't hurt me once in a way, and I shall enjoy it all the more now. '

But when Adamson went to call the boy, Alec stopped him. 

'Don't trouble. The poor devil's half dead with exhaustion. I told himhe might sleep till I called him. I don't want much, and I can easilyget it myself. '

Alec looked about and presently found a tin of meat and some shipbiscuits. During the fighting it had been impossible to go out on thesearch for game, and there was neither variety nor plenty about theirlarder. Alec placed the food before him, sat down, and began to eat. Walker looked at him. 

'Appetising, isn't it?' he said ironically. 

'Splendid!'

'No wonder you get on so well with the natives. You have all theinstincts of the primeval savage. You take food for the gross andbestial purpose of appeasing your hunger, and I don't believe you havethe least appreciation for the delicacies of eating as a fine art. '

'The meat's getting rather mouldy, ' answered Alec. 

He ate notwithstanding with a good appetite. His thoughts went suddenlyto Dick who at the hour which corresponded with that which now passed inAfrica, was getting ready for one of the pleasant little dinners at the_Carlton_ upon which he prided himself. And then he thought of thenoisy bustle of Piccadilly at night, the carriages and 'buses thatstreamed to and fro, the crowded pavements, the gaiety of the lights. 

'I don't know how we're going to feed everyone to-morrow, ' said Walker. 'Things will be going pretty bad if we can't get some grain in fromsomewhere. '

Alec pushed back his plate. 

'I wouldn't worry about to-morrow's dinner if I were you, ' he said, witha low laugh. 

'Why?' asked Walker. 

'Because I think it's ten to one that we shall be as dead as doornailsbefore sunrise. '

The two men stared at him silently. Outside, the wind howled grimly, andthe rain swept against the side of the tent. 

'Is this one of your little jokes, MacKenzie?' said Walker at last. 

'You have often observed that I joke with difficulty. '

'But what's wrong now?' asked the doctor quickly. 

Alec looked at him and chuckled quietly. 

'You'll neither of you sleep in your beds to-night. Another sell for themosquitoes, isn't it? I propose to break up the camp and start marchingin an hour. '

'I say, it's a bit thick after a day like this, ' said Walker. 'We're allso done up that we shan't be able to go a mile. '

'You will have had two hours rest. '

Adamson rose heavily to his feet. He meditated for an appreciable time. 

'Some of those fellows who are wounded can't possibly be moved, ' hesaid. 

'They must. '

'I won't answer for their lives. '

'We must take the risk. Our only chance is to make a bold dash for it, and we can't leave the wounded here. '

'I suppose there's going to be a deuce of a row, ' said Walker. 

'There is. '

'Your companions seldom have a chance to complain of the monotony oftheir existence, ' said Walker, grimly. 'What are you going to do now?'

'At this moment I'm going to fill my pipe. '

With a whimsical smile, Alec took his pipe from his pocket, knocked itout on his heel, filled and lit it. The doctor and Walker digested theinformation he had given them. It was Walker who spoke first. 

'I gather from the general amiability of your demeanour that we're inrather a tight place. '

'Tighter than any of your patent-leather boots, my friend. '

Walker moved uncomfortably in his chair. He no longer felt sleepy. Acold shiver ran down his spine. 

'Have we any chance of getting through?' he asked gravely. 

It seemed to him that Alec paused an unconscionable time before heanswered. 

'There's always a chance, ' he said. 

'I suppose we're going to do a bit more fighting?'

'We are. '

Walker yawned loudly. 

'Well, at all events there's some comfort in that. If I am going to bedone out of my night's rest, I should like to take it out of someone. '

Alec looked at him with approval. That was the frame of mind thatpleased him. When he spoke again there was in his voice a peculiarcharm that perhaps in part accounted for the power he had over hisfellows. It inspired an extraordinary belief in him, so that anyonewould have followed him cheerfully to certain death. And though hiswords were few and bald, he was so unaccustomed to take others into hisconfidence, that when he did so, ever so little, and in that tone, itseemed that he was putting his hearers under a singular obligation. 

'If things turn out all right, we shall come near finishing the job, andthere won't be much more slave-trading in this part of Africa. '

'And if things don't turn out all right?'

'Why then, I'm afraid the tea tables of Mayfair will be deprived of yourscintillating repartee for ever. '

Walker looked down at the ground. Strange thoughts ran through his head, and when he looked up again, with a shrug of the shoulders, there was aqueer look in his eyes. 

'Well, I've not had a bad time in my life, ' he said slowly. 'I've loveda little, and I've worked and played. I've heard some decent music, I'velooked at nice pictures, and I've read some thundering fine books. If Ican only account for a few more of those damned scoundrels before I die, I shouldn't think I had much to complain of. '

Alec smiled, but did not answer. A silence fell upon them. Walker'swords brought to Alec the recollection of what had caused the troublewhich now threatened them, and his lips tightened. A dark frown settledbetween his eyes. 

'Well, I suppose I'd better go and get things straight, ' said thedoctor. 'I'll do what I can with those fellows and trust to Providencethat they'll stand the jolting. '

'What about Perkins?' asked Alec. 

'Lord knows! I'll try and keep him quiet with choral. '

'You needn't say anything about our striking camp. I don't propose thatanyone should know till a quarter of an hour before we start. '

'But that won't give them time. '

'I've trained them often enough to get on the march quickly, ' answeredAlec, with a curtness that allowed no rejoinder. 

The doctor turned to go, and at the same moment George Allertonappeared. 

XI

George Allerton had changed since he left England. The flesh had fallenaway from his bones, and his face was sallow. He had not stood theclimate well. His expression had changed too, for there was a singularquerulousness about his mouth, and his eyes were shifty and cunning. Hehad lost his good looks. 

'Can I come in?' he said. 

'Yes, ' answered Alec, and then turning to the doctor: 'You might stay amoment, will you?'

'Certainly. '

Adamson stood where he was, with his back to the flap that closed thetent. Alec looked up quickly. 

'Didn't Selim tell you I wanted to speak to you?'

'That's why I've come, ' answered George. 

'You've taken your time about it. '

'I say, could you give me a drink of brandy? I'm awfully done up. '

'There's no brandy left, ' answered Alec. 

'Hasn't the doctor got some?'

'No. '

There was a long pause. Adamson and Walker did not know what was thematter; but they saw that there was something serious. They had neverseen Alec so cold, and the doctor, who knew him well, saw that he wasvery angry. Alec lifted his eyes again and looked at George slowly. 

'Do you know anything about the death of that Turkana woman?' he askedabruptly. 

George did not answer immediately. 

'No. How should I?' he said presently. 

'Come now, you must know something about it. Last Tuesday you came intocamp and said the Turkana were very much excited. '

'Oh, yes, I remember, ' answered George, unwillingly

'Well?'

'I'm not very clear about it. The woman had been shot, hadn't she? Oneof the station boys had been playing the fool with her, and he seems tohave shot her. '

'Have you made no attempt to find out which of the station boys it was?'

'I haven't had time, ' said George, in a surly way. 'We've all beenworked off our legs during the last three days. '

'Do you suspect no one?'

'I don't think so. '

'Think a moment. '

'The only man who might have done it is that big scoundrel we got on thecoast, the Swahili beggar with one ear. '

'What makes you think that?'

'He's been making an awful nuisance of himself, and I know he's beenrunning after the women. '

Alec did not take his eyes off George. Walker saw what was coming andlooked down at the ground. 

'You'll be surprised to hear that when the woman was found she wasn'tdead. '

George did not move, but his cheeks became if possible more haggard. Hewas horribly frightened. 

'She didn't die for nearly an hour. '

There was a very short silence. It seemed to George that they must hearthe furious beating of his heart. 

'Was she able to say anything?'

'She said you'd shot her, '

'What a damned lie!'

'It appears that _you_ were--playing the fool with her. I don't know whyyou quarrelled. You took out your revolver and fired point blank. '

George laughed. 

'It's just like these beastly niggers to tell a stupid lie like that. You wouldn't believe them rather than me, would you? After all, myword's worth more than theirs. '

Alec quietly took from his pocket the case of an exploded cartridge. Itcould only have fitted a revolver. 

'This was found about two yards from the body and was brought to me thisevening. '

'I don't know what that proves. '

'You know just as well as I do that none of the natives has a revolver. Beside ourselves only one or two of the servants have them. '

George took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. Histhroat was horribly dry, and he could hardly breathe. 

'Will you give me your revolver, ' said Alec, quietly. 

'I haven't got it. I lost it this afternoon when we made that sortie. Ididn't tell you as I thought you'd get in a wax about it. '

'I saw you cleaning it less than an hour ago, ' said Alec, gravely. 

George shrugged his shoulders pettishly. 

'Perhaps it's in my tent. I'll go and see. '

'Stop here, ' said Alec sharply. 

'Look here, I'm not going to be ordered about like a dog. You've got noright to talk to me like that. I came out here of my own free will, andI won't let you treat me like a damned nigger. '

'If you put your hand to your hip-pocket I think you'll find yourrevolver there. '

'I'm not going to give it you, ' said George, his lips white with fear. 

'Do you want me to come and take if from you myself?'

The two men stared at one another for a moment. Then George slowly puthis hand to his pocket and took out the revolver. But a sudden impulseseized him. He raised it, quickly aimed at Alec, and fired. Walker wasstanding near him, and seeing the movement, instinctively beat up theboy's hand as pulled the trigger. In a moment the doctor had sprungforward and seizing him round the waist, thrown him backwards. Therevolver fell from his hand. Alec had not moved. 

'Let me go, damn you!' cried George, his voice shrill with rage. 

'You need not hold him, ' said Alec. 

It was second nature with them all to perform Alec's commands, andwithout thinking twice they dropped their hands. George sank coweringinto a chair. Walker, bending down, picked up the revolver and gave itto Alec, who silently fitted into an empty chamber the cartridge thathad been brought to him. 

'You see that it fits, ' he said. 'Hadn't you better make a clean breastof it?'

George was utterly cowed. A sob broke from him. 

'Yes, I shot her, ' he said brokenly. 'She made a row and the devil gotinto me. I didn't know what I'd done till she screamed and I saw theblood. '

He cursed himself for being such a fool as to throw the cartridge away. His first thought had been to have all the chambers filled. 

'Do you remember that two months ago I hanged a man to the nearest treebecause he'd murdered one of the natives?'

George sprang up in terror, and he began to tremble. 

'You wouldn't do that to me. '

A wild prayer went up in his heart that mercy might be shown him, andthen bitter anger seized him because he had ever come out to thatcountry. 

'You need not be afraid, ' answered Alec coldly. 'In any case I mustpreserve the native respect for the white man. '

'I was half drunk when I saw the woman. I wasn't responsible for myactions. '

'In any case the result is that the whole tribe has turned against us. '

The chief was Alec's friend, and it was he who had sent him the explodedcartridge. The news came to Alec like a thunderclap, for the Turkanawere the best part of his fighting force, and he had always placed theutmost reliance on their fidelity. The chief said that he could not holdin his young men, and not only must Alec cease to count upon them, butthey would probably insist on attacking him openly. They had stirred upthe neighbouring tribes against him and entered into communication withthe Arabs. He had been just at the turning point and on the verge of agreat success, but now all that had been done during three years wasfrustrated. The Arabs had seized the opportunity and suddenly assumedthe offensive. The unexpectedness of their attack had nearly provedfatal to Alec's party, and since then they had all had to fight for barelife. 

George watched Alec as he stared at the ground. 

'I suppose the whole damned thing's my fault, ' he muttered. 

Alec did not answer directly. 

'I think we may take it for certain that the natives will go over to theslavers to-morrow, and then we shall be attacked on all sides. We can'thold out against God knows how many thousands. I've sent Rogers andDeacon to bring in all the Latukas, but heaven knows if they can arrivein time. '

'And if they don't?'

Alec shrugged his shoulders, but did not speak. George's breathing camehurriedly, and a sob rose to his throat. 

'What are you going to do to me, Alec?'

MacKenzie walked up and down, thinking of the gravity of their position. In a moment he stopped and looked at Walker. 

'I daresay you have some preparations to make, ' he said. 

Walker got up. 

'I'll be off, ' he answered, with a slight smile. 

He was glad to go, for it made him ashamed to watch the boy'shumiliation. His own nature was so honest, his loyalty so unbending, that the sight of viciousness affected him with a physical repulsion, and he turned away from it as he would have done from the sight of somehideous ulcer. The doctor surmised that his presence too was undesired. Murmuring that he had no time to lose if he wanted to get his patientsready for a night march, he followed Walker out of the tent. Georgebreathed more freely when he was alone with Alec. 

'I'm sorry I did that silly thing just now, ' he said. 'I'm glad I didn'thit you. '

'It doesn't matter at all, ' smiled Alec. 'I'd forgotten all about it. '

'I lost my head. I didn't know what I was doing. '

'You need not trouble about that. In Africa even the strongest of us areapt to lose our balance. '

Alec filled his pipe again, and lighting it, blew heavy clouds of smokeinto the damp air. His voice was softer when he spoke. 

'Did you ever know that before we came away I asked Lucy to marry me?'

George did not answer. He stifled a sob, for the recollection of Lucy, the centre of his love and the mainspring of all that was decent in him, transfixed his heart with pain. 

'She asked me to bring you here in the hope that you'd, '--Alec had somedifficulty in expressing himself--'do something that would make peopleforget what happened to your father. She's very proud of her family. Shefeels that your good name is--besmirched, and she wanted you to give ita new lustre. I think that is the object she has most at heart in theworld. It is as great as her love for you. The plan hasn't been much ofa success, has it?'

'She ought to have known that I wasn't suited for this sort of life, 'answered George, bitterly. 

'I saw very soon that you were weak and irresolute, but I thought Icould put some backbone into you. I hoped for her sake to makesomething of you after all. Your intentions seemed good enough, but younever had the strength to carry them out. ' Alec had been watching thesmoke that rose from his pipe, but now he looked at George. 'I'm sorryif I seem to be preaching at you. '

'Oh, do you think I care what anyone says to me now?'

Alec went on very gravely, but not unkindly. 

'Then I found you were drinking. I told you that no man could standliquor in this country, and you gave me your word of honour that youwouldn't touch it again. '

'Yes, I broke it. I couldn't help myself. The temptation was toostrong. '

'When we came to the station at Munias, and I was laid up with fever, you and Macinnery took the opportunity to get into an ugly scrape withsome native women. You knew that that was the one thing I would notstand. I have nothing to do with morality--everyone is free in thesethings to do as he chooses--but I do know that nothing causes moretrouble with the natives, and I've made definite rules on the subject. If the culprits are Swahilis I flog them, and if they're whites I sendthem back to the coast. That's what I ought to have done with you, butit would have broken Lucy's heart. '

'It was Macinnery's fault. '

'It's because I thought Macinnery was chiefly to blame that I sent himback alone. I determined to give you another chance. It struck me thatthe feeling of authority might have some influence on you, and so, whenI had to build a _boma_ to guard the road down to the coast, I put thechief part of the stores in your care and left you in command. I neednot remind you what happened there. '

George looked down at the floor sulkily, and in default of excuses, keptsilent. He felt a sullen resentment as he remembered Alec's anger. Hehad never seen him give way before or since to such a furious wrath, andhe had seen Alec hold himself with all his strength so that he might notthrash him. Alec remembered too, and his voice once more grew hard andcold. 

'I came to the conclusion that it was hopeless. You seemed to me rottenthrough and through. '

'Like my father before me, ' sneered George, with a little laugh. 

'I couldn't believe a word you said. You were idle and selfish. Aboveall you were loathsomely, wantonly cruel. I was aghast when I heard ofthe fiendish cruelty with which you'd used the wretched men whom I leftwith you. If I hadn't returned in the nick of time, they'd have killedyou and looted all the stores. '

'It would have upset you to lose the stores, wouldn't it?'

'Is that all you've got to say?'

'You always believed their stories rather than mine. '

'It was difficult not to believe when a man showed me his back all tornand bleeding, and said you'd had him flogged because he didn't cook yourfood to your satisfaction. '

'I did it in a moment of temper. A man's not responsible for what hedoes when he's got fever. '

'It was too late to send you to the coast then, and I was obliged totake you on. And now the end has come. Your murder of that woman hasput us all in deadly peril. Already to your charge lie the deaths ofRichardson and Thompson and about twenty natives. We're as neardestruction as we can possibly be; and if we're killed, to-morrow theone tribe that has remained friendly will be attacked and their villagesburnt. Men, women and children, will be put to the sword or sold intoslavery. '

George seemed at last to see the abyss into which he was plunged, andhis resentment gave way to despair. 

'What are you going to do?'

'We're far away from the coast, and I must take the law into my ownhands. '

'You're not going to kill me?' gasped George. 

'No, ' said Alec scornfully. 

Alec sat on the little camp table so that he might be quite near George. 

'Are you fond of Lucy?' he asked gently. 

George broke into a sob. 

'O God, you know I am, ' he cried piteously. 'Why do you remind me ofher? I've made a rotten mess of everything, and I'm better out of theway. But think of the disgrace of it. It'll kill Lucy. And she washoping I'd do so much. '

He hid his face in his hands and sobbed broken-heartedly. Alec, strangely touched, put his hand on his shoulder. 

'Listen to me, ' he said. 'I've sent Deacon and Rogers to bring up asmany Latukas as they can. If we can tide over to-morrow we may be ableto inflict a crushing blow on the Arabs; but we must seize the ford overthe river. The Arabs are holding it and our only chance is to make asudden attack on them to-night before the natives join them. We shall beenormously outnumbered, but we may do some damage if we take them bysurprise, and if we can capture the ford, Rogers and Deacon will be ableto get across to us. We've lost Richardson and Thompson. Perkins is downwith fever. That reduces the whites to Walker, and the doctor, Condamine, Mason, you and myself. I can trust the Swahilis, but they'rethe only natives I can trust. Now, I'm going to start marching straightfor the ford. The Arabs will come out of their stockade in order to cutus off. In the darkness I mean to slip away with the rest of the whitemen and the Swahilis, I've found a short cut by which I can take them inthe rear. They'll attack just as the ford is reached, and I shall fallupon them. Do you see?'

George nodded, but he did not understand at what Alec was driving. Thewords reached his ears vaguely, as though they came from a long way off. 

'I want one white man to lead the Turkana, and that man will run thegreatest possible danger. I'd go myself only the Swahilis won't fightunless I lead them.... Will you take that post?'

The blood rushed to George's head, and he felt his ears singing. 

'I?'

'I could order you to go, but the job's too dangerous for me to force iton anyone. If you refuse I shall call the others together and asksomeone to volunteer. '

George did not answer. 

'I won't hide from you that it means almost certain death. But there'sno other way of saving ourselves. On the other hand, if you show perfectcourage at the moment the Arabs attack and the Turkana find we've giventhem the slip, you may escape. If you do, I promise you that nothingshall be said of all that has happened here. '

George sprang to his feet, and once more on his lips flashed the old, frank smile. 

'All right! I'll do that. And I thank you with all my heart for givingme the chance. '

Alec held out his hand, and he gave a sigh of relief. 

'I'm glad you've accepted. Whatever happens you'll have done one braveaction in your life. '

George flushed. He wanted to speak, but hesitated. 

'I should like to ask you a great favour, ' he said at last. 

Alec waited for him to go on. 

'You won't let Lucy know the mess I've made of things, will you? Let herthink I've done all she wanted me to do. '

'Very well, ' answered Alec gently. 

'Will you give me your word of honour that if I'm killed you won't sayanything that will lead anyone to suspect how I came by my death. '

Alec looked at him silently. It flashed across his mind that it might benecessary under certain circumstances to tell the whole truth. Georgewas greatly moved. He seemed to divine the reason of Alec's hesitation. 

'I have no right to ask anything of you. Already you've done far morefor me than I deserved. But it's for Lucy's sake that I implore you notto give me away. '

Alec, standing entirely still, uttered the words slowly. 

'I give you my word of honour that whatever happens and in whatevercircumstances I find myself placed, not a word shall escape me thatcould lead Lucy to suppose that you hadn't been always and in every wayupright, brave, and honourable. I will take all the responsibility ofyour present action. '

'I'm awfully grateful to you. '

Alec moved at last. The strain of their conversation was become almostintolerable. Alec's voice became cheerful and brisk. 

'I think there's nothing more to be said. You must be ready to start inhalf an hour. Here's your revolver. ' There was a twinkle in his eyes ashe continued: 'Remember that you've discharged one chamber. You'd betterput in another cartridge. '

'Yes, I'll do that. '

George nodded and went out. Alec's face at once lost the lightness whichit had assumed a moment before. He knew that he had just done somethingwhich might separate him from Lucy for ever. His love for her was nowthe only thing in the world to him, and he had jeopardised it for thatworthless boy. He saw that all sorts of interpretations might be putupon his action, and he should have been free to speak the truth. Buteven if George had not exacted from him the promise of silence, he couldnever have spoken a word. He loved Lucy far too deeply to cause her suchbitter pain. Whatever happened, she must think that George was a braveman, and had died in the performance of his duty. He knew her wellenough to be sure that if death were dreadful, it was more tolerablethan dishonour. He knew how keenly she had felt her disgrace, how itaffected her like a personal uncleanness, and he knew that she hadplaced all her hopes in George. Her brother was rotten to the core, asrotten as her father. How could he tell her that? He was willing to makeany sacrifice rather than allow her to have such knowledge. But if evershe knew that he had sent George to his death she would hate him. And ifhe lost her love he lost everything. He had thought of that before heanswered: Lucy could do without love better than without self-respect. 

But he had told George that if he had pluck he might get through. Wouldhe show that last virtue of a blackguard--courage?

XII

It was not till six months later that news of Alec MacKenzie'sexpedition reached the outer world, and at the same time Lucy received aletter from him in which he told her that her brother was dead. Thatstormy night had been fatal to the light-hearted Walker and to GeorgeAllerton, but success had rewarded Alec's desperate boldness, and a blowhad been inflicted on the slavers which subsequent events proved to becrushing. Alec's letter was grave and tender. He knew the extreme griefhe must inflict upon Lucy, and he knew that words could not assuage it. It seemed to him that the only consolation he could offer was that thelife which was so precious to her had been given for a worthy cause. Nowthat George had made up in the only way possible for the misfortune hiscriminal folly had brought upon them, Alec was determined to put out ofhis mind all that had gone before. It was right that the weakness whichhad ruined him should be forgotten, and Alec could dwell honestly on theboy's charm of manner, and on his passionate love for his sister. 

