THE WITNESS FOR THE DEFENCE

 BY A. E. W. MASON

 1914

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. HENRY THRESK

 II. ON BIGNOR HILL

 III. IN BOMBAY

 IV. JANE REPTON

 V. THE QUEST

 VI. IN THE TENT AT CHITIPUR

 VII. THE PHOTOGRAPH

 VIII. AND THE RIFLE

 IX. AN EPISODE IN BALLANTYNE'S LIFE

 X. NEWS FROM CHITIPUR

 XI. THRESK INTERVENES

 XII. THRESK GIVES EVIDENCE

 XIII. LITTLE BEEDING AGAIN

 XIV. THE HAZLEWOODS

 XV. THE GREAT CRUSADE

 XVI. CONSEQUENCES

 XVII. TROUBLE FOR MR. HAZLEWOOD

 XVIII. MR. HAZLEWOOD SEEKS ADVICE

 XIX. PETTIFER'S PLAN

 XX. ON THE DOWNS

 XXI. THE LETTER IS WRITTEN

 XXII. A WAY OUT OF THE TRAP

 XXIII. METHODS FROM FRANCE

 XXIV. THE WITNESS

 XXV. IN THE LIBRARY

 XXVI. TWO STRANGERS

 XXVII. THE VERDICT

THE WITNESS FOR THE DEFENCE

CHAPTER I

HENRY THRESK

The beginning of all this difficult business was a little speech whichMrs. Thresk fell into a habit of making to her son. She spoke it thefirst time on the spur of the moment without thought or intention. Butshe saw that it hurt. So she used it again--to keep Henry in hisproper place. 

"You have no right to talk, Henry, " she would say in the hard practicalvoice which so completed her self-sufficiency. "You are not earning yourliving. You are still dependent upon us;" and she would add with a noteof triumph: "Remember, if anything were to happen to your dear father youwould have to shift for yourself, for everything has been left to me. "

Mrs. Thresk meant no harm. She was utterly without imagination and had nospecial delicacy of taste to supply its place--that was all. People andwords--she was at pains to interpret neither the one nor the other andshe used both at random. She no more contemplated anything happening toher husband, to quote her phrase, than she understood the effect herbarbarous little speech would have on a rather reserved schoolboy. 

Nor did Henry himself help to enlighten her. He was shrewd enough torecognise the futility of any attempt. No! He just looked at hercuriously and held his tongue. But the words were not forgotten. Theyroused in him a sense of injustice. For in the ordinary well-to-docircle, in which the Thresks lived, boys were expected to be an expenseto their parents; and after all, as he argued, he had not asked to beborn. And so after much brooding, there sprang up in him an antagonism tohis family and a fierce determination to owe to it as little as he could. 

There was a full share of vanity no doubt in the boy's resolve, but theantagonism had struck roots deeper than his vanity; and at an age whenother lads were vaguely dreaming themselves into Admirals andField-Marshals and Prime-Ministers Henry Thresk, content with lowerground, was mapping out the stages of a good but perfectly feasiblecareer. When he reached the age of thirty he must be beginning to makemoney; at thirty-five he must be on the way to distinction--his name mustbe known beyond the immediate circle of his profession; at forty-five hemust be holding public office. Nor was his profession in any doubt. Therewas but one which offered these rewards to a man starting in life withoutmoney to put down--the Bar. 

So to the Bar in due time Henry Thresk was called; and when somethingdid happen to his father he was trained for the battle. A bank failed andthe failure ruined and killed old Mr. Thresk. From the ruins just enoughwas scraped to keep his widow, and one or two offers of employment weremade to Henry Thresk. 

But he was tenacious as he was secret. He refused them, and with thehelp of pupils, journalism and an occasional spell as an electionagent, he managed to keep his head above water until briefs beganslowly to come in. 

So far then Mrs. Thresk's stinging speeches seemed to have beenjustified. But at the age of twenty-eight he took a holiday. He went downfor a month into Sussex, and there the ordered scheme of his life wasthreatened. It stood the attack; and again it is possible to plead in itsfavour with a good show of argument. But the attack, nevertheless, bringsinto light another point of view. 

Prudence, for instance, the disputant might urge, is all very well in theordinary run of life, but when the great moments come conduct wantsanother inspiration. Such an one would consider that holiday with athought to spare for Stella Derrick, who during its passage saw much ofHenry Thresk. The actual hour when the test came happened on one of thelast days of August. 