The months followed one another, the dry season gave place to the wet, and at length Alec was able to say that the result he had striven forwas achieved. Success rewarded his long efforts, and it was worth thetime, the money, and the lives that it had cost. The slavers were drivenout of a territory larger than the United Kingdom, treaties were signedwith chiefs who had hitherto been independent, by which they acceptedthe suzerainty of Great Britain; and only one step remained, that thegovernment should take over the rights of the company which had beengiven powers to open up the country, and annex the conquered district tothe empire. It was to this that MacKenzie now set himself; and heentered into communication with the directors of the company and withthe commissioner at Nairobi. 

But it seemed as if the fates would snatch from him all enjoyment of thelaurels he had won, for on their way towards Nairobi, Alec and Dr. Adamson were attacked by blackwater fever. For weeks Alec lay at thepoint of death. His fine constitution seemed to break at last, and hehimself thought that the end was come. Condamine, one of the company'sagents, took command of the party and received Alec's finalinstructions. Alec lay in his camp bed, with his faithful Swahili boy byhis side to brush away the flies, waiting for the end. He would havegiven much to live till all his designs were accomplished, but thatapparently was not to be. There was only one thing that troubled him. Would the government let the splendid gift he offered slip through theirfingers? Now was the time to take formal possession of the territorieswhich he had pacified: the prestige of the whites was at its height, andthere were no difficulties to be surmounted. He impressed uponCondamine, whom he wished to be appointed sub-commissioner under a chiefat Nairobi, the importance of making all this clear to the authorities. The post he suggested would have been pressed upon himself, but he hadno taste for official restrictions, and his part of the work was done. So far as this went, his death was of little consequence. 

And then he thought of Lucy. He wondered if she would understand what hehad done. He could acknowledge now that she had cause to be proud ofhim. She would be sorry for his death. He did not think that she lovedhim, he did not expect it; but he was glad to have loved her, and hewished he could have told her how much the thought of her had been tohim during these years of difficulty. It was very hard that he might notsee her once more in order to thank her for all she had been to him. Shehad given his life a beauty it could never have had, and for this he wasvery grateful. But the secret of George's death would die with him; forWalker was dead, and Adamson, the only man left who could throw lightupon it, might be relied on to hold his tongue. And Alec, losingstrength each day, thought that perhaps it were well if he died. 

But Condamine could not bear to see his chief thus perish. For fouryears that man had led them, and only his companions knew his worth. Tohis acquaintance he might seem hard and unsympathetic, he might repel byhis taciturnity and anger by his sternness; but his comrades knew howeminent were his qualities. It was impossible for anyone to live withhim continually without being conquered by his greatness. If his powerwith the natives was unparalleled, it was because they had taken hismeasure and found him sterling. And he had bound the whites to him byties from which they could not escape. He asked no one to do anythingwhich he was not willing to do himself. If any plan of his failed hetook the failure upon himself; if it succeeded he attributed thesuccess to those who had carried out his orders. If he demanded courageand endurance from others it was easy, since he showed them the way byhis own example to be strong and brave. His honesty, justice, andforbearance made all who came in contact with him ashamed of their ownweakness. They knew the unselfishness which considered the comfort ofthe meanest porter before his own; and his tenderness to those who wereill knew no bounds. 

The Swahilis assumed an unaccustomed silence, and the busy, noisy campwas like a death chamber. When Alec's boy told them that his master greweach day weaker, they went about with tears running down their cheeks, and they would have wailed aloud, but that they knew he must not bedisturbed. It seemed to Condamine that there was but one chance, andthat was to hurry down, with forced marches, to the nearest station. There they would find a medical missionary to look after him and thecomforts of civilisation which in the forest they so woefully lacked. 

Alec was delirious when they moved him. It was fortunate that he couldnot be told of Adamson's death, which had taken place three days before. The good, strong Scotchman had succumbed at last to the African climate;and on this, his third journey, having surmounted all the perils thathad surrounded him for so long, almost on the threshold of home, he hadsunk and died. He was buried at the foot of a great tree, far down sothat the jackals might not find him, and Condamine with a shaking voiceread over him the burial service from an English prayerbook. 

It seemed a miracle that Alec survived the exhaustion of the longtramp. He was jolted along elephant paths that led through dense bush, up stony hills and down again to the beds of dried-up rivers. Each timeCondamine looked at the pale, wan man who lay in the litter, it was witha horrible fear that he would be dead. They began marching beforesunrise, swiftly, to cover as much distance as was possible before thesun grew hot; they marched again towards sunset when a grateful coolnessrefreshed the weary patient. They passed through interminable forests, where the majestic trees sheltered under their foliage a wealth ofgraceful, tender plants: from trunk and branch swung all manner ofcreepers, which bound the forest giants in fantastic bonds. They fordedbroad streams, with exquisite care lest the sick man should come tohurt; they tramped through desolate marshes where the ground sunk undertheir feet. And at last they reached the station. Alec was still alive. 

For weeks the tender skill of the medical missionary and the lovingkindness of his wife wrestled with death, and at length Alec was out ofdanger. His convalescence was very slow, and it looked often as thoughhe would never entirely get back his health. But as soon as his mindregained its old activity, he resumed direction of the affairs whichwere so near his heart; and no sooner was his strength equal to it thanhe insisted on being moved to Nairobi, where he was in touch withcivilisation, and, through the commissioner, could influence a supinegovernment to accept the precious gift he offered. All this took manymonths, months of anxious waiting, months of bitter disappointment; butat length everything was done: the worthy Condamine was given theappointment that Alec had desired and set out once more for theinterior; Great Britain took possession of the broad lands which Alec, by his skill, tact, perseverance and strength, had wrested frombarbarism. His work was finished, and he could return to England. 

Public attention had been called at last to the greatness of hisachievement, to the dangers he had run and the difficulties he hadencountered; and before he sailed, he learned that the papers wereringing with his praise. A batch of cablegrams reached him, includingone from Dick Lomas and one from Robert Boulger, congratulating him onhis success. Two foreign potentates, through their consuls at Mombassa, bestowed decorations upon him; scientific bodies of all countriesconferred on him the distinctions which were in their power to give;chambers of commerce passed resolutions expressing their appreciation ofhis services; publishers telegraphed offers for the book which theysurmised he would write; newspaper correspondents came to him for apreliminary account of his travels. Alec smiled grimly when he read thatan Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs had referred to him in a debatewith honeyed words. No such enthusiasm had been aroused in England sinceStanley returned from the journey which he afterwards described in_Darkest Africa_. When he left Mombassa the residents gave a dinner inhis honour, and everyone who had the chance jumped up on his legs andmade a speech. In short, after many years during which Alec's endeavourshad been coldly regarded, when the government had been inclined to lookupon him as a busybody, the tide turned; and he was in process of beingmade a national hero. 

Alec made up his mind to come home the whole way by sea, thinking thatthe rest of the voyage would give his constitution a chance to get thebetter of the ills which still troubled him; and at Gibraltar hereceived a letter from Dick. One had reached him at Suez; but that wasmainly occupied with congratulations, and there was a tenderness due tothe fear that Alec had hardly yet recovered from his dangerous illness, which made it, though touching to Alec, not so characteristic as thesecond. 

 _My Dear Alec:_

 _I am delighted that you will return in the nick of time for the London season. You will put the noses of the Christian Scientists out of joint, and the New Theologians will argue no more in the columns of the halfpenny papers. For you are going to be the lion of the season. Comb your mane and have it neatly curled and scented, for we do not like our lions unkempt; and learn how to flap your tail; be sure you cultivate a proper roar because we expect to shiver delightfully in our shoes at the sight of you, and young ladies are already practising how to swoon with awe in your presence. We have come to the conclusion that you are a hero, and I, your humble servant, shine already with reflected glory because for twenty years I have had the privilege of your acquaintance. Duchesses, my dear boy, duchesses with strawberry leaves around their snowy brows, (like the French grocer, I make a point of never believing a duchess is more than thirty, ) ask me to tea so that they may hear me prattle of your childhood's happy days, and I have promised to bring you to lunch with them, Tompkinson, whom you once kicked at Eton, has written an article in Blackwood on the beauty of your character; by which I take it that the hardness of your boot has been a lasting, memory to him. All your friends are proud of you, and we go about giving the uninitiated to understand that nothing of all this would have happened except for our encouragement. You will be surprised to learn how many people are anxious to reward you for your services to the empire by asking you to dinner. So far as I am concerned, I am smiling in my sleeve; for I alone know what an exceedingly disagreeable person you are. You are not a hero in the least, but a pig-headed beast who conquers kingdoms to annoy quiet, self-respecting persons like myself who make a point of minding their own business. _

 _Yours ever affectionately, _ _Richard Lomas. _

Alec smiled when he read the letter. It had struck him that there wouldbe some attempt on his return to make a figure of him, and he muchfeared that his arrival in Southampton would be followed by an attack ofinterviewers. He was coming in a slow German ship, and at that moment aP. And O. , homeward bound, put in at Gibraltar. By taking it he couldreach England one day earlier and give everyone who came to meet him theslip. Leaving his heavy luggage, he got a steward to pack up the thingshe used on the journey, and in a couple of hours, after an excursion onshore to the offices of the company, found himself installed on theEnglish boat. 

* * *

But when the great ship entered the English Channel, Alec couldscarcely bear his impatience. It would have astonished those who thoughthim unhuman if they had known the tumultuous emotions that rent hissoul. His fellow-passengers never suspected that the bronzed, silent manwho sought to make no acquaintance, was the explorer with whose name allEurope was ringing; and it never occurred to them that as he stood inthe bow of the ship, straining his eyes for the first sight of England, his heart was so full that he would not have dared to speak. Eachabsence had intensified his love for that sea-girt land, and his eyesfilled with tears of longing as he thought that soon now he would see itonce more. He loved the murky waters of the English Channel because theybathed its shores, and he loved the strong west wind. The west windseemed to him the English wind; it was the trusty wind of seafaring men, and he lifted his face to taste its salt buoyancy. He could not think ofthe white cliffs of England without a deep emotion; and when they passedthe English ships, tramps outward bound or stout brigantines drivingbefore the wind with their spreading sails, he saw the three-deckers ofTrafalgar and the proud galleons of the Elizabethans. He felt a personalpride in those dead adventurers who were spiritual ancestors of his, andhe was proud to be an Englishman because Frobisher and Effingham wereEnglish, and Drake and Raleigh and the glorious Nelson. 

And then his pride in the great empire which had sprung from that smallisland, a greater Rome in a greater world, dissolved into love as hiswandering thoughts took him to green meadows and rippling streams. Nowat last he need no longer keep so tight a rein upon his fancy, butcould allow it to wander at will; and he thought of the green hedgerowsand the pompous elm trees; he thought of the lovely wayside cottageswith their simple flowers and of the winding roads that were so good towalk on. He was breathing the English air now, and his spirit wasuplifted. He loved the grey soft mists of low-lying country, and heloved the smell of the heather as he stalked across the moorland. Therewas no river he knew that equalled the kindly Thames, with the fairtrees of its banks and its quiet backwaters, where white swans gentlymoved amid the waterlilies. His thoughts went to Oxford, with itsspires, bathed in a violet haze, and in imagination he sat in the oldgarden of his college, so carefully tended, so great with memories ofthe past. And he thought of London. There was a subtle beauty in itshurrying crowds, and there was beauty in the thronged traffic of itsriver: the streets had that indefinable hue which is the colour ofLondon, and the sky had the gold and the purple of an Italian brocade. Now in Piccadilly Circus, around the fountain sat the women who soldflowers; and the gaiety of their baskets, rich with roses and daffodilsand tulips, yellow and red, mingled with the sombre tones of the houses, the dingy gaudiness of 'buses and the sunny greyness of the sky. 

At last his thoughts went back to the outward voyage. George Allertonwas with him then, and now he was alone. He had received no letter fromLucy since he wrote to tell her that George was dead. He understood hersilence. But when he thought of George, his heart was bitter againstfate because that young life had been so pitifully wasted. Heremembered so well the eagerness with which he had sought to bindGeorge to him, his desire to gain the boy's affection; and he rememberedthe dismay with which he learned that he was worthless. The frank smile, the open countenance, the engaging eyes, meant nothing; the boy wastruthless, crooked of nature, weak. Alec remembered how, refusing toacknowledge the faults that were so plain, he blamed the difficulty ofhis own nature; and, when it was impossible to overlook them, hisearnest efforts to get the better of them. But the effect of Africa wastoo strong. Alec had seen many men lose their heads under the influenceof that climate. The feeling of an authority that seemed so littlelimited, over a race that was manifestly inferior, the subtle magic ofthe hot sunshine, the vastness, the remoteness from civilisation, werevery apt to throw a man off his balance. The French had coined a namefor the distemper and called it _folie d'Afrique_. Men seemed to go madfrom a sense of power, to lose all the restraints which had kept them inthe way of righteousness. It needed a strong head or a strong moralityto avoid the danger, and George had neither. He succumbed. He lost allsense of shame, and there was no power to hold him. And it was morehopeless because nothing could keep him from drinking. When Macinneryhad been dismissed for breaking Alec's most stringent law, things, notwithstanding George's promise of amendment, had only gone from bad toworse. Alec remembered how he had come back to the camp in which he hadleft George, to find the men mutinous, most of them on the point ofdeserting, and George drunk. He had flown then into such a rage that hecould not control himself. He was ashamed to think of it. He had seizedGeorge by the shoulders and shaken him, shaken him as though he were arat; and it was with difficulty that he prevented himself from thrashinghim with his own hands. 

And at last had come the final madness and the brutal murder. Alec sethis mind to consider once more those hazardous days during which byGeorge's folly they had been on the brink of destruction. George had methis death on that desperate march to the ford, and lacking courage, haddied miserably. Alec threw back his head with a curious movement. 

'I was right in all I did, ' he muttered. 

George deserved to die, and he was unworthy to be lamented. And yet, atthat moment, when he was approaching the shores which George, too, perhaps, had loved, Alec's heart was softened. He sighed deeply. It wasfate. If George had inherited the wealth which he might have counted on, if his father had escaped that cruel end, he might have gone throughlife happily enough. He would have done no differently from his fellows. With the safeguards about him of a civilised state, his irresolutionwould have prevented him from going astray; and he would have been adecent country gentleman--selfish, weak, and insignificant perhaps, butnot remarkably worse than his fellows--and when he died he might havebeen mourned by a loving wife and fond children. 

Now he lay on the borders of an African swamp, unsepulchred, unwept; andAlec had to face Lucy, with the story in his heart that he had sworn onhis honour not to tell. 

XIII

Alec's first visit was to Lucy. No one knew that he had arrived, andafter changing his clothes at the rooms in Pall Mall that he had takenfor the summer, he walked to Charles Street. His heart leaped as hestrolled up the hill of St. James Street, bright by a fortunate chancewith the sunshine of a summer day; and he rejoiced in the gaiety of thewell-dressed youths who sauntered down, bound for one or other of theclubs, taking off their hats with a rapid smile of recognition tocharming women who sat in victorias or in electric cars. There was anair of opulence in the broad street, of a civilisation refined withoutbrutality, which was very grateful to his eyes accustomed for so long tothe wilderness of Africa. 

The gods were favourable to his wishes that day, for Lucy was at home;she sat in the drawing-room, by the window, reading a novel. At her sidewere masses of flowers, and his first glimpse of her was against a greatbowl of roses. The servant announced his name, and she sprang up with acry. She flushed with excitement, and then the blood fled from hercheeks, and she became extraordinarily pale. Alec noticed that she waswhiter and thinner than when last he had seen her; but she was morebeautiful. 

'I didn't expect you so soon, ' she faltered. 

And then unaccountably tears came to her eyes. Falling back into herchair, she hid her face. Her heart began to beat painfully. 

'You must forgive me, ' she said, trying to smile. 'I can't help beingvery silly. '

For days Lucy had lived in an agony of terror, fearing this meeting, andnow it had come upon her unexpectedly. More than four years had passedsince last they had seen one another, and they had been years of anxietyand distress. She was certain that she had changed, and looking withpitiful dread in the glass, she told herself that she was pale and dull. She was nearly thirty. There were lines about her eyes, and her mouthhad a bitter droop. She had no mercy on herself. She would not minimisethe ravages of time, and with a brutal frankness insisted on seeingherself as she might be in ten years, when an increasing leanness, emphasising the lines and increasing the prominence of her features, made her still more haggard. She was seized with utter dismay. He mighthave ceased to love her. His life had been so full, occupied withstrenuous adventures, while hers had been used up in waiting, only inwaiting. It was natural enough that the strength of her passion shouldonly have increased, but it was natural too that his should havevanished before a more urgent preoccupation. And what had she to offerhim now? She turned away from the glass because her tears blurred theimage it presented; and if she looked forward to the first meeting withvehement eagerness, it was also with sickening dread. 

And now she was so troubled that she could not adopt the attitude ofcivil friendliness which she had intended in order to show him that shemade no claim upon him. She wanted to seem quite collected so that herbehaviour should not lead him to think her heart at all affected, butshe could only watch his eyes hungrily. She braced herself to restrain awail of sorrow if she saw his disillusionment. He talked in order togive time for her to master her agitation. 

'I was afraid there would be interviewers and boring people generally tomeet me if I came by the boat by which I was expected, so I got intoanother, and I've arrived a day before my time. '

She was calmer now, and though she did not speak, she looked at him withstrained attention, hanging on his words. 

He was very bronzed, thin after his recent illness, but he looked welland strong. His manner had the noble self-confidence which had delightedher of old, and he spoke with the quiet deliberation she loved. Now andthen a faint inflection betrayed his Scottish birth. 

'I felt that I owed my first visit to you. Can you ever forgive me thatI have not brought George home to you?'

Lucy gave a sudden gasp. And with bitter self-reproach she realised thatin the cruel joy of seeing Alec once more she had forgotten her brother. She was ashamed. It was but eighteen months since he had died, buttwelve since the cruel news had reached her, and now, at this moment ofall others, she was so absorbed in her love that no other feeling couldenter her heart. 

She looked down at her dress. Its half-mourning still betokened that shehad lost one who was very dear to her, but the black and white was amockery. She remembered in a flash the stunning grief which Alec'sletter had brought her. It seemed at first that there must be a mistakeand that her tears were but part of a hateful dream. It was toomonstrously unjust that the fates should have hit upon George. She hadalready suffered too much. And George was so young. It was very hardthat a mere boy should be robbed of the precious jewel which is life. And when she realised that it was really true, her grief knew no bounds. All that she had hoped was come to nought, and now she could onlydespair. She bitterly regretted that she had ever allowed the boy to goon that fatal expedition, and she blamed herself because it was she whohad arranged it. He must have died accusing her of his death. Her fatherwas dead, and George was dead, and she was alone. Now she had only Alec;and then, like some poor stricken beast, her heart went out to him, crying for love, crying for protection. All her strength, the strengthon which she had prided herself, was gone; and she felt utterly weak andutterly helpless. And her heart yearned for Alec, and the love which hadhitherto been like a strong enduring light, now was a consuming fire. 

But Alec's words brought the recollection of George back to herreproachful heart, and she saw the boy as she was always pleased toremember him, in his flannels, the open shirt displaying his fine whiteneck, with the Panama hat that suited him so well; and she saw again hispleasant blue eyes and his engaging smile. He was a picture of honestEnglish manhood. There was a sob in her throat, and her voice trembledwhen she spoke. 

'I told you that if he died a brave man's death I could ask no more. '

She spoke in so low a tone that Alec could scarcely hear, but his pulsethrobbed with pride at her courage. She went on, almost in a whisper. 

'I suppose it was predestined that our family should come to an end inthis way. I'm thankful that George so died that his ancestors need havefelt no shame for him. '

'You are very brave. '

She shook her head slowly. 

'No, it's not courage; it's despair. Sometimes, when I think what hisfather was, I'm thankful that George is dead. For at least his end washeroic. He died in a noble cause, in the performance of his duty. Lifewould have been too hard for him to allow me to regret his end. '

Alec watched her. He foresaw the words that she would say, and he waitedfor them. 

'I want to thank you for all you did for him, ' she said, steadying hervoice. 

'You need not do that, ' he answered, gravely. 

She was silent for a moment. Then she raised her eyes and looked at himsteadily. Her voice now had regained its usual calmness. 

'I want you to tell me that he did all I could have wished him to do. '

To Alec it seemed that she must notice the delay of his answer. He hadnot expected that the question would be put to him so abruptly. He hadno moral scruples about telling a deliberate lie, but it affected himwith a physical distaste. It sickened him like nauseous water. 

'Yes, I think he did. '

'It's my only consolation that in the short time there was given to him, he did nothing that was small or mean, and that in everything he washonourable, upright, and just dealing. '

'Yes, he was all that. '

'And in his death?'

It seemed to Alec that something caught at his throat. The ordeal wasmore terrible than he expected. 

'In his death he was without fear. '

Lucy drew a deep breath of relief. 

'Oh, thank God! Thank God! You don't know how much it means to me tohear all that from your own lips. I feel that in a manner his courage, above all his death, have redeemed my father's fault. It shows thatwe're not rotten to the core, and it gives me back my self-respect. Ifeel I can look the world in the face once more. I'm infinitely gratefulto George. He's repaid me ten thousand times for all my love, and mycare, and my anxiety. '

'I'm very glad that it is not only grief I have brought you. I wasafraid you would hate me. '

Lucy blushed, and there was a new light in her eyes. It seemed that on asudden she had cast away the load of her unhappiness. 

'No, I could never do that. '

At that moment they heard the sound of a carriage stopping at the door. 

'There's Aunt Alice, ' said Lucy. 'She's been lunching out. '

'Then let me go, ' said Alec. 'You must forgive me, but I feel that Iwant to see no one else to-day. '

He rose, and she gave him her hand. He held it firmly. 

'You haven't changed?'

'Don't, ' she cried. 

She looked away, for once more the tears were coming to her eyes. Shetried to laugh. 

'I'm frightfully weak and emotional now. You'll utterly despise me. '

'I want to see you again very soon, ' he said. 

The words of Ruth came to her mind: _Why have I found grace in thineeyes, that thou shouldst take knowledge of me_, and her heart was veryfull. She smiled in her old charming way. 

When he was gone she drew a long breath. It seemed that a new joy wascome into her life, and on a sudden she felt a keen pleasure in all thebeauty of the world. She turned to the great bowl of flowers which stoodon a table by the chair in which she had been sitting, and burying herface in them, voluptuously inhaled their fragrance. She knew that heloved her still. 

XIV

The fickle English weather for once belied its reputation, and the wholemonth of May was warm and fine. It seemed that the springtime broughtback Lucy's youth to her; and, surrendering herself with all her heartto her new happiness, she took a girlish pleasure in the gaieties of theseason. Alec had said nothing yet, but she was assured of his love, andshe gave herself up to him with all the tender strength of her nature. She was a little overwhelmed at the importance which he seemed to haveacquired, but she was very proud as well. The great ones of the earthwere eager to do him honour. Papers were full of his praise. And itdelighted her because he came to her for protection from lionisingfriends. She began to go out much more; and with Alec, Dick Lomas, andMrs. Crowley, went much to the opera and often to the play. They hadcharming little dinner parties at the _Carlton_ and amusing suppers atthe _Savoy_. Alec did not speak much on these occasions. It pleased himto sit by and listen, with a placid face but smiling eyes, to thenonsense that Dick Lomas and the pretty American talked incessantly. AndLucy watched him. Every day she found something new to interest her inthe strong, sunburned face; and sometimes their eyes met: then theysmiled quietly. They were very happy. 

* * *

One evening Dick asked the others to sup with him; and since Alec had apublic dinner to attend, and Lucy was going to the play with LadyKelsey, he took Julia Crowley to the opera. To make an even number heinvited Robert Boulger to join them at the _Savoy_. After brushing hishair with the scrupulous thought his thinning locks compelled, Dickwaited in the vestibule for Mrs. Crowley. Presently she came, lookingvery pretty in a gown of flowered brocade which made her vaguelyresemble a shepherdess in an old French picture. With her diamondnecklace and a tiara in her dark hair, she looked like a dainty princessplaying fantastically at the simple life. 

'I think people are too stupid, ' she broke out, as she joined Dick. 'I've just met a woman who said to me: "Oh, I hear you're going toAmerica. Do go and call on my sister. She'll be so glad to see you. " "Ishall be delighted, " I said, "but where does your sister live?""Jonesville, Ohio, " "Good heavens, " I said, "I live in New York, andwhat should I be doing in Jonesville, Ohio?"'

'Keep perfectly calm, ' said Dick. 

'I shall not keep calm, ' she answered. 'I hate to be obviously thoughtnext door to a red Indian by a woman who's slab-sided andround-shouldered. And I'm sure she has dirty petticoats. '

'Why?'

'English women do. '

'What a monstrous libel!' cried Dick. 

At that moment they saw Lady Kelsey come in with Lucy, and a momentlater Alec and Robert Boulger joined them. They went in to supper andsat down. 

'I hate Amelia, ' said Mrs. Crowley emphatically, as she laid her longwhite gloves by the side of her. 

'I deplore the prejudice with which you regard a very jolly sort of agirl, ' answered Dick. 

'Amelia has everything that I thoroughly object to in a woman. She hasno figure, and her legs are much too long, and she doesn't wear corsets. In the daytime she has a weakness for picture hats, and she can't sayboo to a goose. '

'Who is Amelia?' asked Boulger. 

'Amelia is Mr. Lomas' affianced wife, ' answered the lady, with aprovoking glance at him. 

'I didn't know you were going to be married, Dick, ' said Lady Kelsey, inclined to be a little hurt because nothing had been said to her ofthis. 

'I'm not, ' he answered. 'And I've never set eyes on Amelia yet. She isan imaginary character that Mrs. Crowley has invented as the sort ofwoman whom I would marry. '

'I know Amelia, ' Mrs. Crowley went on. 'She wears quantities of falsehair, and she'll adore you. She's so meek and so quiet, and she thinksyou such a marvel. But don't ask me to be nice to Amelia. '

'My dear lady, Amelia wouldn't approve of you. She'd think you much toooutspoken, and she wouldn't like your American accent. You must neverforget that Amelia is the granddaughter of a baronet. '

'I shall hold her up to Fleming as an awful warning of the woman whom Iwon't let him marry at any price. "If you marry a woman like that, Fleming, " I shall say to him, "I shan't leave you a penny. It shall allgo the University of Pennsylvania. "'

'If ever it is my good fortune to meet Fleming, I shall have greatpleasure in kicking him hard, ' said Dick. 'I think he's a mostobjectionable little beast. '

'How can you be so absurd? Why, my dear Mr. Lomas, Fleming could takeyou up in one hand and throw you over a ten-foot wall. '

'Fleming must be a sportsman, ' said Bobbie, who did not in the leastknow whom they were talking about. 

'He is, ' answered Mrs. Crowley. 'He's been used to the saddle since hewas three years old, and I've never seen the fence that would make himlift a hair. And he's the best swimmer at Harvard, and he's a wonderfulshot--I wish you could see him shoot, Mr. MacKenzie--and he's a dear. '

'Fleming's a prig, ' said Dick. 

'I'm afraid you're too old for Fleming, ' said Mrs. Crowley, looking atLucy. 'If it weren't for that, I'd make him marry you. '

'Is Fleming your brother, Mrs. Crowley?' asked Lady Kelsey. 

'No, Fleming's my son. '

'But you haven't got a son, ' retorted the elder lady, much mystified. 

'No, I know I haven't; but Fleming would have been my son if I'd hadone. '

'You mustn't mind them, Aunt Alice, ' smiled Lucy gaily. 'They argue bythe hour about Amelia and Fleming, and neither of them exists; butsometimes they go into such details and grow so excited that I reallybegin to believe in them myself. '

But Mrs. Crowley, though she appeared a light-hearted and thoughtlesslittle person, had much common sense; and when their party was ended andshe was giving Dick a lift in her carriage, she showed that, notwithstanding her incessant chatter, her eyes throughout the eveninghad been well occupied. 

'Did you owe Bobbie a grudge that you asked him to supper?' she askedsuddenly. 

'Good heavens, no. Why?'

'I hope Fleming won't be such a donkey as you are when he's your age. '

'I'm sure Amelia will be much more polite than you to the amiable, middle-aged gentleman who has the good fortune to be her husband. '

'You might have noticed that the poor boy was eating his heart out withjealousy and mortification, and Lucy was too much absorbed in Alec topay the very smallest attention to him. '

'What are you talking about?'

Mrs. Crowley gave him a glance of amused disdain. 

'Haven't you noticed that Lucy is desperately in love with Mr. MacKenzie, and it doesn't move her in the least that poor Bobbie hasfetched and carried for her for ten years, done everything she deignedto ask, and been generally nice and devoted and charming?'

'You amaze me, ' said Dick. 'It never struck me that Lucy was the kind ofgirl to fall in love with anyone. Poor thing. I'm so sorry. '

'Why?'

'Because Alec wouldn't dream of marrying. He's not that sort of man. '

'Nonsense. Every man is a marrying man if a woman really makes up hermind to it. '

'Don't say that. You terrify me. '

'You need not be in the least alarmed, ' answered Mrs. Crowley, coolly, 'because I shall refuse you. '

'It's very kind of you to reassure me, ' he answered, smiling. 'But allthe same I don't think I'll risk a proposal. '

'My dear friend, your only safety is in immediate flight. '

'Why?'

'It must be obvious to the meanest intelligence that you've been on theverge of proposing to me for the last four years. '

'Nothing will induce me to be false to Amelia. '

'I don't believe that Amelia really loves you. '

'I never said she did; but I'm sure she's quite willing to marry me. '

'I think that's detestably vain. '

'Not at all. However old, ugly, and generally undesirable a man is, he'll find a heap of charming girls who are willing to marry him. Marriage is still the only decent means of livelihood for a really nicewoman. '

'Don't let's talk about Amelia; let's talk about me, ' said Mrs. Crowley. 

'I don't think you're half so interesting. '

'Then you'd better take Amelia to the play to-morrow night instead ofme. '

'I'm afraid she's already engaged. '

'Nothing will induce me to play second fiddle to Amelia. '

'I've taken the seats and ordered an exquisite dinner at the _Carlton_. '

'What have you ordered?'

'_Potage bisque. _'

Mrs. Crowley made a little face. 

'_Sole Normande. _'

She shrugged her shoulders. 

'Wild duck. '

'With an orange salad?'

'Yes. '

'I don't positively dislike that. '

'And I've ordered a _souffle_ with an ice in the middle of it. '

'I shan't come. '

'Why?'

'You're not being really nice to me. '

'I shouldn't have thought you kept very well abreast of dramatic art ifyou insist on marrying everyone who takes you to a theatre, ' he said. 

'I was very nicely brought up, ' she answered demurely, as the carriagestopped at Dick's door. 

She gave him a ravishing smile as he took leave of her. She knew that hewas quite prepared to marry her, and she had come to the conclusion thatshe was willing to have him. Neither much wished to hurry the affair, and each was determined that he would only yield to save the other froma fancied desperation. Their love-making was pursued with a light heart. 

* * *

At Whitsuntide the friends separated. Alec went up to Scotland to seehis house and proposed afterwards to spend a week in Lancashire. He hadalways taken a keen interest in the colliery which brought him so largean income, and he wanted to examine into certain matters that requiredhis attention. Mrs. Crowley went to Blackstable, where she still hadCourt Leys, and Dick, in order to satisfy himself that he was not reallya day older, set out for Paris. But they all arranged to meet again onthe day, immediately after the holidays, which Lady Kelsey, havingpersuaded Lucy definitely to renounce her life of comparativeretirement, had fixed for a dance. It was the first ball she had givenfor many years, and she meant it to be brilliant. Lady Kelsey had anamiable weakness for good society, and Alec's presence would add lustreto the occasion. Meanwhile she went with Lucy to her little place on theriver, and did not return till two days before the party. They werespent in a turmoil of agitation. Lady Kelsey passed sleepless nights, fearing at one moment that not a soul would appear, and at another thatpeople would come in such numbers that there would not be enough forthem to eat. The day arrived. 

But then happened an event which none but Alec could in the least haveexpected; and he, since his return from Africa, had been so taken upwith his love for Lucy, that the possibility of it had slipped hismemory. 

Fergus Macinnery, the man whom three years before he had dismissedignominiously from his service, found a way to pay off an old score. 

Of the people most nearly concerned in the matter, it was Lady Kelseywho had first news of it. The morning papers were brought into her_boudoir_ with her breakfast, and as she poured out her coffee, she ranher eyes lazily down the paragraphs of the _Morning Post_ in which areannounced the comings and goings of society. Then she turned to the_Daily Mail_. Her attention was suddenly arrested. Staring at her, inthe most prominent part of the page, was a column of printed matterheaded: _The Death of Mr. George Allerton_. It was a letter, a columnlong, signed by Fergus Macinnery. Lady Kelsey read it with amazement anddismay. At first she could not follow it, and she read it again; now itssense was clear to her, and she was overcome with horror. In set words, mincing no terms, it accused Alec MacKenzie of sending George Allertonto his death in order to save himself. The words treachery and cowardicewere used boldly. The dates were given, and the testimony of natives wasadduced. 

The letter adverted with scathing sarcasm to the rewards andcongratulations which had fallen to MacKenzie as a result of hislabours; and ended with a challenge to him to bring an action forcriminal libel against the writer. At first the whole thing seemedmonstrous to Lady Kelsey, it was shameful, shameful; but in a moment shefound there was a leading article on the subject, and then she did notknow what to believe. It referred to the letter in no measured terms:the writer observed that _prima facie_ the case was very strong andcalled upon Alec to reply without delay. Big words were used, and therewas much talk of a national scandal. An instant refutation was demanded. Lady Kelsey did not know what on earth to do, and her thoughts flew tothe dance, the success of which would certainly be imperilled by theserevelations. She must have help at once. This business, if it concernedthe world in general, certainly concerned Lucy more than anyone. Ringingfor her maid, she told her to get Dick Lomas on the telephone and askhim to come at once. While she was waiting, she heard Lucy comedownstairs and knew that she meant to wish her good-morning. She hid thepaper hurriedly. 

When Lucy came in and kissed her, she said:

'What is the news this morning?'

'I don't think there is any, ' said Lady Kelsey, uneasily. 'Only the_Post_ has come; we shall really have to change our newsagent. '

She waited with beating heart for Lucy to pursue the subject, butnaturally enough the younger woman did not trouble herself. She talkedto her aunt of the preparations for the party that evening, and then, saying that she had much to do, left her. She had no sooner gone thanLady Kelsey's maid came back to say that Lomas was out of town and notexpected back till the evening. Distractedly Lady Kelsey sent messagesto her nephew and to Mrs. Crowley. She still looked upon Bobbie asLucy's future husband, and the little American was Lucy's greatestfriend. They were both found. Boulger had gone down as usual to thecity, but in consideration of Lady Kelsey's urgent request, set out atonce to see her. 

He had changed little during the last four years, and had still a boyishlook on his round, honest face. To Mrs. Crowley he seemed always anembodiment of British philistinism; and if she liked him for hisdevotion to Lucy, she laughed at him for his stolidity. When he arrived, Mrs. Crowley was already with Lady Kelsey. She had known nothing of theterrible letter, and Lady Kelsey, thinking that perhaps it had escapedhim too, went up to him with the _Daily Mail_ in her hand. 

'Have you seen the paper, Bobbie?' she asked excitedly. 'What on earthare we to do?'

He nodded. 

'What does Lucy say?' he asked. 

'Oh, I've not let her see it. I told a horrid fib and said the newsagenthad forgotten to leave it. '

'But she must know, ' he answered gravely. 

'Not to-day, ' protested Lady Kelsey. 'Oh, it's too dreadful that thisshould happen to-day of all days. Why couldn't they wait till to-morrow?After all Lucy's troubles it seemed as if a little happiness was comingback into her life, and now this dreadful thing happens. '

'What are you going to do?' asked Bobbie. 

'What can I do?' said Lady Kelsey desperately. 'I can't put the danceoff. I wish I had the courage to write and ask Mr. MacKenzie not tocome. '

Bobbie made a slight gesture of impatience. It irritated him that hisaunt should harp continually on the subject of this wretched dance. Butfor all that he tried to reassure her. 

'I don't think you need be afraid of MacKenzie. He'll never venture toshow his face. '

'You don't mean to say you think there's any truth in the letter?'exclaimed Mrs. Crowley. 

He turned and faced her. 

'I've never read anything more convincing in my life. '

Mrs. Crowley looked at him, and he returned her glance steadily. 

Of those three it was only Lady Kelsey who did not know that Lucy wasdeeply in love with Alec MacKenzie. 

'Perhaps you're inclined to be unjust to him, ' said Mrs. Crowley. 

'We shall see if he has any answer to make, ' he answered coldly. 'Theevening papers are sure to get something out of him. The city is ringingwith the story, and he must say something at once. '

'It's quite impossible that there should be anything in it, ' said Mrs. Crowley. 'We all know the circumstances under which George went out withhim. It's inconceivable that he should have sacrificed him as callouslyas this man's letter makes out. '

'We shall see. '

'You never liked him, Bobbie, ' said Lady Kelsey. 

'I didn't, ' he answered briefly. 

'I wish I'd never thought of giving this horrid dance, ' she moaned. 

Presently, however, they succeeded in calming Lady Kelsey. Though boththought it unwise, they deferred to her wish that everything should behidden from Lucy till the morrow. Dick Lomas was arriving from Paristhat evening, and it would be possible then to take his advice. When atlast Mrs. Crowley left the elder woman to her own devices, her thoughtswent to Alec. She wondered where he was, and if he already knew that hisname was more prominently than ever before the public. 

* * *

MacKenzie was travelling down from Lancashire. He was not a man whohabitually read papers, and it was in fact only by chance that he saw acopy of the _Daily Mail_. A fellow traveller had with him a number ofpapers, and offered one of them to Alec. He took it out of merepoliteness. His thoughts were otherwise occupied, and he scanned itcarelessly. Suddenly he saw the heading which had attracted LadyKelsey's attention. He read the letter, and he read the leading article. No one who watched him could have guessed that what he read concernedhim so nearly. His face remained impassive. Then, letting the paper fallto the ground, he began to think. Presently he turned to the amiablestranger who had given him the paper, and asked him if he had seen theletter. 

'Awful thing, isn't it?' the man said. 

Alec fixed upon him his dark, firm eyes. The man seemed an average sortof person, not without intelligence. 

'What do you think of it?'

'Pity, ' he said. 'I thought MacKenzie was a great man. I don't know whathe can do now but shoot himself. '

'Do you think there's any truth in it?'

'The letter's perfectly damning. '

Alec did not answer. In order to break off the conversation he got upand walked into the corridor. He lit a cigar and watched the greenfields that fled past them. For two hours he stood motionless. At lasthe took his seat again, with a shrug of the shoulders, and a scornfulsmile on his lips. 

The stranger was asleep, with his head thrown back and his mouthslightly open. Alec wondered whether his opinion of the affair would bethat of the majority. He thought Alec should shoot himself?

'I can see myself doing it, ' Alec muttered. 

XV

A few hours later Lady Kelsey's dance was in full swing, and to allappearances it was a great success. Many people were there, and everyoneseemed to enjoy himself. On the surface, at all events, there wasnothing to show that anything had occurred to disturb the evening'spleasure, and for most of the party the letter in the _Daily Mail_ wasno more than a welcome topic of conversation. 

Presently Canon Spratte went into the smoking-room. He had on his arm, as was his amiable habit, the prettiest girl at the dance, Grace Vizard, a niece of that Lady Vizard who was a pattern of all the proprieties anda devout member of the Church of Rome. He found that Mrs. Crowley andRobert Boulger were already sitting there, and he greeted themcourteously. 

'I really must have a cigarette, ' he said, going up to the table onwhich were all the necessary things for refreshment. 

'If you press me dreadfully I'll have one, too, ' said Mrs. Crowley, witha flash of her beautiful teeth. 

'Don't press her, ' said Bobbie. 'She's had six already, and in a momentshe'll be seriously unwell. '

'Well, I'll forego the pressing, but not the cigarette. '

Canon Spratte gallantly handed her the box, and gave her a light. 

'It's against all my principles, you know, ' he smiled. 

'What is the use of principles except to give one an agreeablesensation of wickedness when one doesn't act up to them?'

The words were hardly out of her mouth when Dick and Lady Kelseyappeared. 

'Dear Mrs. Crowley, you're as epigrammatic as a dramatist, ' heexclaimed. 'Do you say such things from choice or necessity?'

He had arrived late, and this was the first time she had seen him sincethey had all gone their ways before Whitsun. He mixed himself a whiskyand soda. 

'After all, is there anything you know so thoroughly insufferable as aball?' he said, reflectively, as he sipped it with great content. 

'Nothing, if you ask me pointblank, ' said Lady Kelsey, smiling withrelief because he took so flippantly the news she had lately poured intohis ear. 'But it's excessively rude of you to say so. '

'I don't mind yours, Lady Kelsey, because I can smoke as much as Iplease, and keep away from the sex which is technically known as fair. '

Mrs. Crowley felt the remark was directed to her. 

'I'm sure you think us a vastly overrated institution, Mr. Lomas, ' shemurmured. 

'I venture to think the world was not created merely to give women anopportunity to wear Paris frocks. '

'I'm rather pleased to hear you say that. '

'Why?' asked Dick, on his guard. 

'We're all so dreadfully tired of being goddesses. For centuries foolishmen have set us up on a pedestal and vowed they were unworthy to touchthe hem of our garments. And it _is_ so dull. '

'What a clever woman you are, Mrs. Crowley. You always say what youdon't mean. '

'You're really very rude. '

'Now that impropriety is out of fashion, rudeness is the only short cutto a reputation for wit. '

Canon Spratte did not like Dick. He thought he talked too much. It wasfortunately easy to change the conversation. 

'Unlike Mr. Lomas, I thoroughly enjoy a dance, ' he said, turning to LadyKelsey. 'My tastes are ingenuous, and I can only hope you've enjoyedyour evening as much as your guests. '

'I?' cried Lady Kelsey. 'I've been suffering agonies. ' They all knew towhat she referred, and the remark gave Boulger an opportunity to speakto Dick Lomas. 

'I suppose you saw the _Mail_ this morning?' he asked. 

'I never read the papers except in August, ' answered Dick drily. 

'When there's nothing in them?' asked Mrs. Crowley. 

'Pardon me, I am an eager student of the sea-serpent and of the giantgooseberry. '

'I should like to kick that man, ' said Bobbie, indignantly. 

Dick smiled. 

'My dear chap, Alec is a hardy Scot and bigger than you; I reallyshouldn't advise you to try. '

'Of course you've heard all about this business?' said Canon Spratte. 

'I've only just arrived from Paris. I knew nothing of it till LadyKelsey told me. '

'What do you think?'

'I don't think at all; I _know_ there's not a word of truth in it. SinceAlec arrived at Mombassa, he's been acclaimed by everyone, private andpublic, who had any right to an opinion. Of course it couldn't last. There was bound to be a reaction. '

'Do you know anything of this man Macinnery?' asked Boulger. 

'It so happens that I do. Alec found him half starving at Mombassa, andtook him solely out of charity. But he was a worthless rascal and had tobe sent back. '

'He seems to me to give ample proof for every word he says, ' retortedBobbie. 

Dick shrugged his shoulders scornfully. 

'As I've already explained to Lady Kelsey, whenever an explorer comeshome there's someone to tell nasty stories about him. People forget thatkid gloves are not much use in a tropical forest, and they grow veryindignant when they hear that a man has used a little brute force tomake himself respected. '

'All that's beside the point, ' said Boulger, impatiently. 'MacKenziesent poor George into a confounded trap to save his own dirty skin. '

'Poor Lucy!' moaned Lady Kelsey. 'First her father died.... '

'You're not going to count that as an overwhelming misfortune?' Dickinterrupted. 'We were unanimous in describing that gentleman's demise asan uncommon happy release. '

'I was engaged to dine with him this evening, ' said Bobbie, pursuing hisown bitter reflections. 'I wired to say I had a headache and couldn'tcome. '

'What will he think if he sees you here?' cried Lady Kelsey. 

'He can think what he likes. '

Canon Spratte felt that it was needful now to put in the decisive wordwhich he always expected from himself. He rubbed his hands blandly. 

'In this matter I must say I agree entirely with our friend Bobbie. Iread the letter with the utmost care, and I could see no loophole ofescape. Until Mr. MacKenzie gives a definite answer I can hardly helplooking upon him as nothing less than a murderer. In these things I feelthat one should have the courage of one's opinions. I saw him inPiccadilly this evening, and I cut him dead. Nothing will induce me toshake hands with a man on whom rests so serious an accusation. '

'I hope to goodness he doesn't come, ' said Lady Kelsey. 