CHAPTER II

ON BIGNOR HILL

They were riding along the top of the South Downs between Singleton andArundel, and when they came to where the old Roman road from Chichesterclimbs over Bignor Hill, Stella Derrick raised her hand and halted. Shewas then nineteen and accounted lovely by others besides Henry Thresk, who on this morning rode at her side. She was delicately yet healthfullyfashioned, with blue eyes under broad brows, raven hair and a face paleand crystal-clear. But her lips were red and the colour came easily intoher cheeks. 

She pointed downwards to the track slanting across the turf from the browof the hill. 

"That's Stane Street. I promised to show it you. "

"Yes, " answered Thresk, taking his eyes slowly from her face. It was amorning rich with sunlight, noisy with blackbirds, and she seemed to hima necessary part of it. She was alive with it and gave rather than tookof its gold. For not even that finely chiselled nose of hers could impartto her anything of the look of a statue. 

"Yes. They went straight, didn't they, those old centurions?" he said. 

He moved his horse and stood in the middle of the track looking across avalley of forest and meadow to Halnaker Down, six miles away in thesouthwest. Straight in the line of his eyes over a shoulder of the downrose a tall fine spire--the spire of Chichester Cathedral, and farther onhe could see the water in Bosham Creek like a silver mirror, and theChannel rippling silver beyond. He turned round. Beneath him lay the bluedark weald of Sussex, and through it he imagined the hidden line of theroad driving straight as a ruler to London. 

"No going about!" he said. "If a hill was in the way the road climbedover it; if a marsh it was built through it. "

They rode on slowly along the great whaleback of grass, winding in andout amongst brambles and patches of yellow-flaming gorse. The day wasstill even at this height; and when, far away, a field of long grassunder a stray wind bent from edge to edge with the swift motion ofrunning water, it took them both by surprise. And they met no one. Theyseemed to ride in the morning of a new clean world. They rose higher onto Duncton Down, and then the girl spoke. 

"So this is your last day here. "

He gazed about him out towards the sea, eastwards down the slope to thedark trees of Arundel, backwards over the weald to the high ridge ofBlackdown. 

"I shall look back upon it. "

"Yes, " she said. "It's a day to look back upon. "

She ran over in her mind the days of this last month since he had come tothe inn at Great Beeding and friends of her family had written to herparents of his coming. "It's the most perfect of all your days here. I amglad. I want you to carry back with you good memories of our Sussex. "

"I shall do that, " said he, "but for another reason. "

Stella pushed on a foot or two ahead of him. 

"Well, " she said, "no doubt the Temple will be stuffy. "

"Nor was I thinking of the Temple. "

"No?"

"No. "

She rode on a little way whilst he followed. A great bee buzzed pasttheir heads and settled in the cup of a wild rose. In a copse beside thema thrush shot into the air a quiverful of clear melody. 

Stella spoke again, not looking at her companion, and in a low voice andbravely with a sweet confusion of her blood. 

"I am very glad to hear you say that, for I was afraid that I had let yousee more than I should have cared for you to see--unless you had beenanxious to see it too. "

She waited for an answer, still keeping her distance just a foot or twoahead, and the answer did not come. A vague terror began to possess herthat things which could never possibly be were actually happening toher. She spoke again with a tremor in her voice and all the confidencegone out of it. Almost it appealed that she should not be put to shamebefore herself. 

"It would have been a little humiliating to remember, if that hadbeen true. "

Then upon the ground she saw the shadow of Thresk's horse creep up untilthe two rode side by side. She looked at him quickly with a doubtfulwavering smile and looked down again. What did all the trouble in hisface portend? Her heart thumped and she heard him say:

"Stella, I have something very difficult to say to you. "

He laid a hand gently upon her arm, but she wrenched herself free. Shamewas upon her--shame unendurable. She tingled with it from head to foot. She turned to him suddenly a face grown crimson and eyes which brimmedwith tears. 

"Oh, " she cried aloud, "that I should have been such a fool!" and sheswayed forward in her saddle. But before he could reach out an arm tohold her she was upright again, and with a cut of her whip she was offat a gallop. 

"Stella, " he cried, but she only used her whip the more. She gallopedmadly and blindly over the grass, not knowing whither, not caring, loathing herself. Thresk galloped after her, but her horse, maddened byher whip and the thud of the hoofs behind, held its advantage. He settleddown to the pursuit with a jumble of thoughts in his brain. 

"If to-day were only ten years on ... As it is it would be madness ... Madness and squalor and the end of everything ... Between us wehaven't a couple of pennies to rub together ... How she rides! ... Shewas never meant for Brixton ... No, nor I ... Why didn't I hold mytongue? ... Oh what a fool, what a fool! Thank Heaven the horses comeout of a livery stable ... They can't go on for ever and--oh, my God!there are rabbit-holes on the Downs. " And his voice rose to a shout:"Stella! Stella!"

But she never looked over her shoulder. She fled the more desperately, shamed through and through! Along the high ridge, between the bushes andthe beech-trees, their shadows flitted over the turf, to a jingle of bitsand the thunder of hoofs. Duncton Beacon rose far behind them; they hadcrossed the road and Charlton forest was slipping past like dark waterbefore the mad race came to an end. Stella became aware that escape wasimpossible. Her horse was spent, she herself reeling. She let her reinsdrop loose and the gallop changed to a trot, the trot to a walk. Shenoticed with gratitude that Thresk was giving her time. He too had fallento a walk behind her, and quite slowly he came to her side. She turnedto him at once. 

"This is good country for a gallop, isn't it?"

"Rabbit-holes though, " said he. "You were lucky. "

He answered absently. There was something which had got to be said now. He could not let this girl to whom he owed--well, the only holiday thathe had ever taken, go home shamed by a mistake, which after all she hadnot made. He was very near indeed to saying yet more. The inclination wasstrong in him, but not so strong as the methods of his life. Marriagenow--that meant to his view the closing of all the avenues ofadvancement, and a life for both below both their needs. 

"Stella, just listen to me. I want you to know that had things beendifferent I should have rejoiced beyond words. "

"Oh, don't!" she cried. 

"I must, " he answered and she was silent. "I want you to know, " herepeated, stammering and stumbling, afraid lest each word meant to healshould only pierce the deeper. "Before I came here there was no one. Since I came here there has been--you. Oh, my dear, I would have beenvery glad. But I am obscure--without means. There are years in front ofme before I shall be anything else. I couldn't ask you to share them--orI should have done so before now. "

In her mind ran the thought: what queer unimportant things men thinkabout! The early years! Wouldn't their difficulties, their sorrows be thereal savour of life and make it worth remembrance, worth treasuring? Butmen had the right of speech. Not again would she forget that. She bowedher head and he blundered on. 

"For you there'll be a better destiny. There's that great house in thePark with its burnt walls. I should like to see that rebuilt and you inyour right place, its mistress. " And his words ceased as Stella abruptlyturned to him. She was breathing quickly and she looked at him with awonder in her trouble. 

"And it hurts you to say this!" she said. "Yes, it actually hurts you. "

"What else could I say?"

Her face softened as she looked and heard. It was not that he was cold ofblood or did not care. There was more than discomfort in his voice, therewas a very real distress. And in his eyes his heart ached for her to see. Something of her pride was restored to her. She fell at once to his tune, but she was conscious that both of them talked treacheries. 

"Yes, you are right. It wouldn't have been possible. You have your nameand your fortune to make. I too--I shall marry, I suppose, some one"--andshe suddenly smiled rather bitterly--"who will give me a Rolls-Roycemotor-car. " And so they rode on very reasonably. 

Noon had passed. A hush had fallen upon that high world of grass andsunlight. The birds were still. They talked of this and that, thelatest crisis in Europe and the growth of Socialism, all very wiselyand with great indifference like well-bred people at a dinner-party. Not thus had Stella thought to ride home when the message had come thatmorning that the horses would be at her door before ten. She had riddenout clothed on with dreams of gold. She rode back with her dreams intatters and a sort of incredulity that to her too, as to other girls, all this pain had come. 

They came to a bridle-path which led downwards through a thicket of treesto the weald and so descended upon Great Beeding. They rode through thelittle town, past the inn where Thresk was staying and the iron gates ofa Park where, amidst elm-trees, the blackened ruins of a great housegaped to the sky. 

"Some day you will live there again, " said Thresk, and Stella's lipstwitched with a smile of humour. 