Canon Spratte looked at his watch and gave her a reassuring smile. 

'I think you may feel quite safe. It's really growing very late. '

'You say that Lucy doesn't know anything about this?' asked Dick. 

'No, ' said Lady Kelsey. 'I wanted to give her this evening's enjoymentunalloyed. '

Dick shrugged his shoulders again. He did not understand how Lady Kelseyexpected no suggestion to reach Lucy of a matter which seemed a commontopic of conversation. The pause which followed Lady Kelsey's words wasnot broken when Lucy herself appeared. She was accompanied by a spruceyoung man, to whom she turned with a smile. 

'I thought we should find your partner here. '

He went to Grace Vizard, and claiming her for the dance that was aboutto begin, took her away. Lucy went up to Lady Kelsey and leaned over thechair in which she sat. 

'Are you growing very tired, my aunt?' she asked kindly. 

'I can rest myself till supper time. I don't think anyone else will comenow. '

'Have you forgotten Mr. MacKenzie?'

Lady Kelsey looked up quickly, but did not reply. Lucy put her handgently on her aunt's shoulder. 

'My dear, it was charming of you to hide the paper from me this morning. But it wasn't very wise. '

'Did you see that letter?' cried Lady Kelsey. 'I so wanted you not totill to-morrow. '

'Mr. MacKenzie very rightly thought I should know at once what was saidabout him and my brother. He sent me the paper himself this evening. '

'Did he write to you?' asked Dick. 

'No, he merely scribbled on a card: _I think you should read this_. '

No one answered. Lucy turned and faced them; her cheeks were pale, butshe was very calm. She looked gravely at Robert Boulger, waiting for himto say what she knew was in his mind, so that she might express at onceher utter disbelief in the charges that were brought against Alec. Buthe did not speak, and she was obliged to utter her defiant words withoutprovocation. 

'He thought it unnecessary to assure me that he hadn't betrayed thetrust I put in him. '

'Do you mean to say the letter left any doubt in your mind?' saidBoulger. 

'Why on earth should I believe the unsupported words of a subordinatewho was dismissed for misbehaviour?'

'For my part, I can only say that I never read anything more convincingin my life. '

'I could hardly believe him guilty of such a crime if he confessed itwith his own lips. '

Bobbie shrugged his shoulders. It was only with difficulty that he heldback the cruel words that were on his lips. But as if Lucy read histhoughts, her cheeks flushed. 

'I think it's infamous that you should all be ready to believe theworst, ' she said hotly, in a low voice that trembled with indignantanger. 'You're all of you so petty, so mean, that you welcome the chanceof spattering with mud a man who is so infinitely above you. You've notgiven him a chance to defend himself. '

Bobbie turned very pale. Lucy had never spoken to him in such a waybefore, and wrath flamed up in his heart, wrath mixed with hopelesslove. He paused for a moment to command himself. 

'You don't know apparently that interviewers went to him from theevening papers, and he refused to speak. '

'He has never consented to be interviewed. Why should you expect him nowto break his rule?'

Bobbie was about to answer, when a sudden look of dismay on LadyKelsey's face stopped him. He turned round and saw MacKenzie standing atthe door. He came forward with a smile, holding out his hand, andaddressed himself to Lady Kelsey. 

'I thought I should find you here, ' he said. 

He was perfectly collected. He glanced around the room with a smile ofquiet amusement. A certain embarrassment seized the little party, andLady Kelsey, at she shook hands with him, was at a loss for words. 

'How do you do?' she faltered. 'We've just been talking of you. '

'Really?'

The twinkle in his eyes caused her to lose the remainder of herself-possession, and she turned scarlet. 

'It's so late, we were afraid you wouldn't come. I should have beendreadfully disappointed. '

'It's very kind of you to say so. I've been at the _Travellers_, readingvarious appreciations of my character. '

A hurried look of alarm crossed Lady Kelsey's good-tempered face. 

'Oh, I heard there was something about you in the papers, ' she answered. 

'There's a good deal. I really had no idea the world was so interestedin me. '

'It's charming of you to come here to-night, ' the good lady smiled, beginning to feel more at ease. 'I'm sure you hate dances. '

'Oh, no, they interest me enormously. I remember, an African king oncegave a dance in my honour. Four thousand warriors in war-paint. I assureyou it was a most impressive sight. '

'My dear fellow, ' Dick chuckled, 'if paint is the attraction, you reallyneed not go much further than Mayfair. '

The scene amused him. He was deeply interested in Alec's attitude, forhe knew him well enough to be convinced that his discreet gaiety wasentirely assumed. It was impossible to tell by it what course he meantto adopt; and at the same time there was about him a greaterunapproachableness, which warned all and sundry that it would be wiserto attempt no advance. But for his own part he did not care; he meant tohave a word with Alec at the first opportunity. 

Alec's quiet eyes now rested on Robert Boulger. 

'Ah, there's my little friend Bobbikins. I thought you had a headache?'

Lady Kelsey remembered her nephew's broken engagement and interposedquickly. 

'I'm afraid Bobbie is dreadfully dissipated. He's not looking at allwell. '

'You shouldn't keep such late hours, ' said Alec, good-humouredly. 'Atyour age one needs one's beauty sleep. '

'It's very kind of you to take an interest in me, ' said Boulger, flushing with annoyance. 'My headache has passed off. '

'I'm very glad. What do you use--phenacetin?'

'It went away of its own accord after dinner, ' returned Bobbie frigidly, conscious that he was being laughed at, but unable to extricate himself. 

'So you resolved to give the girls a treat by coming to Lady Kelsey'sdance? How nice of you not to disappoint them!'

Alec turned to Lucy, and they looked into one another's eyes. 

'I sent you a paper this evening, ' he said gravely. 

'It was very good of you. '

There was a silence. All who were present felt that the moment wasimpressive, and it needed Canon Spratte's determination to allow nonebut himself to monopolise attention, to bring to an end a situationwhich might have proved awkward. He came forward and offered his arm toLucy. 

'I think this is my dance. May I take you in?'

He was trying to repeat the direct cut which he had given Alec earlierin the day. Alec looked at him. 

'I saw you in Piccadilly this evening. You were dashing about like ayoung gazelle. '

'I didn't see you, ' said the Canon, frigidly. 

'I observed that you were deeply engrossed in the shop windows as Ipassed. How are you?'

He held out his hand. For a moment the Canon hesitated to take it, butAlec's gaze compelled him. 

'How do you do?' he said. 

He felt, rather than heard, Dick's chuckle, and reddening, offered hisarm to Lucy. 

'Won't you come, Mr. MacKenzie?' said Lady Kelsey, making the best ofher difficulty. 

'If you don't mind, I'll stay and smoke a cigarette with Dick Lomas. Youknow, I'm not a dancing man. '

It seemed that Alec was giving Dick the opportunity he sought, and assoon as they found themselves alone, the sprightly little man attackedhim. 

'I suppose you know we were all beseeching Providence you'd have thegrace to stay away to-night?' he said. 

'I confess that I suspected it, ' smiled Alec. 'I shouldn't have come, only I wanted to see Miss Allerton. '

'This fellow Macinnery proposes to make things rather uncomfortable, Iimagine. '

'I made a mistake, didn't I?' said Alec, with a thin smile. 'I shouldhave dropped him in the river when I had no further use for him. '

'What are you going to do?'

'Nothing. '

Dick stared at him. 

'Do you mean to say you're going to sit still and let them throw mud atyou?'

'If they want to. '

'But look here, Alec, what the deuce is the meaning of the whole thing?'

Alec looked at him quietly. 

'If I had intended to take the world in general into my confidence, Iwouldn't have refused to see the interviewers who came to me thisevening. '

'We've known one another for twenty years, Alec, ' said Dick. 

'Then you may be quite sure that if I refuse to discuss this matter withyou, it must be for excellent reasons. '

Dick sprang up excitedly. 

'But, good God! you must explain. You can't let a charge like this reston you. After all, it's not Tom, Dick, or Harry that's concerned; it'sLucy's brother. You must speak. '

'I've never yet discovered that I must do anything that I don't choose, 'answered Alec. 

Dick flung himself into a chair. He knew that when Alec spoke in thatfashion no power on earth could move him. The whole thing was entirelyunexpected, and he was at a loss for words. He had not read the letterwhich was causing all the bother, and knew only what Lady Kelsey hadtold him. He had some hope that on a close examination various thingswould appear which must explain Alec's attitude; but at present it wasincomprehensible. 

'Has it occurred to you that Lucy is very much in love with you, Alec?'he said at last. 

Alec did not answer. He made no movement. 

'What will you do if this loses you her love?'

'I have counted the cost, ' said Alec, coldly. 

He got up from his chair, and Dick saw that he did not wish to continuethe discussion. There was a moment of silence, and then Lucy came in. 

'I've given my partner away to a wall-flower, ' she said, with a faintsmile. 'I felt I must have a few words alone with you. '

'I will make myself scarce, ' said Dick. 

They waited till he was gone. Then Lucy turned feverishly to Alec. 

'Oh, I'm so glad you've come. I wanted so much to see you. '

'I'm afraid people have been telling you horrible things about me. '

'They wanted to hide it from me. '

'It never occurred to me that people _could_ say such shameful things, 'he said gravely. 

It tormented him a little because it had been so easy to care nothingfor the world's adulation, and it was so hard to care as little for itscensure. He felt very bitter. 

He took Lucy's hand and made her sit on the sofa by his side. 

'There's something I must tell you at once. '

She looked at him without answering. 

'I've made up my mind to give no answer to the charges that are broughtagainst me. '

Lucy looked up quickly, and their eyes met. 

'I give you my word of honour that I've done nothing which I regret. Iswear to you that what I did was right with regard to George, and if itwere all to come again I would do exactly as I did before. '

She did not answer for a long time. 

'I never doubted you for a single moment, ' she said at last. 

'That is all I care about. ' He looked down, and there was a certainshyness in his voice when he spoke again. 'To-day is the first time I'vewanted to be assured that I was trusted; and yet I'm ashamed to wantit. '

'Don't be too hard upon yourself, ' she said gently. 'You're so afraid ofletting your tenderness appear. '

He seemed to give earnest thought to what she said. Lucy had never seenhim more grave. 

'The only way to be strong is _never_ to surrender to one's weakness. Strength is merely a habit. I want you to be strong, too. I want younever to doubt me whatever you hear said. '

'I gave my brother into your hands, and I said that if he died a braveman's death, I could ask for no more. You told me that such a death washis. '

'I thought of you always, and everything I did was for your sake. Everysingle act of mine during these four years in Africa has been donebecause I loved you. '

It was the first time since his return that he had spoken of love. Lucybent her head still lower. 

'Do you remember, I asked you a question before I went away? You refusedto marry me then, but you told me that if I asked again when I cameback, the answer might be different. '

'Yes. '

'The hope bore me up in every difficulty and in every danger. And when Icame back I dared not ask you at once; I was so afraid that you wouldrefuse once more. And I didn't wish you to think yourself bound by avague promise. But each day I loved you more passionately. '

'I knew, and I was very grateful for your love. '

'Yesterday I could have offered you a certain name. I only cared for thehonours they gave me so that I might put them at your feet. But what canI offer you now?'

'You must love me always, Alec, for now I have only you. '

'Are you sure that you will never believe that I am guilty of thiscrime?'

'Why can you say nothing in self-defence?'

'That I can't tell you either. '

There was a silence between them. At last Alec spoke again. 

'But perhaps it will be easier for you to believe in me than for others, because you know that I loved you, and I can't have done the odiousthing of which that man accuses me. '

'I will never believe it. I do not know what your reasons are forkeeping all this to yourself, but I trust you, and I know that they aregood. If you cannot speak, it is because greater interests hold youback. I love you, Alec, with all my heart, and if you wish me to be yourwife I shall be proud and honoured. '

He took her in his arms, and as he kissed her, she wept tears ofhappiness. She did not want to think. She wanted merely to surrenderherself to his strength. 

XVI

Lady Kelsey's devout hope that her party would finish withoutunpleasantness was singularly frustrated. Robert Boulger was irritatedbeyond endurance by the things Lucy had said to him; and Lucy besides, as if to drive him to distraction, had committed a peculiarindiscretion. In her determination to show the world in general, represented then by the two hundred people who were enjoying LadyKelsey's hospitality, that she, the person most interested, did not foran instant believe what was said about Alec, Lucy had insisted ondancing with him. Alec thought it unwise thus to outrage conventionalopinion, but he could not withstand her fiery spirit. Dick and Mrs. Crowley were partners at the time, and the disapproval which Lucy saw intheir eyes, made her more vehement in her defiance. She had caughtBobbie's glance, too, and she flung back her head a little as she sawhis livid anger. 

Little by little Lady Kelsey's guests bade her farewell, and at threeo'clock few were left. Lucy had asked Alec to remain till the end, andhe and Dick had taken refuge in the smoking-room. Presently Boulger camein with two men, named Mallins and Carbery, whom Alec knew slightly. Heglanced at Alec, and went up to the table on which were cigarettes andvarious things to drink. His companions had no idea that he was bentupon an explanation and had asked them of set purpose to come into thatroom. 

'May we smoke here, Bobbie?' asked one of them, a little embarrassed atseeing Alec, but anxious to carry things off pleasantly. 

'Certainly. Dick insisted that this room should be particularly reservedfor that purpose. '

'Lady Kelsey is the most admirable of all hostesses, ' said Dick lightly. 

He took out his case and offered a cigarette to Alec. Alec took it. 

'Give me a match, Bobbikins, there's a good boy, ' he said carelessly. 

Boulger, with his back turned to Alec, took no notice of the request. Hepoured himself out some whisky, and raising the glass, deliberatelyexamined how much there was in it. Alec smiled faintly. 

'Bobbie, throw me over the matches, ' he repeated. 

At that moment Lady Kelsey's butler came into the room with a salver, upon which he put the dirty glasses. Bobbie, his back still turned, looked up at the servant. 

'Miller. '

'Yes, sir. '

'Mr. MacKenzie is asking for something. '

'Yes, sir. '

'You might give me a match, will you?' said Alec. 

'Yes, sir. '

The butler put the matches on his salver and took them over to Alec, wholit his cigarette. 

'Thank you. '

No one spoke till the butler left the room. Alec occupied himself idlyin making smoke rings, and he watched them rise into the air. When theywere alone he turned slowly to Boulger. 

'I perceive that during my absence you have not added good manners toyour other accomplishments, ' he said. 

Boulger wheeled round and faced him. 

'If you want things you can ask servants for them. '

'Don't be foolish, ' smiled Alec, good-humouredly. 

Alec's contemptuous manner robbed Boulger of his remaining self-control. He strode angrily to Alec. 

'If you talk to me like that I'll knock you down. '

Alec was lying stretched out on the sofa, and did not stir. He seemedcompletely unconcerned. 

'You could hardly do that when I'm already lying on my back, ' hemurmured. 

Boulger clenched his fists. He gasped in the fury of his anger. 

'Look here, MacKenzie, I'm not going to let you play the fool with me. Iwant to know what answer you have to make to Macinnery's accusation. '

'Might I suggest that only Miss Allerton has the least right to receiveanswers to her questions? And she hasn't questioned me. '

'I've given up trying to understand her attitude. If I were she, itwould make me sick with horror to look at you. But after all I have theright to know something. George Allerton was my cousin. '

Alec rose slowly from the sofa. He faced Boulger with an indifferencewhich was peculiarly irritating. 

'That is a fact upon which he did not vastly pride himself. '

'Since this morning you've rested under a perfectly direct charge ofcausing his death in a dastardly manner. And you've said nothing inself-defence. '

'I haven't. '

'You've been given an opportunity of explaining yourself, and youhaven't taken it. '

'Quite true. '

'What are you going to do?'

Alec had already been asked that question by Dick, and he returned thesame answer. 

'Nothing. '

Bobbie looked at him for an instant. Then he shrugged his shoulders. 

'In that case I can draw only one conclusion. There appears to be nomeans of bringing you to justice, but at least I can tell you what anindescribable blackguard I think you. '

'All is over between us, ' smiled Alec, faintly amused at the young man'sviolence. 'And shall I return your letters and your photographs?'

'I assure you that I'm not joking, ' answered Bobbie grimly. 

'I have observed that you joke with difficulty. It's singular thatthough I'm Scotch and you are English, I should be able to see howridiculous you are, while you're quite blind to your own absurdity. '

'Come, Alec, remember he's only a boy, ' remonstrated Dick, who till nowhad been unable to interpose. 

Boulger turned upon him angrily. 

'I'm perfectly able to look after myself, Dick, and I'll thank you notto interfere. ' He looked again at Alec: 'If Lucy's so indifferent to herbrother's death that she's willing to keep up with you, that's her ownaffair. '

Dick interrupted once more. 

'For heaven's sake don't make a scene, Bobbie. How can you make such afool of yourself?'

'Leave me alone, confound you!'

'Do you think this is quite the best place for an altercation?' askedAlec quietly. 'Wouldn't you gain more notoriety if you attacked me in myclub or at Church Parade on Sunday?'

'It's mere shameless impudence that you should come here to-night, 'cried Bobbie, his voice hoarse with passion. 'You're using thesewretched women as a shield, because you know that as long as Lucy sticksto you, there are people who won't believe the story. '

'I came for the same reason as yourself, dear boy. Because I wasinvited. '

'You acknowledge that you have no defence. '

'Pardon me, I acknowledge nothing and deny nothing. '

'That won't do for me, ' said Boulger. 'I want the truth, and I'm goingto get it. I've got a right to know. '

'Don't make such an ass of yourself, ' cried Alec, shortly. 

'By God, I'll make you answer. '

He went up to Alec furiously, as if he meant to seize him by the throat, but Alec, with a twist of the arm, hurled him backwards. 

'I could break your back, you silly boy, ' he cried, in a voice low withanger. 

With a cry of rage Bobbie was about to spring at Alec when Dick got inhis way. 

'For God's sake, let us have no scenes here. And you'll only get theworst of it, Bobbie. Alec could just crumple you up. ' He turned to thetwo men who stood behind, startled by the unexpectedness of thequarrel. 'Take him away, Mallins, there's a good chap. '

'Let me alone, you fool!' cried Bobbie. 

'Come along, old man, ' said Mallins, recovering himself. 

When his two friends had got Bobbie out of the room, Dick heaved a greatsigh of relief. 

'Poor Lady Kelsey!' he laughed, beginning to see the humour of thesituation. 'To-morrow half London will be saying that you and Bobbie hada stand-up fight in her drawing-room. '

Alec looked at him angrily. He was not a man of easy temper, and theeffort he had put upon himself was beginning to tell. 

'You really needn't have gone out of your way to infuriate the boy, 'said Dick. 

Alec wheeled round wrathfully. 

'The damned cubs, ' he said. 'I should like to break their silly necks. '

'You have an amiable character, Alec, ' retorted Dick. 

Alec began to walk up and down excitedly. Dick had never seen him beforein such a state. 

'The position is growing confoundedly awkward, ' he said drily. 

Then Alec burst out. 

'They lick my boots till I loathe them, and then they turn against melike a pack of curs. Oh, I despise them, these silly boys who stay athome wallowing in their ease, while men work--work and conquer. ThankGod, I've done with them now. They think one can fight one's way throughAfrica as easily as walk down Piccadilly. They think one goes throughhardship and danger, illness and starvation, to be the lion of adinner-party in Mayfair. '

'I think you're unfair to them, ' answered Dick. 'Can't you see the otherside of the picture? You're accused of a particularly low act oftreachery. Your friends were hoping that you'd be able to prove at oncethat it was an abominable lie, and for some reason which no one can makeout, you refuse even to notice it. '

'My whole life is proof that it's a lie. '

'Don't you think you'd better change your mind and make a statement thatcan be sent to the papers?'

'No, damn you!'

Dick's good nature was imperturbable, and he was not in the leastannoyed by Alec's vivacity. 

'My dear chap, do calm down, ' he laughed. 

Alec started at the sound of his mocking. He seemed again to becomeaware of himself. It was interesting to observe the quite visible efforthe made to regain his self-control. In a moment he had mastered hisexcitement, and he turned to Dick with studied nonchalance. 

'Do you think I look wildly excited?' he asked blandly. 

Dick smiled. 

'If you will permit me to say so, I think butter would have _no_difficulty in melting in your mouth, ' he replied. 

'I never felt cooler in my life. '

'Lucky man, with the thermometer at a hundred and two!'

Alec laughed and put his arm through Dick's. 

'Perhaps we had better go home, ' he said. 

'Your common sense is no less remarkable than your personal appearance, 'answered Dick gravely. 

They had already bidden their hostess good-night, and getting theirthings, they set out to walk their different ways. When Dick got home hedid not go to bed. He sat in an armchair, considering the events of theevening, and trying to find some way out of the complexity of histhoughts. He was surprised when the morning sun sent a bright ray oflight into his room. 

* * *

But Lady Kelsey was not yet at the end of her troubles. Bobbie, havinggot rid of his friends, went to her and asked if she would not comedownstairs and drink a cup of soup. The poor lady, quite exhausted, thought him very considerate. One or two persons, with their coats on, were still in the room, waiting for their womenkind; and in the hallthere was a little group of belated guests huddled around the door, while cabs and carriages were being brought up for them. There was abouteveryone the lassitude which follows the gaiety of a dance. The waitersbehind the tables were heavy-eyed. Lucy was bidding good-bye to one ortwo more intimate friends. 

Lady Kelsey drank the hot soup with relief. 

'My poor legs are dropping, ' she said. 'I'm sure I'm far too tired to goto sleep. '

'I want to talk to Lucy before I go, ' said Bobbie, abruptly. 

'To-night?' she asked in dismay. 

'Yes, I want you to send her a message that you wish to see her in your_boudoir_. '

'Why, what on earth's the matter?'

'She can't go on in this way. It's perfectly monstrous. Something mustbe done immediately. '

Lady Kelsey understood what he was driving at. She knew how great washis love, and she, too, had seen his anger when Lucy danced with AlecMacKenzie. But the whole affair perplexed her utterly. She put down hercup. 

'Can't you wait till to-morrow?' she asked nervously. 

'I feel it ought to be settled at once. '

'I think you're dreadfully foolish. You know how Lucy resents anyinterference with her actions. '

'I shall bear her resentment with fortitude, ' he said, with greatbitterness. 

Lady Kelsey looked at him helplessly. 

'What do you want me to do?' she asked. 

'I want you to be present at our interview. '

He turned to a servant and told him to ask Miss Allerton from LadyKelsey if she would kindly come to the _boudoir_. He gave his arm toLady Kelsey, and they went upstairs. In a moment Lucy appeared. 

'Did you send for me, my aunt? I'm told you want to speak to me here. '

'I asked Aunt Alice to beg you to come here, ' said Boulger. 'I wasafraid you wouldn't if I asked you. '

Lucy looked at him with raised eyebrows and answered lightly. 

'What nonsense! I'm always delighted to enjoy your society. '

'I wanted to speak to you about something, and I thought Aunt Aliceshould be present. '

Lucy gave him a quick glance. He met it coolly. 

'Is it so important that it can't wait till to-morrow?'

'I venture to think it's very important. And by now everybody has gone. '

'I'm all attention, ' she smiled. 

Boulger hesitated for a moment, then braced himself for the ordeal. 

'I've told you often, Lucy, that I've been desperately in love with youfor more years than I can remember, ' he said, flushing with nervousness. 

'Surely you've not snatched me from my last chance of a cup of soup inorder to make me a proposal of marriage?'

'I'm perfectly serious, Lucy. '

'I assure you it doesn't suit you at all, ' she smiled. 

'The other day I asked you again to marry me, just before Alec MacKenziecame back. '

A softer light came into Lucy's eyes, and the bantering tones fell awayfrom her voice. 

'It was very charming of you, ' she said gravely. 'You mustn't think thatbecause I laugh at you a little, I'm not very grateful for youraffection. '

'You know how long he's cared for you, Lucy, ' said Lady Kelsey. 

Lucy went up to him and very tenderly placed her hand on his arm. 

'I'm immensely touched by your great devotion, Bobbie, and I know thatI've done nothing to deserve it. I'm very sorry that I can't give youanything in return. One's not mistress of one's love. I can onlyhope--with all my heart--that you'll fall in love with some girl whocares for you. You don't know how much I want you to be happy. '

Boulger drew back coldly. He would not allow himself to be touched, though the sweetness of her voice tore his heart-strings. 

'Just now it's not my happiness that's concerned, ' he said. 'When AlecMacKenzie came back I thought I saw why nothing that I could do, hadthe power to change the utter indifference with which you looked at me. '

He paused a moment and coughed uneasily. 

'I don't know why you think it necessary to say all this, ' said Lucy, ina low voice. 

'I tried to resign myself. You've always worshipped strength, and Iunderstood that you must think Alec MacKenzie very wonderful. I hadlittle enough to offer you when I compared myself with him. I hopedagainst hope that you weren't in love with him. '

'Well?'

'Except for that letter in this morning's paper I should never havedared to say anything to you again. But that changes everything. '

He paused once more. Though he tried to seem so calm, his heart wasbeating furiously. He really loved Lucy with all his soul, and he wasdoing what seemed to him a plain duty. 

'I ask you again if you'll be my wife. '

'I don't understand what you mean, ' she said slowly. 

'You can't marry Alec MacKenzie now. '

Lucy flung back her head. She grew very pale. 

'You have no right to talk to me like this, ' she said. 'You reallypresume too much upon my good nature. '

'I think I have some right. I'm the only man who's related to you atall, and I love you. '

They saw that Lady Kelsey wanted to speak, and Lucy turned round to her. 

'I think you should listen to him, Lucy. I'm growing old, and soonyou'll be quite alone in the world. '

The simple kindness of her words calmed the passions of the other two, and brought down the conversation to a gentler level. 

'I'll try my best to make you a good husband, Lucy, ' said Bobbie, veryearnestly. 'I don't ask you to care for me; I only want to serve you. '

'I can only repeat that I'm very grateful to you. But I can't marry you, and I shall never marry you. '

Boulger's face grew darker, and he was silent. 

'Are you going to continue to know Alec MacKenzie?' he asked at length. 

'You have no right to ask me such a question. '

'If you'll take the advice of any unprejudiced person about that letter, you'll find that he'll say the same as I. There can be no shadow of adoubt that the man is guilty of a monstrous crime. '

'I don't care what the evidence is, ' said Lucy. 'I know he can't havedone a shameful thing. '

'But, good God, have you forgotten that it's your own brother whom hekilled!' he cried hotly. 'The whole country is up in arms against him, and you are quite indifferent. '

'Oh, Bobbie, how can you say that?' she wailed, suddenly moved to thevery depths of her being. 'How can you be so cruel?'

He went up to her, and they stood face to face. He spoke very quickly, flinging the words at her with indignant anger. 

'If you cared for George at all, you must wish to punish the man whocaused his death. At least you can't continue to be his'--he stopped ashe saw the agony in her eyes, and changed his words--'his greatestfriend. It was your doing that George went to Africa at all. The leastthing you can do is to take some interest in his death. '

She put up her hands to her eyes, as though to drive away the sight ofhateful things. 

'Oh, why do you torment me?' she cried pitifully. 'I tell you he isn'tguilty. '

'He's refused to answer anyone. I tried to get something out of him, butI couldn't, and I lost my temper. He might give you the truth if youasked him pointblank. '

'I couldn't do that. '

'Why not?'

'It's very strange that he should insist on this silence, ' said LadyKelsey. 'One would have thought if he had nothing to be ashamed of, he'dhave nothing to hide. '

'Do you believe that story, too?' asked Lucy. 

'I don't know what to believe. It's so extraordinary. Dick says he knowsnothing about it. If the man's innocent, why on earth doesn't he speak?'

'He knows I trust him, ' said Lucy. 'He knows I'm proud to trust him. Doyou think I would cause him the great pain of asking him questions?'

'Are you afraid he couldn't answer them?' asked Boulger. 

'No, no, no. '

'Well, just try. After all you owe as much as that to the memory ofGeorge. Try. '

'But don't you see that if he won't say anything, it's because there aregood reasons, ' she cried distractedly. 'How do I know what interests areconcerned in the matter, beside which the death of George isinsignificant.... '

'Do you look upon it so lightly as that?'

She turned away, bursting into tears. She was like a hunted beast. Thereseemed no escape from the taunting questions. 

'I must show my faith in him, ' she sobbed. 

'I think you're a little nervous to go into the matter too closely. '

'I believe in him implicitly. I believe in him with all the strengthI've got. '

'Then surely it can make no difference if you ask him. There can be noreason for him not to trust you. '

'Oh, why don't you leave me alone?' she wailed. 

'I do think it's very unreasonable, Lucy, ' said Lady Kelsey. 'He knowsyou're his friend. He can surely count on your discretion. '

'If he refused to answer me it would mean nothing. You don't know him asI do. He's a man of extraordinary character. If he has made up his mindthat for certain reasons which we don't know, he must preserve an entiresilence, nothing whatever will move him. Why should he answer? I believein him absolutely. I think he's the greatest and most honourable manI've ever known. I should feel happy and grateful to be allowed to waiton him. '

'Lucy, what _do_ you mean?' cried Lady Kelsey. 

But now Lucy had cast off all reserve. She did not mind what she said. 

'I mean that I care more for his little finger than for the whole world. I love him with all my heart. And that's why he can't be guilty of thishorrible thing, because I've loved him for years, and he's known it. Andhe loves me, and he's loved me always. '

She sank exhausted into a chair, gasping for breath. Boulger looked ather for a moment, and he turned sick with anguish. What he had onlysuspected before, he knew now from her own lips; and it was harder thanever to bear. Now everything seemed ended. 

'Are you going to marry him?' he asked. 

'Yes. '

'In spite of everything?'

'In spite of everything, ' she answered defiantly. 

Bobbie choked down the groan of despairing rage that forced its way tohis throat. He watched her for a moment. 

'Good God, ' he said at last, 'what is there in the man that he shouldhave made you forget love and honour and common decency!'

Lucy made no reply. But she buried her face in her hands and wept. Sherocked to and fro with the violence of her tears. 

Without another word Bobbie turned round and left them. Lady Kelseyheard the door slam as he went out into the silent street. 

XVII

Next day Alec was called up to Lancashire. 

When he went out in the morning, he saw on the placards of the eveningpapers that there had been a colliery explosion, but, his mind absorbedin other things, he paid no attention to it; and it was with a shockthat, on opening a telegram which waited for him at his club, he foundthat the accident had occurred in his own mine. Thirty miners wereentombed, and it was feared that they could not be saved. Immediatelyall thought of his own concerns fled from him, and sending for atime-table, he looked out a train. He found one that he could justcatch. He took a couple of telegram forms in the cab with him, and onone scribbled instructions to his servant to follow him at once withclothes; the other he wrote to Lucy. 

He just caught the train and in the afternoon found himself at the mouthof the pit. There was a little crowd around it of weeping women. Allefforts to save the wretched men appeared to be useless. Many had beeninjured, and the manager's house had been converted into a hospital. Alec found everyone stunned by the disaster, and the attempts at rescuehad been carried on feebly. He set himself to work at once. He put heartinto the despairing women. He brought up everyone who could be of theleast use and inspired them with his own resourceful courage. The daywas drawing to a close, but no time could be lost; and all night theytoiled. Alec, in his shirt sleeves, laboured as heartily as thestrongest miner; he seemed to want neither rest nor food. With clenchedteeth, silently, he fought a battle with death, and the prize was thirtyliving men. In the morning he refreshed himself with a bath, paid ahurried visit to the injured, and returned to the pit mouth. 

He had no time to think of other things. He did not know that on thisvery morning another letter appeared in the _Daily Mail_, filling in thedetails of the case against him, adding one damning piece of evidence toanother; he did not know that the papers, amazed and indignant at hissilence, now were unanimous in their condemnation. It was made a partymatter, and the radical organs used the scandal as a stick to beat thedying donkey which was then in power. A question was put down to beasked in the House. 

Alec waged his good fight and neither knew nor cared that the bubble ofhis glory was pricked. Still the miners lived in the tomb, andforty-eight hours passed. Hope was failing in the stout hearts of thosewho laboured by his side, but Alec urged them to greater endeavours. Andnow nothing was needed but a dogged perseverance. His tremendousstrength stood him in good stead, and he was able to work twenty hourson end. He did not spare himself. And he seemed able to call prodigiesof endurance out of those who helped him; with that example it seemedeasier to endure. And still they toiled unrestingly. But their hope wasgrowing faint. Behind that wall thirty men were lying, hopeless, starving; and some perhaps were dead already. And it was terrible tothink of the horrors that assailed them, the horror of rising water, the horror of darkness, and the gnawing pangs of hunger. Among them wasa boy of fourteen. Alec had spoken to him by chance on one of the dayshe had recently spent there, and had been amused by his cheekybrightness. He was a blue-eyed lad with a laughing mouth. It was pitifulto think that all that joy of life should have been crushed by a blind, stupid disaster. His father had been killed, and his body, charred anddisfigured, lay in the mortuary. The boy was imprisoned with hisbrother, a man older than himself, married, and the father of children. With angry vehemence Alec set to again. He would not be beaten. 

At last they heard sounds, faint and muffled, but unmistakable. At allevents some of them were still alive. The rescuers increased theirefforts. Now it was only a question of hours. They were so near that itrenewed their strength; all fatigue fell from them; it needed but alittle courage. 

At last!

With a groan of relief which tried hard to be a cheer, the last barrierwas broken, and the prisoners were saved. They were brought out one byone, haggard, with sunken eyes that blinked feebly in the sun-light;their faces were pale with the shadow of death, and they could not standon their feet. The bright-eyed boy was carried out in Alec's strongarms, and he tried to make a jest of it; but the smile on his lips waschanged into a sob, and hiding his face in Alec's breast, he cried fromutter weakness. They carried out his brother, and he was dead. His wifewas waiting for him at the pit's mouth, with her children by her side. 

This commonplace incident, briefly referred to in the corner of amorning paper, made his own affairs strangely unimportant to Alec. Faceto face with the bitter tragedy of women left husbandless, of orphanedchildren, and the grim horror of men cut off in the prime of theirmanhood, the agitation which his own conduct was causing fell out ofview. He was harassed and anxious. Much business had to be done whichwould allow of no delay. It was necessary to make every effort to getthe mine once more into working order; it was necessary to provide forthose who had lost the breadwinner. Alec found himself assailed on allsides with matters of urgent importance, and he had not a moment todevote to his own affairs. When at length it was possible for him toconsider himself at all, he felt that the accident had raised him out ofthe narrow pettiness which threatened to submerge his soul; he was atclose quarters with malignant fate, and he had waged a desperate battlewith the cruel blindness of chance. He could only feel an utter scornfor the people who bespattered him with base charges. For, after all, his conscience was free. 

When he wrote to Lucy, it never struck him that it was needful to referto the events that had preceded his departure from London, and hisletter was full of the strenuous agony of the past days. He told her howthey had fought hand to hand with death and had snatched the prey fromhis grasp. In a second letter he told her what steps he was taking torepair the damage that had been caused, and what he was doing for thosewho were in immediate need. He would have given much to be able to writedown the feelings of passionate devotion with which Lucy filled him, butwith the peculiar shyness which was natural to him, he could not bringhimself to it. Of the accusation with which, the world was ringing, hesaid never a word. 

* * *

Lucy read his letters over and over again. She could not understandthem, and they seemed strangely indifferent. At that distance from thescene of the disaster she could not realise its absorbing anxiety, andshe was bitterly disappointed at Alec's absence. She wanted his presenceso badly, and she had to bear alone, on her own shoulders, the fullweight of her trouble. When Macinnery's second letter appeared, LadyKelsey gave it to her without a word. It was awful. The whole thing waspreposterous, but it hung together in a way that was maddening, andthere was an air of truth about it which terrified her. And why shouldAlec insist on this impenetrable silence? She had offered herself thesuggestion that political exigencies with regard to the states whosespheres of influence bordered upon the territory which Alec hadconquered, demanded the strictest reserve; but this explanation soonappeared fantastic. She read all that was said in the papers and foundthat opinion was dead against Alec. Now that it was become a partymatter, his own side defended him; but in a half-hearted way, whichshowed how poor the case was. And since all that could be urged in hisfavour, Lucy had already repeated to herself a thousand times, what wassaid against him seemed infinitely more conclusive than what was saidfor him. And then her conscience smote her. Those cruel words ofBobbie's came back to her, and she was overwhelmed with self-reproachwhen she considered that it was her own brother of whom was all thisto-do. She must be utterly heartless or utterly depraved. And then witha despairing energy she cried out that she believed in Alec; he wasincapable of a treacherous act. 

At last she could bear it no longer, and she wired to him: _For God'ssake come quickly_. 

She felt that she could not endure another day of this misery. Shewaited for him, given over to the wildest fears; she was ashamed andhumiliated. She counted the hours which must pass before he couldarrive; surely he would not delay. All her self-possession had vanished, and she was like a child longing for the protecting arms that shouldenfold it

* * *

At last he came. Lucy was waiting in the same room in which she had saton their first meeting after his return to England. She sprang up, paleand eager, and flung herself passionately into his arms. 

'Thank God, you've come, ' she said. 'I thought the hours would neverend. '

He did not know what so vehemently disturbed her, but he kissed hertenderly, and on a sudden she felt strangely comforted. There was anextraordinary honesty about him which strengthened and consoled her. Fora while she could not speak, but clung to him, sobbing. 

'What is it?' he asked at length. 'Why did you send for me?'

'I want your lore. I want your love so badly. '

It was inconceivable, the exquisite tenderness with which he caressedher. No one would have thought that dour man capable of such gentleness. 

'I felt I must see you, ' she sobbed. 'You don't know what tortures I'veendured. '

'Poor child. '

He kissed her hair and her white, pained forehead. 

'Why did you go away? You knew I wanted you. '

'I'm very sorry. '

'I've been horribly wretched. I didn't know I could suffer so much. '

'Come and sit down and tell me all about it. '

He led her to the sofa and made her sit beside him. His arms were aroundher, and she nestled close to him. For a moment she remained silent, enjoying the feeling of great relief after the long days of agony. Shesmiled lightly through her tears. 

'The moment I'm with you I feel so confident and happy. '

'Only when you're with me?'

He asked the question caressingly, in a low passionate voice that shehad never heard from his lips before. She did not answer, but clung moreclosely to him. Smiling, he repeated the question. 

'Only when you're with me, darling?'

'I've told Bobbie and my aunt that we're going to be married. They mademe suffer so dreadfully. I had to tell them. I couldn't keep it back, they said such horrible things about you. '

He did not answer for a moment. 

'It's very natural. '

'It's nothing to you, ' she cried desperately. ' But to me.... Oh, youdon't know what agony I had to endure. '

'I'm glad you told them. '

'Bobby said I must be heartless and cruel. And it's true: George isnothing to me now when I think of you. My heart is so filled with mylove for you that I haven't room for anything else. '

'I hope my love will make up for all that you have lost. I want youto be happy. '

She withdrew from his arms and leaned back, against the corner of thesofa. It was absolutely necessary to say what was gnawing at herheart-strings, but she felt ashamed and could not look at him. 

'That wasn't the only reason I told them. I'm such a coward. I thought Iwas much braver. '

'Why?'

Lucy felt on a sudden sick at heart. She began to tremble a little, andit was only by great strength of will that she forced herself to go on. She was horribly frightened. Her mouth was dry, and when at last thewords came, her voice sounded unnatural. 

'I wanted to burn my ships behind me. I wanted to reassure myself. '

This time it was Alec who did not answer, for he understood now what wason her mind. His heart sank, since he saw already that he must lose her. But he had faced that possibility long ago in the heavy forests ofAfrica, and he had made up his mind that Lucy could do without lovebetter than without self-respect. 

He made a movement to get up, but quickly Lucy put out her hand. Andthen suddenly a fire seized him, and a vehement determination not togive way till the end. 

'I don't understand you, ' he said quietly. 

'Forgive me, dear, ' she said. 

She held his hand in hers, and she spoke quickly. 

'You don't know how terrible it is. I stand so dreadfully alone. Everyone is so bitter against you, and not a soul has a good word to sayfor you. It's all so extraordinary and so inexplicable. It seems as ifI am the only person who isn't convinced that you caused poor George'sdeath. Oh, how callous and utterly heartless people must think me!'

'Does it matter very much what people think?' he said gravely. 

'I'm so ashamed of myself. I try to put the thoughts out of my head, butI can't. I simply can't. I've tried to be brave. I've refused to discussthe possibility of there being anything in those horrible charges. Iwanted to talk to Dick--I knew he was fond of you--but I didn't dare. Itseemed treacherous to you, and I wouldn't let anyone see that it meantanything to me. The first letter wasn't so bad, but the second--oh, itlooks so dreadfully true. '

Alec gave her a rapid glance. This was the first he had heard of anothercommunication to the paper. During the frenzied anxiety of those days atthe colliery, he had had time to attend to nothing but the pressing workof rescue. But he made no reply. 

'I've read it over and over again, and I _can't_ understand. When Bobbiesays it's conclusive, I tell him it means nothing--but--don't you seewhat I mean? The uncertainty is more than I can bear. '

She stopped suddenly, and now she looked at him. There was a pitifulappeal in her eyes. 

'At the first moment I felt so absolutely sure of you. '

'And now you don't?' he asked quietly. 

She cast down her eyes once more, and a sob caught her breath. 

'I trust you just as much as ever. I know it's impossible that youshould have done a shameful deed. But there it stands in black andwhite, and you have nothing to say in answer. '

'I know it's very difficult. That's why I asked you to believe in me. '

'I do, Alec, ' she cried vehemently. 'With all my soul. But have mercy onme. I'm not as strong as I thought. It's easy for you to stand alone. You're iron. You're a mountain of granite. But I'm a weak woman, pitifully weak. '

He shook his head. 

'Oh, no, you're not like other women. '

'It was easy to be brave where my father was concerned, or George, butnow it's so different. Love has changed me. I haven't the courage anymore to withstand the opinion of all my fellows. '

Alec got up and walked once or twice across the room. He seemed to bethinking deeply. Lucy fancied that he must hear the beating of herheart. He stopped in front of her. Her heart was wrung by the great painthat was in his voice. 

'Don't you remember that only a few days ago I told you that I'd donenothing which I wouldn't do again? I gave you my word of honour that Icould reproach myself for nothing. '

'Oh, I know, ' she cried. 'I'm so utterly ashamed of myself. But I can'tbear the doubt. '

'_Doubt. _ You've said the word at last. '

'I tell myself that I don't believe a word of these horrible charges. Irepeat to myself: I'm certain, I'm certain that he's innocent. '

She gathered strength in the desperation of her love, and now at thecrucial moment she had all the courage she needed. 

'And yet at the bottom of my heart there's the doubt. And I _can't_crush it. '

She waited for him to answer, but he did not speak. 

'I wanted to kill that bitter pain of suspicion. I thought if I stood upbefore them and cried out that my trust in you was so great, I waswilling to marry you notwithstanding everything--I should at last havepeace in my heart. '

Alec went to the window and looked out. The westering sun slanted acrossthe street. Carriages and motors were waiting at the door of the houseopposite, and a little crowd of footmen clustered about the steps. Theywere giving a party, and through the open windows Alec could see athrong of women. The sky was very blue. He turned back to Lucy. 

'Will you show me the second letter of which you speak?'

'Haven't you seen it?' she asked in astonishment. 

'I was so busy, I had no time to look at the papers. I suppose no onethought it his business to draw my attention to it. '

Lucy went into the second drawing-room, divided from that in which theysat by an archway, and brought him the copy of the _Daily Mail_ forwhich he asked. She gave it, and he took it silently. He sat down andwith attention read the letter through. He observed with bitter scornthe thoroughness with which Macinnery had set out the case against him. In this letter he filled up the gaps which had been left in the first, adding here and there details which gave a greater coherency to thewhole; and his evidence had an air of truth, since he quoted the verywords of porters and askari who had been on the expedition. It waswonderful what power had that small admixture of falsehood joined withwhat was admittedly true, to change the whole aspect of the case. Alecwas obliged to confess that Lucy had good grounds for her suspicion. There was a specious look about the story, which would have made himcredit it himself if some other man had been concerned. The facts weregiven with sufficient exactness, and the untruth lay only in the motivesthat were ascribed to him; but who could tell what another's motiveswere? Alec put the paper on the table, and leaning back, his faceresting in his hand, thought deeply. He saw again that scene in his tentwhen the wind was howling outside and the rain falling, falling; herecalled George's white face, the madness that came over him when hefired at Alec, the humility of his submission. The earth covered theboy, his crime, and his weakness. It was not easy to save one's self ata dead man's expense. And he knew that George's strength and courage hadmeant more than her life to Lucy. How could he cause her the bitterpain? How could he tell her that her brother died because he was acoward and a rogue? How could he tell her the pitiful story of the boy'sfailure to redeem the good name that was so dear to her? And what proofcould he offer of anything he said? Walker had been killed on the samenight as George, poor Walker with his cheerfulness in difficulties andhis buoyant spirits: his death too must be laid to the charge of GeorgeAllerton; Adamson had died of fever. Those two alone had any inkling ofthe truth; they could have told a story that would at least have throwngrave doubts upon Macinnery's. But Alec set his teeth; he did not wanttheir testimony. Finally there was the promise. He had given his solemnoath, and the place and the moment made it seem more binding, that hewould utter no word that should lead Lucy to suspect even for an instantthat her brother had been untrue to the trust she had laid upon him. Alec was a man of scrupulous truthfulness, not from deliberately moralmotives but from mere taste, and he could not have broken his promisefor the great discomfort it would have caused him. But it was the leastof the motives which influenced him. Even if George had exacted nothing, he would have kept silence. And then, at the bottom of his heart, was afierce pride. He was conscious of the honesty of his motives, and heexpected that Lucy should share his consciousness. She must believe whathe said to her because he said it. He could not suffer the humiliationof defending himself, and he felt that her love could not be very greatif she could really doubt him. And because he was very proud perhaps hewas unjust. He did not know that he was putting upon her a trial whichhe should have asked no one to bear. 

He stood up and faced Lucy. 

'What is it precisely you want me to do?' he asked. 

'I want you to have mercy on me because I love you. Don't tell the worldif you choose not to. But tell me the truth. I know you're incapable oflying. If I only have it from your own lips I shall believe. I want tobe certain, certain. '

'Don't you realise that I would never have asked you to marry me if myconscience hadn't been quite clear?' he said slowly. 'Don't you see thatthe reasons I have for holding my tongue must be overwhelming, or Iwouldn't stand by calmly while my good name was torn from me shred byshred?'

'But I'm going to be your wife, and I love you, and I know you love me. '

'I implore you not to insist, Lucy. Let us remember only that the pastis gone and that we love one another. It is impossible for me to tellyou anything. '

'Oh, but you must now, ' she implored. 'If anything has happened, if anypart of the story is true, you must give me a chance of judging formyself. '

'I'm very sorry. I can't. '

'But you'll kill my love for you. '

She sprang to her feet and pressed both hands to her heart. 

'The doubt that lurked at the bottom of my soul, now fills me. How canyou let me suffer such maddening torture?'

An expression of anguish passed across his calm eyes. He made a gestureof despair. 

'I thought you trusted me. '

'I'll be satisfied if you'll only tell me one thing. ' She put her handsto her head with a rapid, aimless movement that showed the extremity ofher agitation. 'Oh, what has love done with me?' she cried desperately. 'I was so proud of my brother and so utterly devoted to him. But I lovedyou so much that there wasn't any room in my heart for the past. Iforgot all my unhappiness and all my loss. And even now they seem solittle to me beside your love that it's you I think of first. I want toknow that I can love you freely. I'll be satisfied if you'll only tellme that when you sent George out that night, you didn't know he'd bekilled. '

Alec looked at her steadily. And once more he saw himself in the Africantent amid the rain and the boisterous wind. At the time he sought topersuade himself that George had a chance of escape. He told him withhis own lips that if he showed perfect self-confidence at the moment ofdanger he might save himself alive; but at the bottom of his heart heknew, he had known all along, that it was indeed death he was sendinghim to, for George had not the last virtue of a scoundrel, courage. 

'Only say that, Alec, ' she repeated. 'Say that's not true, and I'llbelieve you. '

There was a silence. Lucy's heart beat against her breast like a cagedbird. She waited in horrible suspense. 

'But it is true, ' he said, very quietly. 

Lucy did not answer. She stared at him with terrified eyes. Her brainreeled, and she feared that she was going to faint. She had to put forthall her strength to drive back the enveloping night that seemed to crowdupon her. 

'It is true, ' he repeated. 

She gave a gasp of pain. 

'I don't understand. Oh, my dearest, don't treat me as a child. Havemercy on me. You must be serious now. Ifs a matter of life and death toboth of us. '

'I'm perfectly serious. '

A frightful coldness appeared to seize her, and the tips of her fingerswere strangely numbed. 

'You knew that you were sending George into a death-trap? You knew thathe could not escape alive?'

'Except by a miracle. '

'And you don't believe in miracles?'

Alec made no answer. She looked at him with increasing horror. Her eyeswere staring wildly. She repeated the question. 

'And you don't believe in miracles?'

'No. '

She was seized with all manner of conflicting emotions. They seemed towage a tumultuous battle in the depths of her heart. She was filled withhorror and dismay, bitter anger, remorse for her callous indifference toGeorge's death; and at the same time she felt an overwhelming love forAlec. And how could she love him now?

'Oh, it can't be true, ' she cried. 'It's infamous. Oh, Alec, Alec, Alec... O God, what shall I do. '

Alec held himself upright. He set his teeth, and his heavy jaw seemedsquarer than ever. There was a great sternness in his voice. 

'I tell you that whatever I did was inevitable. '

Lucy flushed at the sound of his voice, and anger and sudden hatred tookthe place of all other feelings. 

'Then if that's true, the rest must be true. Why don't you acknowledgeas well that you sacrificed my brother's life in order to save yourown?'

But the mood passed quickly, and in a moment she was seized with dismay. 

'Oh, it's awful. I can't realise it. ' She turned to him with a desperateappeal. 'Haven't you anything to say at all? You know how much I lovedmy brother. You know how much it meant to me that he should live to wipeout all memory of my father's crime. All the future was centred uponhim. You can't have sacrificed him callously. '

Alec hesitated for an instant. 

'I think I might tell you this, ' he said. 'We were entrapped by theArabs, and our only chance of escape entailed the death of one of us. '

'So you chose my brother because you loved me. '

Alec looked at her. There was an extraordinary sadness in his eyes, butshe did not see it. He answered very gravely. 

'You see, the fault was his. He had committed a grave error. It was notunjust that he should suffer for the catastrophe that he had broughtabout. '

'At those times one doesn't think of justice. He was so young, so frankand honest. Wouldn't it have been nobler to give your life for his?'

'Oh, my dear, ' he answered, with all the gentleness that was in him, 'you don't know how easy it is to give one's life, how much moredifficult it is to be just than generous. How little you know me! Do youthink I should have hesitated if the difficulty had been one that mydeath could solve? It was necessary that I should live. I had my work todo. I was bound by solemn treaties to the surrounding tribes. Even ifthat had been all, it would have been cowardly for me to die. '

'It is easy to find excuses for not acting like a brave man. ' She flungthe words at him with indignant scorn. 

'I was indispensable, ' he answered. 'The whites I took with me I choseas instruments, not as leaders. If I had died the expedition would havebroken in pieces. It was my influence that held together such of thenative tribes as remained faithful to us. I had given my word that Iwould not desert them till I had exterminated the slave-raiders. Twodays after my death my force would have melted away, and the whiteswould have been helpless. Not one of them would have escaped. And thenthe country would have been given up, defenceless, to those cursedArabs. Fire and sword would have come instead of the peace I promised;and the whole country would have been rendered desolate. I tell you thatit was my duty to live till I had carried out my work. '

Lucy drew herself up a little. She looked at him firmly, and said veryquietly and steadily:

'You coward! You coward!'

'I knew at the time that what I did might cost me your love, and thoughyou won't believe this, I did it for your sake. '

'I wish I had a whip in my hand that I might slash you across the face. '

For a moment he did not say anything. She was quivering with indignationand with contempt. 

'You see, it has cost me your love, ' he said. 'I suppose it wasinevitable. '

'I am ashamed that I ever loved you. '

'Good-bye. '

He turned round and walked slowly to the door. He held his head erect, and there was no sign of emotion on his face. But as soon as he was goneLucy could keep her self-control no longer. She sank into a chair, andhiding her face, began to sob as though her poor tortured heart wouldbreak. 

XVIII

Alec went back to Lancashire next day. Much was still required beforethe colliery could be put once more in proper order, and he wasoverwhelmed with work. Lucy was not so fortunate. She had nothing to dobut to turn over in her mind the conversation they had had. She passedone sleepless night after another. She felt ill and wretched. She toldLady Kelsey that her engagement with MacKenzie was broken off, but gaveno reason; and Lady Kelsey, seeing her white, tortured face, had not theheart to question her. The good lady knew that her niece was desperatelyunhappy, but she did not know how to help her. Lucy never sought for thesympathy of others and chose rather to bear her troubles alone. Theseason was drawing to a close, and Lady Kelsey suggested that theyshould advance by a week or two the date of their departure for thecountry; but Lucy would do nothing to run away from her suffering. 

'I don't know why you should alter your plans, ' she said quietly. 

Lady Kelsey looked at her compassionately, but did not insist. She feltsomehow that Lucy was of different clay from herself, and for all herexquisite gentleness, her equanimity and pleasant temper, she had neverbeen able to get entirely at close quarters with her. She would havegiven much to see Lucy give way openly to her grief; and her arms wouldhave been open to receive her, if her niece had only flung herselfsimply into them. But Lucy's spirit was broken. With the extreme reservethat was part of her nature, she put all her strength into the effort tobehave in the world with decency; and dreading any attempt atcommiseration, she forced herself to be no less cheerful than usual. Thestrain was hardly tolerable. She had set all her hopes of happiness uponAlec, and he had failed her. She thought more of her brother and herfather than she had done of late, and she mourned for them both asthough the loss she had sustained were quite recent. It seemed to herthat the only thing now was to prevent herself from thinking of Alec, and with angry determination she changed her thoughts as soon as he cameinto them. 

Presently something else occurred to her. She felt that she owed somereparation to Bobbie: he had seen the truth at once, and because he hadpointed it out to her, as surely it was his duty to do, she had answeredhim with bitter words. He had shown himself extraordinarily kind, andshe had been harsh and cruel. Perhaps he knew that she was no longerengaged to marry Alec MacKenzie, and he must guess the reason; but sincethe night of the dance he had not been near them. She looked upon whatAlec had told her as addressed to her only, and she could not repeat itto all and sundry. When acquaintances had referred to the affair, hermanner had shown them quickly that she did not intend to discuss it. ButRobert Boulger was different. It seemed necessary, in consideration ofall that had passed, that he should be told the little she knew; andthen she thought also, seized on a sudden with a desire forself-sacrifice, that it was her duty perhaps to reward him for his longdevotion. She might at least try to make him a good wife; and she couldexplain exactly how she felt towards him. There would be no deceit. Herlife had no value now, and if it really meant so much to him to marryher, it was right that she should consent. And there was another thing:it would put an irrevocable barrier between herself and Alec. 

Lady Kelsey was accustomed to ask a few people to luncheon everyTuesday, and Lucy suggested that they should invite Bobbie on one ofthese occasions. Lady Kelsey was much pleased, for she was fond of hernephew, and it had pained her that she had not seen him. She had sent aline to tell him that Lucy was no longer engaged, but he had notanswered. Lucy wrote the invitation herself. 

 _My Dear Bobbie:_

 _Aunt Alice will be very glad if you can lunch with us on Tuesday at two. We are asking Dick, Julia Crowley, and Canon Spratte. If you can come, and I hope you will, it would be very kind of you to arrive a good deal earlier than the others; I want to talk to you about something. _

 _Yours affectionately, _ _Lucy. _

He answered at once. 

 _My Dear Lucy:_

 _I will come with pleasure. I hope half-past one will suit you. _

 _Your affectionate cousin, _ _Robert Boulger. _

'Why haven't you been to see us?' she said, holding his hand, when atthe appointed time he appeared. 

'I thought you didn't much want to see me. '

'I'm afraid I was very cruel and unkind to you last time you were here, 'she said. 

'It doesn't matter at all, ' he said gently. 

'I think I should tell you that I did as you suggested to me. I askedAlec MacKenzie pointblank, and he confessed that he was guilty ofGeorge's death. '

'I'm very sorry, ' said Bobbie. 

'Why?' she asked, looking up at him with tear-laden eyes. 

'Because I know that you were very much in love with him, ' he answered. 

Lucy flushed. But she had much more to say. 

'I was very unjust to you on the night of that dance. You were right tospeak to me as you did, and I was very foolish. I regret what I said, and I beg you to forgive me. '

'There's nothing to forgive, Lucy, ' he said warmly. 'What does it matterwhat you said? You know I love you. '

'I don't know what I've done to deserve such love, ' she said. 'You makeme dreadfully ashamed of myself. '

He took her hand, and she did not attempt to withdraw it. 

'Won't you change your mind, Lucy?' he said earnestly. 

'Oh, my dear, I don't love you. I wish I did. But I don't and I'm afraidI never can. '

'Won't you marry me all the same?'

'Do you care for me so much as that?' she cried painfully. 

'Perhaps you will learn to love me in time. '

'Don't be so humble; you make me still more ashamed. Bobbie, I shouldlike to make you happy if I thought I could. It seems very wonderful tome that you should want to have me. But I must be honest with you. Iknow that if I pretend I'm willing to marry you merely for your sake I'mdeceiving myself. I want to marry you because I'm afraid. I want tocrush my love for Alec. I want to make it impossible for me ever toweaken in my resolve. You see, I'm horrid and calculating, and it's verylittle I can offer you. '

'I don't care why you're marrying me, ' he said. 'I want you so badly. '

'Oh, no, don't take me like that. Let me say first that if you reallythink me worth having, I will do my duty gladly. And if I have no loveto give, I have a great deal of affection and a great deal of gratitude. I want you to be happy. '

He went down on his knees and kissed her hands passionately. 

'I'm so thankful, ' he murmured. 'I'm so thankful. '

Lucy bent down and gently kissed his hair. Two tears rolled heavily downher cheeks. 

* * *

Five minutes later Lady Kelsey came in. She was delighted to see thather nephew and her niece were apparently once more on friendly terms;but she had no time to find out what had happened, for Canon Spratte wasimmediately announced. Lady Kelsey had heard that he was to be offered avacant bishopric, and she mourned over his disappearance from London. Hewas a spiritual mentor who exactly suited her, handsome, urbane, attentive notwithstanding her mature age, and well-connected. He wasjust the man to be a bishop. Then Mrs. Crowley appeared. They waited alittle, and presently Dick was announced. He sauntered in jauntily, unaware that he had kept the others waiting a full quarter of an hour;and the party was complete. 

No gathering could be tedious when Canon Spratte was present, and theconversation proceeded merrily. Mrs. Crowley looked ravishing in asummer frock, and since she addressed herself exclusively to thehandsome parson it was no wonder that he was in a good humour. Shelaughed appreciatively at his facile jests and gave him provokingglances of her bright eyes. He did not attempt to conceal from her thathe thought American women the most delightful creatures in the world, and she made no secret of her opinion that ecclesiastical dignitarieswere often fascinating. They paid one another outrageous compliments. Itnever struck the good man that these charms and graces were displayedonly for the purpose of vexing a gentleman of forty, who was eating hisluncheon irritably on the other side of her. She managed to avoidtalking to Dick Lomas afterwards, but when she bade Lady Kelseyfarewell, he rose also. 

'Shall I drive you home?' he asked. 

'I'm not going home, but if you like to drive me to Victoria Street, youmay. I have an appointment there at four. '

They went out, stepped into a cab, and quite coolly Dick told the driverto go to Hammersmith. He sat himself down by her side, with a smile ofself-satisfaction. 

'What on earth are you doing?' she cried. 

'I want to have a talk to you. '

'I'm sure that's charming of you, ' she answered, 'but I shall miss myappointment. '

'That's a matter of complete indifference to me. '

'Don't bother about my feelings, will you?' she replied, satirically. 

'I have no intention of doing so, ' he smiled. 

Mrs. Crowley was obliged to laugh at the neatness with which he hadentrapped her. Or had he fallen into the trap which she had set for him?She really did not quite know. 

'If your object in thus abducting me was to talk, hadn't you better doso?' she asked. 'I hope you will endeavour to be not only amusing butinstructive. '

'I wanted to point out to you that it is not civil pointedly to ignore aman who is sitting next to you at luncheon. '

'Did I do that? I'm so sorry. But I know you're greedy, and I thoughtyou'd be absorbed in the lobster mayonnaise. '

'I'm beginning to think I dislike you rather than otherwise, ' hemurmured reflectively. 

'Ah, I suppose that is why you haven't been in to see me for so long. '

'May I venture to remind you that I've called upon you three timesduring the last week. '

'I've been out so much lately, ' she answered, with a little wave of herhand. 

'Nonsense. Once I heard you playing scales in the drawing-room, and onceI positively saw you peeping at me through the curtains. '

'Why didn't you make a face at me?' she asked. 

'You're not going to trouble to deny it?'

'It's perfectly true. '

Dick could not help giving a little laugh. He didn't quite know whetherhe wanted to kiss Julia Crowley or to shake her. 

'And may I ask why you've treated me in this abominable fashion?' heasked blandly. 

She looked at him sideways from beneath her long eyelashes. Dick was aman who appreciated the artifices of civilisation in the fair sex, andhe was pleased with her pretty hat and with the flounces of her muslinfrock. 

'Because I chose, ' she smiled. 

He shrugged his shoulders and put on an air of resignation. 

'Of course if you're going to make yourself systematically disagreeableunless I marry you, I suppose I must bow to the inevitable. '

'I don't know if you have the least idea what you're talking about, ' sheanswered, raising her eyebrows. 'I'm sure I haven't. '

'I was merely asking you in a rather well-turned phrase to name the day. The lamb shall be ready for the slaughter. '

'Is that a proposal of marriage?' she asked gaily. 

'If not it must be its twin brother, ' he returned. 

'I'm so glad you've told me, because if I'd met it in the street Ishould never have recognised it, and I should simply have cut it dead. '

'You show as little inclination to answer a question as a cabinetminister in the House of Commons. '

'Couldn't you infuse a little romance into it? You see, I'm American, and I have a certain taste for sentiment in affairs of the heart. '

'I should be charmed, only you must remember that I have no experiencein these matters. '

'That is visible to the naked eye, ' she retorted. 'But I would suggestthat it is only decent to go down on your bended knees. '

'That sounds a perilous feat to perform in a hansom cab, and it wouldcertainly attract an amount of attention from passing bus-drivers whichwould be embarrassing. '

'You could never convince me of the sincerity of your passion unless youdid something of the kind, ' she replied. 

'I assure you that it is quite out of fashion. Lovers now-a-days aremuch too middle-aged, and their joints are creaky. Besides it ruins thetrousers. '

'I admit your last reason is overwhelming. No nice woman should ask aman to make his trousers baggy at the knees. '

'How could she love him if they were!' exclaimed Dick. 

'But at all events there can be no excuse for your not saying that youknow you are utterly unworthy of me. '

'Wild horses wouldn't induce me to make a statement which is so remotefrom the truth, ' he replied coolly. 'I did it with my little hatchet. '

'And of course you must threaten to commit suicide if I don't consent. That is only decent. '

'Women are such sticklers for routine, ' he sighed. 'They have nooriginality. They have a passion for commonplace, and in moments ofemotion they fly with unerring instinct into the flamboyance ofmelodrama. '

'I like to hear you use long words. It makes me feel so grown up. '

'By the way, how old are you?' he asked suddenly. 

'Twenty-nine, ' she answered promptly. 

'Nonsense. There is no such age. '

'Pardon me, ' she protested gravely. 'Upper parlour maids are alwaystwenty-nine. But I deplore your tendency to digress. '

'Am I digressing? I'm so sorry. What were we talking about?'

Julia giggled. She did not know where the cab was going, and shecertainly did not care. She was thoroughly enjoying herself. 

'You were taking advantage of my vast experience in such matters tolearn how a man proposes to an eligible widow of great personalattractions. '

'Your advice can't be very valuable, since you always refused theothers. '

'I didn't indeed, ' she replied promptly. 'I made a point of acceptingthem all. '

'That at all events is encouraging. '

'Of course you may do it in your own way if you choose. But I must havea proposal in due form. '

'My intelligence may be limited, but it seems to me that only four wordsare needed. ' He counted them out deliberately on his fingers. 'Will--you--marry--me?'

'That is both clear and simple. ' She pressed back the thumb which he hadleft untouched. 'I reply in one: no. '

He looked at her with every sign of astonishment. 

'I beg your pardon?' he said. 

'You heard quite correctly, ' she smiled. 'The reply is in the negative. '

She resisted a mad, but inconvenient, temptation to dance a breakdown onthe floor of the hansom. 

'You're joking, ' said Dick calmly. 'You're certainly joking. '

'I will be a sister to you. '

Dick reflected for a moment, and he rubbed his chin. 

'The chance will never recur, you know, ' he remarked. 

'I will bear the threat that is implied in that with fortitude. '

He turned round and taking her hand, raised it to his lips. 

'I thank you from the bottom of my heart, ' he said earnestly. 

This puzzled her. 

'The man's mad, ' she murmured to a constable who stood on the curb asthey passed. 'The man's nothing short of a raving lunatic. '

'It is one of my most cherished convictions that a really nice woman isnever so cruel as to marry a man she cares for. You have given me proofof esteem which I promise I will never forget. '

Mrs. Crowley could not help laughing. 

'You're much too flippant to marry anybody, and you're perfectly odiousinto the bargain. '

'I will be a brother to you, Mrs. Crowley. '

He opened the trap and told the cabman to drive back to Victoria Street, but at Hyde Park Corner he suggested that Mrs. Crowley might drop him sothat he could take a stroll in the park. When he got out and closed thedoors behind him, Julia leaned forward. 

'Would you like some letters of introduction before you go?' she said. 

'What for?'

'It is evident that unless your soul is dead to all the finer feelings, you will seek to assuage your sorrow by shooting grizzlies in the RockyMountains. I thought a few letters to my friends in New York might beuseful to you. '

'I'm sure that's very considerate of you, but I fancy it's scarcely theproper season. I was thinking of a week in Paris. '

'Then pray send me a dozen pairs of black suède gloves, ' she retortedcoolly. 'Sixes. '

'Is that your last word?' he asked lightly. 

'Yes, why?'

'I thought you might mean six and a half. '

He lifted his hat and was gone. 

XIX

A few days later, Lady Kelsey and Lucy having gone on the river, JuliaCrowley went to Court Leys. When she came down to breakfast the dayafter her arrival, she found waiting for her six pairs of long suèdegloves. She examined their size and their quality, smiled withamusement, and felt a little annoyed. She really had every intention ofaccepting Dick when he proposed to her, and she did not in the leastknow why she had refused him. The conversation had carried her away inher own despite. She loved a repartee and notwithstanding theconsequences could never resist making any that occurred to her. It wasvery stupid of Dick to take her so seriously, and she was inclined to becross with him. Of course he had only gone to Paris to tease, and in aweek he would be back again. She knew that he was just as much in lovewith her as she was with him, and it was absurd of him to put on airs. She awaited the post each day impatiently, for she constantly expected aletter from him to say he was coming down to luncheon. She made up hermind about the _menu_ of the pleasant little meal she would set beforehim, and in imagination rehearsed the scene in which she would at lengthsuccumb to his passionate entreaties. It was evidently discreet not tosurrender with unbecoming eagerness. But no letter came. A week went by. She began to think that Dick had no sense of humour. A second weekpassed, and then a third. Perhaps it was because she had nothing to dothat Master Dick absorbed a quite unmerited degree of her attention. Itwas very inconvenient and very absurd. She tormented herself with allsorts of reasons to explain his absence, and once or twice, like thespoiled child she was, she cried. But Mrs. Crowley was a sensible womanand soon made up her mind that if she could not live without theman--though heaven only knew why she wanted him--she had better takesteps to secure his presence. It was the end of August now, and she wasbored and lonely. She sent him a very untruthful telegram. 

 _I have to be in town on Friday to see my lawyer. May I come to tea at five?_

 _Julia. _

His answer did not arrive for twenty-four hours, and then it wasaddressed from Homburg. 

 _Regret immensely, but shall be away. _

 _Richard Lomas. _

Julia stamped her tiny foot with indignation and laughed with amusementat her own anger. It was monstrous that while she was leading thedullest existence imaginable, he should be enjoying the gaieties of afashionable watering-place. She telegraphed once more. 

 _Thanks very much. Shall expect to see you on Friday. _

 _Julia. _

She travelled up to town on the appointed day and went to her house inNorfolk Street to see that the journey had left no traces on herappearance. Mayfair seemed quite deserted, and half the windows werecovered with newspapers to keep out the dust. It was very hot, and thesun beat down from a cloudless sky. The pavements were white anddazzling. Julia realised with pleasure that she was the only cool personin London, and the lassitude she saw in the passers-by added to her ownself-satisfaction. The month at the seaside had given an added freshnessto her perfection, and her charming gown had a breezy lightness thatmust be very grateful to a gentleman of forty lately returned fromforeign parts. As she looked at herself in the glass, Mrs. Crowleyreflected that she did not know anyone who had a figure half so good ashers. 

When she drove up to Dick's house, she noticed that there were freshflowers in the window boxes, and when she was shown into hisdrawing-room, the first thing that struck her was the scent of red roseswhich were in masses everywhere. The blinds were down, and after thebaking street the dark coolness of the room was very pleasant. The teawas on a little table, waiting to be poured out. Dick of course wasthere to receive her. As she shook hands with him, she smothered alittle titter of wild excitement. 

'So you've come back, ' she said. 

'I was just passing through town, ' he answered, with an airy wave of thehand. 

'From where to where?'

'From Homburg to the Italian Lakes. '

'Rather out of your way, isn't it?' she smiled. 

'Not at all, ' he replied. 'If I were going from Manchester to Liverpool, I should break the journey in London. That's one of my hobbies. '

Julia laughed gaily, and as they both made a capital tea, they talkedof all manner of trivial things. They were absurdly glad to see oneanother again, and each was ready to be amused at everything the othersaid. But the conversation would have been unintelligible to a listener, since they mostly talked together, and every now and then made a littlescene when one insisted that the other should listen to what he wassaying. 

Suddenly Mrs. Crowley threw up her hands with a gesture of dismay. 

'Oh, how stupid of me!' she cried. 'I quite forgot to tell you why Itelegraphed to you the other day. '

'I know, ' he retorted. 

'Do you? Why?'

'Because you're the most disgraceful flirt I ever saw in my life, ' heanswered promptly. 

She opened her eyes wide with a very good imitation of completeamazement. 

'My dear Mr. Lomas, have you never contemplated yourself in alooking-glass?'

'You're not a bit repentant of the havoc you have wrought, ' he crieddramatically. 

She did not answer, but looked at him with a smile so entirelydelightful that he cried out irritably:

'I wish you wouldn't look like that. '

'How am I looking?' she smiled. 

'To my innocent and inexperienced gaze very much as if you wanted to bekissed. '

'You brute!' she cried. 'I'll never speak to you again. '

'Why do you make such rash statements? You know you couldn't hold youtongue for two minutes together. '

'What a libel! I never can get a word in edgeways when I'm with you, 'she returned. 'You're such a chatterbox. '

'I don't know why you put on that aggrieved air. You seem to forget thatit's I who ought to be furious. '

'On the contrary, you behaved very unkindly to me a month ago, and I'monly here to-day because I have a Christian disposition. '

'You forget that for the last four weeks I've been laboriously piecingtogether the fragments of a broken heart, ' he answered. 

'It was entirely your fault, ' she laughed. 'If you hadn't been socertain I was going to accept you, I should never have refused. Icouldn't resist the temptation of saying no, just to see how you tookit. '

'I flatter myself I took it very well. '

'You didn't, ' she answered. 'You showed an entire lack of humour. Youmight have known that a nice woman doesn't accept a man the first timehe asks her. It was very silly of you to go to Homburg as if you didn'tcare. How was I to know that you meant to wait a month before asking meagain?'

He looked at her for a moment calmly. 

'I haven't the least intention of asking you again. '

But it required much more than this to put Julia Crowley out ofcountenance. 

'Then why on earth did you invite me to tea?'

'May I respectfully remind you that you invited yourself?' he protested. 

'That's just like a man. He will go into irrelevant details, ' sheanswered. 

'Now, don't be cross, ' he smiled. 

'I shall be cross if I want to, ' she exclaimed, with a little stamp ofher foot. 'You're not being at all nice to me. '

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, and his eyes twinkled. 

'Do you know what I'd do if I were you?'

'No, what?'

'Well, _I_ can't suffer the humiliation of another refusal. Why don'tyou propose to me?'

'What cheek!' she cried. 

Their eyes met, and she smiled. 

'What will you say if I do?'

'That entirely depends on how you do it. '

'I don't know how, ' she murmured plaintively. 

'Yes, you do, ' he insisted. 'You gave me an admirable lesson. First yougo on your bended knees, and then you say you're quite unworthy of me. '

'You are the most spiteful creature I've ever known, ' she laughed. 'You're just the sort of man who'd beat his wife. '

'Every Saturday night regularly, ' he agreed. 

She hesitated, looking at him. 

'Well?' he said. 

'I shan't, ' she answered. 

'Then I shall continue to be a brother to you. '

She got up and curtsied. 

'Mr. Lomas, I am a widow, twenty-nine years of age, and extremelyeligible. My maid is a treasure, and my dressmaker is charming. I'mclever enough to laugh at your jokes and not so learned as to know wherethey come from. '

'Really you're very long winded. I said it all in four words. '

'You evidently put it too briefly, since you were refused, ' she smiled. 

She stretched out her hands, and he took them. 

'I think I'll do it by post, ' she said. 'It'll sound so much morebecoming. '

'You'd better get it over now. '

'You know, I don't really want to marry you a bit. I'm only doing it toplease you. '

'I admire your unselfishness. '

'You will say yes if I ask you?'

'I refuse to commit myself. '

'Obstinate beast, ' she cried. 

She curtsied once more, as well as she could since he was firmly holdingher hands. 

'Sir, I have the honour to demand your hand in marriage. '

He bowed elaborately. 

'Madam, I have much pleasure in acceding to your request. '

Then he drew her towards him and put his arms around her. 

'I never saw anyone make such a fuss about so insignificant a detail asmarriage, ' she murmured. 

'You have the softest lips I ever kissed, ' he said. 

'I wish to goodness you'd be serious, ' she laughed. 'I've got somethingvery important to say to you. '

'You're not going to tell me the story of your past life, ' he cried. 

'No, I was thinking of my engagement ring. I make a point of having acabochon emerald: I collect them. '

'No sooner said than done, ' he cried. 

He took a ring from his pocket and slipped it on her finger. She lookedfrom it to him. 

'You see, I know that you made a specialty of emeralds. '

'Then you meant to ask me all the time?'

'I confess it to my shame: I did, ' he laughed. 

'Oh, I wish I'd known that before. '

'What would you have done?'

'I'd have refused you again, you silly. '

* * *

Dick Lomas and Mrs. Crowley said nothing about their engagement toanyone, since it seemed to both that the marriage of a middle-agedgentleman and a widow of uncertain years could concern no one butthemselves. The ceremony was duly performed in a deserted church on awarm September day, when there was not a soul in London. Mrs. Crowleywas given away by her solicitor, and the verger signed the book. Thehappy pair went to Court Leys for a fortnight's honeymoon and at thebeginning of October returned to London; they made up their minds thatthey would go to America later in the autumn. 

'I want to show you off to all my friends in New York, ' said Julia, gaily. 

'Do you think they'll like me?' asked Dick. 

'Not at all. They'll say: That silly little fool Julia Crowley hasmarried another beastly Britisher. '

'That is more alliterative than polite, ' he retorted. 

'On the other hand my friends and relations are already saying: What onearth has poor Dick Lomas married an American for? We always thought hewas very well-to-do. '

They went into roars of laughter, for they were in that state ofhappiness when the whole world seemed the best of jokes, and they spenttheir days in laughing at one another and at things in general. Lifewas a pleasant thing, and they could not imagine why others should nottake it as easily as themselves. 

They had engaged rooms at the _Carlton_ while they were furnishing a newhouse. Each had one already, but neither would live in the other's, andso it had seemed necessary to look out for a third. Julia vowed thatthere was an air of bachelordom about Dick's house which made itimpossible for a married woman to inhabit; and Dick, on his side, refused to move into Julia's establishment in Norfolk Street, since itgave him the sensation of being a fortune-hunter living on his wife'sincome. Besides, a new house gave an opportunity for extravagance whichdelighted both of them since they realised perfectly that the onlyadvantage of having plenty of money was to spend it in unnecessaryways. They were a pair of light-hearted children, who refused firmly toconsider the fact that they were more than twenty-five. 

Lady Kelsey and Lucy had gone from the River to Spa, for the elderwoman's health, and on their return Julia went to see them in order toreceive their congratulations and display her extreme happiness. Shecame back thoughtfully. When she sat down to luncheon with Dick in theirsitting-room at the hotel, he saw that she was disturbed. He asked herwhat was the matter. 

'Lucy has broken off her engagement with Robert Boulger, ' she said. 

'That young woman seems to make a speciality of breaking herengagements, ' he answered drily. 

'I'm afraid she's still in love with Alec MacKenzie. '

'Then why on earth did she accept Bobbie?'

'My dear boy, she only took him in a fit of temper. When that hadcooled down she very wisely thought better of it. '

'I can never sufficiently admire the reasonableness of your sex, ' saidDick, ironically. 

Julia shrugged her pretty shoulders. 

'Half the women I know merely married their husbands to spite somebodyelse. I assure you it's one of the commonest causes of matrimony. '

'Then heaven save me from matrimony, ' cried Dick. 

'It hasn't, ' she laughed. 

But immediately she grew serious once more. 

'Mr. MacKenzie was in Brussels while they were in Spa. '

'I had a letter from him this morning. '

'Lady Kelsey says that according to the papers he's going to Africaagain. I think it's that which has upset Lucy. They made a great fussabout him in Brussels. '

'Yes, he tells me that everything is fixed up, and he proposes to startquite shortly. He's going to do some work in the Congo Free State. Theywant to find a new waterway, and the King of the Belgians has given hima free hand. '

'I suppose the King of the Belgians looks upon one atrocity more or lesswith equanimity, ' said Julia. 

They were silent for a minute or two, while each was occupied with hisown thoughts. 

'You saw him after Lucy broke off the engagement, ' said Julia, presently. 'Was he very wretched?'

'He never said a word. I wanted to comfort him, but he never gave me achance. He never even mentioned Lucy's name. '

'Did he seem unhappy?'

'No. He was just the same as ever, impassive and collected. '

'Really, he's inhuman, ' exclaimed Julia impatiently. 

'He's an anomaly in this juvenile century, ' Dick agreed. 'He's anancient Roman who buys his clothes in Savile Row. '

'Then he's very much in the way in England, and it's much better that heshould go back to Africa. '

'I suppose it is. Here he reminds one of an eagle caged with a colony ofcanaries. '

Julia looked at her husband reflectively. 

'I think you're the only friend who has stuck to him, ' she said. 

'I wouldn't put it in that way. After all, I'm the only friend he everhad. It was not unnatural that a number of acquaintances should drop himwhen he got into hot water. '

'It must have been a great help to find someone who believed in himnotwithstanding everything. '

'I'm afraid it sounds very immoral, but whatever his crimes were, Ishould never like Alec less. You see, he's been so awfully good and kindto me, I can look on with fortitude while he plays football with the TenCommandments. '

Julia's emotions were always sudden, and the tears came to her eyes asshe answered. 

'I'm really beginning to think you a perfect angel, Dick. '

'Don't say that, ' he retorted quickly. 'It makes me feel so middle-aged. I'd much sooner be a young sinner than an elderly cherub. '

Smiling, she stretched out her hand, and he held it for a moment. 

'You know, though I can't help liking you, I don't in the least approveof you. '

'Good heavens, why not?' he cried. 

'Well, I was brought up to believe that a man should work, and you'redisgracefully idle. '

'Good heavens, to marry an American wife is the most arduous professionin the world, ' he cried. 'One has to combine the energy of the UniversalProvider with the patience of an ambassador at the Sublime Porte. '

'You foolish creature, ' she laughed. 

But her thoughts immediately reverted to Lucy. Her pallid, melancholyface still lingered in Julia's memory, and her heart was touched by thehopeless woe that dwelt in her beautiful eyes. 

'I suppose there's no doubt that those stories about Alec MacKenzie weretrue?' she said, thoughtfully. 

Dick gave her a quick glance. He wondered what was in her mind. 

'I'll tell you what I think, ' he said. 'Anyone who knows Alec as well asI do must be convinced that he did nothing from motives that were meanand paltry. To accuse him of cowardice is absurd--he's the bravest manI've ever known--and it's equally absurd to accuse him of weakness. Butwhat I do think is this: Alec is not the man to stick at half measures, and he's taken desperately to heart the maxim which says that he whodesires an end desires the means also. I think he might be veryruthless, and on occasion he might be stern to the verge of brutality. Reading between the lines of those letters that Macinnery sent to the_Daily Mail_, I have wondered if Alec, finding that someone must besacrificed, didn't deliberately choose George Allerton because he wasthe least useful to him and could be best spared. Even in smallundertakings like that there must be some men who are only food forpowder. If Alec had found George worthless to him, no consideration forLucy would have prevented him from sacrificing him. '

'If that were so why didn't he say it outright?'

'Do you think it would have made things any better? The British publicis sentimental; they will not understand that in warfare it is necessarysometimes to be inhuman. And how would it have served him with Lucy ifhe had confessed that he had used George callously as a pawn in his gamethat must be sacrificed to win some greater advantage?'

'It's all very horrible, ' shuddered Julia. 

'And so far as the public goes, events have shown that he was right tokeep silence. The agitation against him died down for want of matter, and though he is vaguely discredited, nothing is proved definitelyagainst him. Public opinion is very fickle, and already people arebeginning to forget, and as they forget they will think they havemisjudged him. When it is announced that he has given his services tothe King of the Belgians, ten to one there will be a reaction in hisfavour. '

They got up from luncheon, and coffee was served to them. They lit theircigarettes. For some time they were silent. 

'Lucy wants to see him before he goes, ' said Julia suddenly. 

Dick looked at her and gave an impatient shrug of the shoulders. 

'I suppose she wants to indulge a truly feminine passion for makingscenes. She's made Alec quite wretched enough already. '

'Don't be unkind to her, Dick, ' said Julia, tears welling up in herbright eyes. 'You don't know how desperately unhappy she is. My heartbled to see her this morning. '

'Darling, I'll do whatever you want me to, ' he said, leaning over her. 

Julia's sense of the ridiculous was always next door to her sense of thepathetic. 

'I don't know why you should kiss me because Lucy's utterly miserable, 'she said, with a little laugh. 

And then, gravely, as she nestled in his encircling arm:

'Will you try and manage it? She hesitates to write to him. '

'I'm not sure if I had not better leave you to impart the pleasinginformation yourself, ' he replied. 'I've asked Alec to come here thisafternoon. '

'You're a selfish beast, ' she answered. 'But in that case you must leaveme alone with him, because I shall probably weep gallons of tears, andyou'll only snigger at me. '

'Bless your little heart! Let us put handkerchiefs in every conceivableplace. '

'On occasions like this I carry a bagful about with me. '

XX

In the afternoon Alec arrived. Julia's tender heart was touched by thechange wrought in him during the three months of his absence from town. At the first glance there was little difference in him. He was stillcool and collected, with that air of expecting people to do his biddingwhich had always impressed her; and there was still about him asensation of strength, which was very comfortable to weaker vessels. Buther sharp eyes saw that he held himself together by an effort of will, and it was singularly painful to the onlooker. The strain had told onhim, and there was in his haggard eyes, in the deliberate firmness ofhis mouth, a tension which suggested that he was almost at the end ofhis tether. He was sterner than before and more silent. Julia could seehow deeply he had suffered, and his suffering had been greater becauseof his determination to conquer it at all costs. She longed to go to himand beg him not to be too hard upon himself. Things would have gone moreeasily with him, if he had allowed himself a little weakness. But he wassofter too, and she no longer felt the slight awe which to her till thenhad often made intercourse difficult. His first words were full of anunexpected kindness. 

'I'm so glad to be able to congratulate you, ' he said, holding her handand smiling with that rare, sweet smile of his. 'I was a little unhappyat leaving Dick; but now I leave him in your hands I'm perfectlycontent. He's the dearest, kindest old chap I've ever known. '

'Shut up, Alec, ' cried Dick promptly. 'Don't play the heavy father, orJulia will burst into tears. She loves having a good cry. '

But Alec ignored the interruption. 

'He'll be an admirable husband because he's been an admirable friend. '

For the first time Julia thought Alec altogether wise and charming. 

'I know he will, ' she answered happily. 'And I'm only prevented fromsaying all I think of him by the fear that he'll become perfectlyunmanageable. '

'Spare me the chaste blushes which mantle my youthful brow, and pour outthe tea, Julia, ' said Dick. 

She laughed and proceeded to do as he requested. 

'And are you really starting for Africa so soon?' Julia asked, when theywere settled around the tea-table. 

Alec threw back his head, and his face lit up. 

'I am. Everything is fixed up; the bother of collecting supplies andgetting porters has been taken off my shoulders, and all I have to do isto get along as quickly as possible. '

'I wish to goodness you'd give up these horrible explorations, ' criedDick. 'They make the rest of us feel so abominably unadventurous. '

'But they're the very breath of my nostrils, ' answered Alec. 'You don'tknow the exhilaration of the daily dangers, the joy of treading whereonly the wild beasts have trodden before. '

'I freely confess that I don't want to, ' said Dick. 

Alec sprang up and stretched his legs. As he spoke all signs oflassitude disappeared, and he was seized with an excitement that wasrarely seen in him. 

'Already I can hardly bear my impatience when I think of the boundlesscountry and the enchanting freedom. Here one grows so small, so mean;but in Africa everything is built to a nobler standard. There the man isreally a man. There one knows what are will and strength and courage. You don't know what it is to stand on the edge of some great plain andbreathe the pure keen air after the terrors of the forest. '

'The boundless plain of Hyde Park is enough for me, ' said Dick. 'And theaspect of Piccadilly on a fine day in June gives me quite as manyemotions as I want. '

But Julia was moved by Alec's unaccustomed rhetoric, and she looked athim earnestly. 

'But what will you gain by it now that your work is over--by all thedanger and all the hardships?'

He turned his dark, solemn eyes upon her. 

'Nothing. I want to gain nothing. Perhaps I shall discover some newspecies of antelope or some unknown plant. I may be fortunate enough tofind a new waterway. That is all the reward I want. I love the sense ofpower and the mastery. What do you think I care for the tinsel rewardsof kings and peoples!'

'I always said you were melodramatic, ' said Dick. 'I never heardanything so transpontine. '

'And the end of it?' asked Julia, almost in a whisper. 'What will be theend?'

A faint smile played for an instant upon Alec's lips. He shrugged hisshoulders. 

'The end is death. But I shall die standing up. I shall go the lastjourney as I have gone every other. '

He stopped, for he would not add the last two words. Julia said them forhim. 

'Without fear. '

'For all the world like the wicked baronet, ' cried the mocking Dick. 'Once aboard the lugger, and the gurl is mine. '

Julia reflected for a little while. She did not want to resist theadmiration with which Alec filled her. But she shuddered. He did notseem to fit in with the generality of men. 

'Don't you want people to remember you?' she asked. 

'Perhaps they will, ' he answered slowly. 'Perhaps in a hundred years, insome flourishing town where I discovered nothing but wilderness, theywill commission a second-rate sculptor to make a fancy statue of me. AndI shall stand in front of the Stock Exchange, a convenient perch forbirds, to look eternally upon the shabby deeds of human kind. '

He gave a short, abrupt laugh, and his words were followed by silence. Julia gave Dick a glance which he took to be a signal that she wished tobe alone with Alec. 

'Forgive me if I leave you for one minute, ' he said. 

He got up and left the room. The silence still continued, and Alecseemed immersed in thought. At last Julia answered him. 

'And is that really all? I can't help thinking that at the bottom ofyour heart there is something that you've never told to a living soul. '

He looked at her, and their eyes met. He felt suddenly her extraordinarysympathy and her passionate desire to help him. And as though the bondsof the flesh were loosened, it seemed to him that their very souls facedone another. The reserve which was his dearest habit fell away from him, and he felt an urgent desire to say that which a curious delicacy hadprevented him from every betraying to callous ears. 

'I daresay I shall never see you again, and perhaps it doesn't muchmatter what I say to you. You'll think me very silly, but I'm afraid I'mrather--patriotic. It's only we who live away from England who reallylove it. I'm so proud of my country, and I wanted so much to dosomething for it. Often in Africa I've thought of this dear England andlonged not to die till I had done my work. '

His voice shook a little, and he paused. It seemed to Julia that she sawthe man for the first time, and she wished passionately that Lucy couldhear those words of his which he spoke so shyly, and yet with such apassionate earnestness. 

'Behind all the soldiers and the statesmen whose fame is imperishablethere is a long line of men who've built up the empire piece by piece. Their names are forgotten, and only students know their history, buteach one of them gave a province to his country. And I too have my placeamong them. Year after year I toiled, night and day, and at last I wasable to hand over to the commissioner a broad tract of land, rich andfertile. After my death England will forget my faults and my mistakes;and I care nothing for the flouts and gibes with which she has repaidall my pain, for I have added another fair jewel to her crown. I don'twant rewards; I only want the honour of serving this dear land of ours. '

Julia went up to him and laid her hand gently on his arm. 

'Why is it, when you're so nice really, that you do all you can to makepeople think you utterly horrid?'

'Don't laugh at me because you've found out that at bottom I'm nothingmore than a sentimental old woman. '

'I don't want to laugh at you. But if I didn't think it would embarrassyou so dreadfully, I should certainly kiss you. '

He smiled and lifting her hand to his lips, lightly kissed it. 

'I shall begin to think I'm a very wonderful woman if I've taught you todo such pretty things as that. '

She made him sit down, and then she sat by his side. 

'I'm very glad you came to-day. I wanted to talk to you. Will you bevery angry if I say something to you?'

'I don't think so, ' he smiled. 

'I want to speak to you about Lucy. '

He drew himself suddenly together, and the expansion of his mooddisappeared. He was once more the cold, reserved man of their habitualintercourse. 

'I'd rather you didn't, ' he said briefly. 

But Julia was not to be so easily put off. 

'What would you do if she came here to-day?' she asked. 

He turned round and looked at her sharply, then answered with greatdeliberation. 

'I have always lived in polite society. I should never dream ofoutraging its conventions. If Lucy happened to come, you may be surethat I should be scrupulously polite. '

'Is that all?' she cried. 

He did not answer, and into his face came a wild fierceness thatappalled her. She saw the effort he was making at self-control. Shewished with all her heart that he would be less brave. 

'I think you might not be so hard if you knew how desperately Lucy hassuffered. '

He looked at her again, and his eyes were filled with bitterness, withangry passion at the injustice of fate. Did she think that he had notsuffered? Because he did not whine his misery to all and sundry, did shethink he did not care? He sprang up and walked to the other end of theroom. He did not want that woman, for all her kindness, to see his face. He was not the man to fall in and out of love with every pretty girl hemet. All his life he had kept an ideal before his eyes. He turned toJulia savagely. 

'You don't know what it meant to me to fall in love. I felt that I hadlived all my life in a prison, and at last Lucy came and took me by thehand, and led me out. And for the first time I breathed the free air ofheaven. '

He stopped abruptly, clenching his jaws. He would not tell her howbitterly he had suffered for it, he would not tell her of his angryrebelliousness because all that pain should have come to him. He wantednobody to know the depths of his agony and of his despair. But he wouldnot give way. He felt that, if he did not keep a tight hold on himself, he would break down and shake with passionate sobbing. He felt a suddenflash of hatred for Julia because she sat there and watched hisweakness. But as though she saw at what a crisis of emotion he was, Julia turned her eyes from him and looked down at the ground. She didnot speak. She felt the effort he was making to master himself, and shewas infinitely disturbed. She wanted to go to him and comfort him, butshe knew he would repel her. He wanted to fight his battle unaided. 

At last he conquered, but when he spoke again, his voice was singularlybroken. It was hoarse and low. 

'My love was the last human weakness I had. It was right that I shoulddrink that bitter cup. And I've drunk its very dregs. I should haveknown that I wasn't meant for happiness and a life of ease. I have otherwork to do in the world. '

He paused for a moment, and his calmness was restored to him. 

'And now that I've overcome this last temptation I am ready to do it. '

'But haven't you any pity for yourself? Haven't you any thought forLucy?'

'Must I tell you, too, that everything I did was for Lucy's sake? Andstill I love her with all my heart and soul. '

There was no bitterness in his tone now; it was gentle and resigned. Hehad, indeed, won the battle. Julia's eyes were filled with tears, andshe could not answer. He came forward and shook hands with her. 

'You mustn't cry, ' he said, smiling. 'You're one of those persons whosepart it is to bring sunshine into the lives of those with less fortunatedispositions. You must always be happy and childlike. '

'I've got lots of handkerchiefs, thanks, ' she sobbed, laughing thewhile. 

'You must forget all the nonsense I've talked to you, ' he said. 

He smiled once more and was gone. 

Dick was sitting in his bedroom, reading an evening paper, and she flungherself sobbing into his arms. 

'Oh, Dick, I've had such a lovely cry, and I'm so happy and so utterlywretched. And I'm sure I shall have a red nose. '

'Darling, I've long discovered that you only weep because you're theonly person in the world to whom it's thoroughly becoming. '

'Don't be horrid and unsympathetic. I think Alec MacKenzie's a perfectdear. I wanted to kiss him, only I was afraid it would frighten him todeath. '

'I'm glad you didn't. He would have thought you a forward hussy. '

'I wish I could have married him, too, ' cried Julia, 'I'm sure he'd makea nice husband. '

XXI

The days went by, spent by Alec in making necessary preparations for hisjourney, spent by Lucy in sickening anxiety. The last two months hadbeen passed by her in a conflict of emotions. Love had planted itself inher heart like a great forest tree, and none of the storms that hadassailed it seemed to have power to shake its stubborn roots. Season, common decency, shame, had lost their power. She had prayed God that amerciful death might free her from the dreadful uncertainty. She wasspiritless and cowed. She despised herself for her weakness. Andsometimes she rebelled against the fate that crushed her with suchmisfortunes; she had tried to do her duty always, acting humblyaccording to her lights, and yet everything she was concerned incrumbled away to powder at her touch. She, too, began to think that shewas not meant for happiness. She knew that she ought to hate Alec, butshe could not. She knew that his action should fill her with namelesshorror, but against her will she could not believe that he was false andwicked. One thing she was determined on, and that was to keep her wordto Robert Boulger; but he himself gave her back her freedom. 

He came to her one day, and after a little casual conversation brokesuddenly into the middle of things. 

'Lucy, I want to ask you to release me from my engagement to you, ' hesaid. 

Her heart gave a great leap against her breast, and she began totremble. He went on. 

'I'm ashamed to have to say it; I find that I don't love you enough tomarry you. '

She looked at him silently, and her eyes filled with tears. Thebrutality with which he spoke was so unnatural that it betrayed themercifulness of his intention. 

'If you think that, there is nothing more to be said, ' she answered. 

He gave her a look of such bitterness that she felt it impossible tocontinue a pretence which deceived neither of them. 

'I'm unworthy of your love, ' she cried. 'I've made you desperatelywretched. '

'It doesn't matter about me, ' he said. 'But there's no reason for you tobe wretched, too. '

'I'm willing to do whatever you wish, Bobbie. '

'I can't marry you simply because you're sorry for me. I thought Icould, but--it's asking too much of you. We had better say no more aboutit. '

'I'm very sorry, ' she whispered. 

'You see, you're still in love with Alec MacKenzie. '

He said it, vainly longing for a denial; but he knew in his heart thatno denial would come. 

'I always shall be, notwithstanding everything. I can't help myself. '

'No, it's fate. '

She sprang to her feet with vehement passion. 

'Oh, Bobbie, don't you think there's some chance that everything may beexplained?'

He hesitated for a moment. It was very difficult to answer. 

'It's only fair to tell you that now things have calmed down, there area great many people who don't believe Macinnery's story. It appears thatthe man's a thorough blackguard, whom MacKenzie loaded with benefits. '

'Do _you_ still believe that Alec caused George's death?'

'Yes. '

Lucy leaned back in her chair, resting her face on her hand. She seemedto reflect deeply. 

'And you?' said Bobbie. 

She gave him a long, earnest look. The colour came to her cheeks. 

'No, ' she said firmly. 

'Why not?' he asked. 

'I have no reason except that I love him. '

'What are you going to do?'

'I don't know. '

Bobbie got up, kissed her gently, and went out. She did not see himagain, and in a day or two she heard that he had gone away. 

* * *

Lucy made up her mind that she must see Alec before he went, but asecret bashfulness prevented her from writing to him. She was afraidthat he would refuse, and she could not force herself upon him if sheknew definitely that he did not want to see her. But with all her heartshe wanted to ask his pardon. It would not be so hard to continue withthe dreary burden which was her life if she knew that he had a littlepity for her. He could not fail to forgive her when he saw how brokenshe was. 

But the days followed one another, and the date which Julia, radiantwith her own happiness, had given her as that of his departure, wasapproaching. 

Julia, too, was exercised in mind. After her conversation with Alec shecould not ask him to see Lucy, for she knew what his answer would be. Noarguments, would move him. He did not want to give either Lucy orhimself the pain which he foresaw an interview would cause, and hiswounds were too newly-healed for him to run any risks. Julia resolved totake the matter into her own hands. Alec was starting next day, and hehad promised to look in towards the evening to bid them good-bye. Juliawrote a note to Lucy, asking her to come also. 

When she told Dick, he was aghast. 

'But it's a monstrous thing to do, ' he cried. 'You can't entrap the manin that way. '

'I know it's monstrous, ' she answered. 'But that's the only advantage ofbeing an American in England, that one can do monstrous things. You lookupon us as first cousins to the red Indians, and you expect anythingfrom us. In America I have to mind my p's and q's. I mayn't smoke inpublic, I shouldn't dream of lunching in a restaurant alone with a man, and I'm the most conventional person in the most conventional society inthe world; but here, because the English are under the delusion that NewYork society is free and easy, and that American women have norestraint, I can kick over the traces, and no one will think it evenodd. '

'But, my dear, it's a mere matter of common decency. '

'There are times when common decency is out of place, ' she replied. 

'Alec will never forgive you. '

'I don't care. I think he ought to see Lucy, and since he'd refuse if Iasked him, I'm not going to give him the chance. '

'What will you do if he just bows and walks off?'

'I have his assurance that he'll behave like a civilised man, ' sheanswered. 

'I wash my hands of it, ' said Dick. 'I think it's perfectlyindefensible. '

'I never said it wasn't, ' she agreed. 'But you see, I'm only a poor, weak woman, and I'm not supposed to have any sense of honour orpropriety. You must let me take what advantage I can of the disabilitiesof the weaker sex. '

Dick smiled and shrugged his shoulders. 

'Your blood be upon your own head, ' he answered. 

'If I perish, I perish. '

And so it came about that when Alec had been ten minutes in Julia's cosysitting-room, Lucy was announced. Julia went up to her, greeting hereffusively to cover the awkwardness of the moment. Alec grew very pale, but made no sign that he was disconcerted. Only Dick was troubled. Hewas obviously at a loss for words, and it was plain to see that he wasout of temper. 

'I'm so glad you were able to come, ' said Julia, in order to show Alecthat she had been expecting Lucy. 

Lucy gave him a rapid glance, and the colour flew to her cheeks. He wasstanding up and came forward with outstretched hand. 

'How do you do?' he said. 'How is Lady Kelsey?'

'She's much better, thanks. We've been to Spa, you know, for herhealth. '

Julia's heart beat quickly. She was much excited at this meeting; and itseemed to her strangely romantic, a sign of the civilisation of thetimes, that these two people with raging passions afire in their hearts, should exchange the commonplaces of polite society, Alec, havingrecovered from his momentary confusion was extremely urbane. 

'Somebody told me you'd gone abroad, ' he said. 'Was it you, Dick? Dickis an admirable person, a sort of gazetteer for the world of fashion. '

Dick fussily brought forward a chair for Lucy to sit in, and offered todisembarrass her of the jacket she was wearing. 

'You must make my excuses for not leaving a card on Lady Kelsey beforegoing away, ' said Alec. 'I've been excessively busy. '

'It doesn't matter at all, ' Lucy answered. 

Julia glanced at him. She saw that he was determined to keep theconversation on the indifferent level which it might have occupied ifLucy had been nothing more than an acquaintance. There was a banteringtone in his voice which was an effective barrier to all feeling. For amoment she was nonplussed. 

'London is an excellent place for showing one of how little importanceone is in the world. One makes a certain figure, and perhaps is temptedto think oneself of some consequence. Then one goes away, and onreturning is surprised to discover that nobody has ever noticed one'sabsence. '

Lucy smiled faintly. Dick, recovering his good-humour, came at once tothe rescue. 

'You're overmodest, Alec. If you weren't, you might be a great man. Now, I make a point of telling my friends that I'm indispensable, and theytake me at my word. '

'You are a leaven of flippancy in the heavy dough of Britishrighteousness, ' smiled Alec. 

'It is true that the wise man only takes the unimportant quiteseriously. '

'For it is obvious that one needs more brains to do nothing withelegance than to be a cabinet minister, ' said Alec. 

'You pay me a great compliment, Alec, ' cried Dick. 'You repeat to myvery face one of my favourite observations. '

Julia looked at him steadily. 

'Haven't I heard you say that only the impossible is worth doing?'

'Good heavens, ' he cried. 'I must have been quoting the headings of acopy-book. '

Lucy felt that she must say something. She had been watching Alec, andher heart was nearly breaking. She turned to Dick. 

'Are you going down to Southampton?' she asked. 

'I am, indeed, ' he answered. 'I shall hide my face on Alec's shoulderand weep salt tears. It will be most affecting, because in moments ofemotion I always burst into epigram. '

Alec sprang to his feet. There was a bitterness in his face which was inodd contrast with Dick's light words. 

'I loathe all solemn leave-takings, ' he said. 'I prefer to part frompeople with a nod or a smile, whether I'm going for ever or for a day toBrighton. '

'I've always assured you that you're a monster of inhumanity, ' said Mrs. Lomas, laughing difficultly. 

He turned to her with a grim smile. 

'Dick has been imploring me for twenty years to take life flippantly. Ihave learnt at last that things are only grave if you take them gravely, and that is desperately stupid. It's so hard to be serious without beingabsurd. That is the chief power of women, that life and death for themare merely occasions for a change of costume, marriage a creation inwhite, and the worship of God an opportunity for a Paris bonnet. '

Julia saw that he was determined to keep the conversation on a level ofamiable persiflage, and with her lively sense of the ridiculous shecould hardly repress a smile at the heaviness of his hand. Through allthat he said pierced the bitterness of his heart, and his every word wascontradicted by the vehemence of his tortured voice. She was determined, too, that the interview which she had brought about, uncomfortable as ithad been to all of them, should not be brought to nothing;characteristically she went straight to the point. She stood up. 

'I'm sure you two have things to say to one another that you would liketo say alone. '

She saw Alec's eyes grow darker as he saw himself cornered, but she wasimplacable. 

'I have some letters to send off by the American mail, and I want Dickto look over them to see that I've spelt _honour_ with a u and_traveller_ with a double l. '

Neither Alec nor Lucy answered, and the determined little woman took herhusband firmly away. When they were left alone, neither spoke for awhile. 

'I've just realised that you didn't know I was coming to-day, ' said Lucyat last. 'I had no idea that you were being entrapped. I would neverhave consented to that. '

'I'm very glad to have an opportunity of saying good-bye to you, ' heanswered. 

He preserved the conversational manner of polite society, and it seemedto Lucy that she would never have the strength to get beyond. 

'I'm so glad that Dick and Julia are happily married. They're very muchin love with one another. '

'I should have thought love was the worst possible foundation formarriage, ' he answered. 'Love creates illusions, and marriage destroysthem. True lovers should never marry. '

Again silence fell upon them, and again Lucy broke it. 

'You're going away to-morrow?'

'I am. '

She looked at him, but he would not meet her eyes. He went over to thewindow and looked out upon the busy street. 

'Are you very glad to go?'

'You can't think what a joy it is to look upon London for the last time. I long for the infinite surface of the clean and comfortable sea. '

Lucy gave a stifled sob. Alec started a little, but he did not move. Hestill looked down upon the stream of cabs and 'buses, lit by the mistyautumn sun. 

'Is there no one you regret to leave, Alec?'

It tore his heart that she should use his name. To hear her say it hadalways been like a caress, and the word on her lips brought back oncemore the whole agony of his distress; but he would not allow his emotionto be seen. He turned round and faced her gravely. Now, for the firsttime, he did not hesitate to look at her. And while he spoke the wordshe set himself to speak, he noticed the exquisite oval of her face, hercharming, soft hair, and her unhappy eyes. 

'You see, Dick is married, and so I'm much best out of the way. When aman takes a wife, his bachelor friends are wise to depart from his life, gracefully, before he shows them that he needs their company no longer. '

'And besides Dick?'

'I have few friends and no relations. I can't flatter myself that anyonewill be much distressed at my departure. '

'You must have no heart at all, ' she said, in a low, hoarse voice. 

He clenched his teeth. He was bitterly angry with Julia because she hadexposed him to this unspeakable torture. 

'If I had I certainly should not bring it to the _Carlton Hotel_. Thatsentimental organ would be surely out of place in such a neighbourhood. '

Lucy sprang to her feet. 

'Oh, why do you treat me as if we were strangers? How can you be socruel?'

'Flippancy is often the only refuge from an uncomfortable position, ' heanswered gravely. 'We should really be much wiser merely to discuss theweather. '

'Are you angry because I came?'

'That would be very ungracious on my part. Perhaps it wasn't quitenecessary that we should meet again. '

'You've been acting all the time I've been here. Do you think I didn'tsee it was unreal, when you talked with such cynical indifference? Iknow you well enough to tell when you're hiding your real self behind amask. '

'If that is so, the inference is obvious that I wish my real self to behidden. '

'I would rather you cursed me than treat me with such cold politeness. '

'I'm afraid you're rather difficult to please, ' he said. 

Lucy went up to him passionately, but he drew back so that she might nottouch him. Her outstretched hands dropped powerless to her side. 

'Oh, you're of iron, ' she cried pitifully. 'Alec, Alec, I couldn't letyou go without seeing you once more. Even you would be satisfied if youknew what bitter anguish I've suffered. Even you would pity me. I don'twant you to think too badly of me. '

'Does it much matter what I think? We shall be five thousand milesapart. '

'You must utterly despise me. '

He shook his head. And now his manner lost that affected calmness whichhad been so cruelly wounding. He could not now attempt to hide the painthat he was suffering. His voice trembled a little with his greatemotion. 

'I loved you far too much to do that. Believe me, with all my heart Iwish you well. Now that the first bitterness is past I see that you didthe only possible thing. I hope that you'll be very happy. RobertBoulger is an excellent fellow, and I'm sure he'll make you a muchbetter husband than I should ever have done. '

Lucy blushed to the roots of her hair. Her heart sank, and she did notseek to conceal her agitation. 

'Did they tell you I was going to marry Robert Boulger?'

'Isn't it true?'

'Oh, how cruel of them, how frightfully cruel! I became engaged to him, but he gave me my release. He knew that notwithstanding everything, Iloved you better than my life. '

Alec looked down, but he did not say anything. He did not move. 

'Oh, Alec, don't be utterly pitiless, ' she wailed. 'Don't leave mewithout a single word of kindness. '

'Nothing is changed, Lucy. You sent me away because I caused yourbrother's death. '

She stood before him, her hands behind her back, and they looked intoone another's eyes. Her words were steady and quiet. It seemed to giveher an infinite relief to say them. 

'I hated you then, and yet I couldn't crush the love that was in myheart. And it's because I was frightened of myself that I told Bobbie I'dmarry him. But I couldn't. I was horrified because I cared for youstill. It seemed such odious treachery to George, and yet love burnt upmy heart. I used to try and drive you away from my thoughts, but everyword you had ever said came back to me. Don't you remember, you told methat everything you did was for my sake? Those words hammered away on myheart as though it were an anvil. I struggled not to believe them, Isaid to myself that you had sacrificed George, coldly, callously, prudently, but my love told me it wasn't true. Your whole life stood onone side and only this hateful story on the other. You couldn't havegrown into a different man in one single instant. I've learnt to knowyou better during these three months of utter misery, and I'm ashamed ofwhat I did. '

'Ashamed?'

'I came here to-day to tell you that I don't understand the reason ofwhat you did; but I don't want to understand. I believe in you now withall my strength. I believe in you as better women than I believe in God. I know that whatever you did was right and just--because you did it. '

Alec looked at her for a moment Then he held out his hand. 

'Thank God, ' he said. 'I'm so grateful to you. '

'Have you nothing more to say to me than that?'

'You see, its come too late. Nothing much matters now, for to-morrow Igo away for ever. '

'But you'll come back. '

He gave a short, scornful laugh. 

'They were so glad to give me that job on the Congo because no one elsewould take it. I'm going to a part of Africa from which Europeans seldomreturn. '

'Oh, that's too horrible, ' she cried. 'Don't go, dearest; I can't bearit. '

'I must now. Everything is settled, and there can be no drawing back. '

She let go hopelessly of his hand. 

'Don't you care for me any more?' she whispered. 

He looked at her, but he did not answer. She turned away, and sinkinginto a chair, began to cry. 

'Don't, Lucy, ' he said, his voice breaking suddenly. 'Don't make itharder. '

'Oh, Alec, Alec, don't you see how much I love you. '

He leaned over her and gently stroked her hair. 

'Be brave, darling, ' he whispered. 

She looked up passionately, seizing both his hands. 

'I can't live without you. I've suffered too much. If you cared for meat all, you'd stay. '

'Though I love you with all my soul, I can't do otherwise now than go. '

'Then take me with you, ' she cried eagerly. 'Let me come too. '

'You!'

'You don't know what I can do. With you to help me I can be very brave. Let me come, Alec. '

'It's impossible. You don't know what you ask. '

'Then let me wait for you. Let me wait till you come back. '

'And if I never come back?'

'I will wait for you still. '

He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes, as thoughhe were striving to see into the depths of her soul. She felt very weak. She could scarcely see him through her tears, but she tried to smile. Then without a word he slipped his arms around her. Sobbing in theecstasy of her happiness, she let her head fall on his shoulder. 

'You will have the courage to wait?' he said. 

'I know you love me, and I trust you. '

'Then have no fear; I will come back. My journey was only dangerousbecause I wanted to die. I want to live now, and I shall live. '

'Oh, Alec, Alec, I'm so glad you love me. '

Outside in the street the bells of the motor 'buses tinkled noisily, andthere was an incessant roar of the traffic that rumbled heavily over thewooden pavements. There was a clatter of horses' hoofs, and the blowingof horns; the electric broughams whizzed past with an odd, metallicwhirr. 

THE END