"I shall be very glad after to-day to leave the house I am living in, "she said quietly, and the words struck him dumb. He had subtlety enoughto understand her. The rooms would mock her with memories of vain dreams. Yet he kept silence. It was too late in any case to take back what he hadsaid; and even if she would listen to him marriage wouldn't be fair. Hewould be hampered, and that, just at this time in his life, would meanfailure--failure for her no less than for him. They must beprudent--prudent and methodical, and so the great prizes would be theirs. 

A mile beyond, a mile of yellow lanes between high hedges, they came tothe village of Little Beeding, one big house and a few thatched cottagesclustered amongst roses and great trees on the bank of a small river. Thither old Mr. Derrick and his wife and his daughter had gone after thefire at Hinksey Park had completed the ruin which disastrous speculationshad begun; and at the gate of one of the cottages the riders stopped anddismounted. 

"I shall not see you again after to-day, " said Stella. "Will you come infor a moment?"

Thresk gave the horses to a passing labourer to hold and opened the gate. 

"I shall be disturbing your people at their luncheon, " he said. 

"I don't want you to go in to them, " said the girl. "I will say goodbyeto them for you. "

Thresk followed her up the garden-path, wondering what it was that shehad still to say to him. She led him into a small room at the back of thehouse, looking out upon the lawn. Then she stood in front of him. 

"Will you kiss me once, please, " she said simply, and she stood with herarms hanging at her side, whilst he kissed her on the lips. 

"Thank you, " she said. "Now will you go?"

He left her standing in the little room and led the horses back to theinn. That afternoon he took the train to London. 

CHAPTER III

IN BOMBAY

It was not until a day late in January eight years afterwards that Thresksaw the face of Stella Derrick again; and then it was only in a portrait. He came upon it too in a most unlikely place. About five o'clockupon that afternoon he drove out of the town of Bombay up to one of thegreat houses on Malabar Hill and asked for Mrs. Carruthers. He was showninto a drawing-room which looked over Back Bay to the great buildings ofthe city, and in a moment Mrs. Carruthers came to him with her handsoutstretched. 

"So you've won. My husband telephoned to me. We do thank you! Victorymeans so much to us. "

The Carruthers were a young couple who, the moment after they hadinherited the larger share in the great firm of Templeton & Carruthers, Bombay merchants, had found themselves involved in a partnershipsuit due to one or two careless phrases in a solicitor's letter. The casehad been the great case of the year in Bombay. The issue had beendoubtful, the stake enormous and Thresk, who three years before had takensilk, had been fetched by young Carruthers from England to fight it. 

"Yes, we've won, " he said. "Judgment was given in our favor thisafternoon. "

"You are dining with us to-night, aren't you. "

"Thank you, yes, " said Thresk. "At half-past eight. "

"Yes. "

Mrs. Carruthers gave him some tea and chattered pleasantly while he drankit. She was fair-haired and pretty, a lady of enthusiasms and upliftedhands, quite without observation or knowledge, yet with power toastonish. For every now and then some little shrewd wise saying wouldgleam out of the placid flow of her trivialities and make whoever heardit wonder for a moment whether it was her own or whether she had heard itfrom another. But it was her own. For she gave no special importance toit as she would have done had it been a remark she had thought worthremembering. She just uttered it and slipped on, noticing no differencein value between what she now said and what she had said a second ago. Toher the whole world was a marvel and all things in it equally amazing. Besides she had no memory. 

"I suppose that now you are free, " she said, "you will go up into thecentral Provinces and see something of India. "

"But I am not free, " replied Thresk. "I must get immediately back toEngland. "

"So soon!" exclaimed Mrs. Carruthers. "Now isn't that a pity! You oughtto see the Taj--oh, you really ought!--by moonlight or in the morning. Idon't know which is best, and the Ridge too!--the Ridge at Delhi. Youreally mustn't leave India without seeing the Ridge. Can't things wait inLondon?"

"Yes, things can, but people won't, " answered Thresk, and Mrs. Carrutherswas genuinely distressed that he should depart from India without asingle journey in a train. 

"I can't help it, " he said, smiling back into her mournful eyes. "Apartfrom my work, Parliament meets early in February. "

"Oh, to be sure, you are in Parliament, " she exclaimed. "I hadforgotten. " She shook her fair head in wonder at the industry ofher visitor. "I can't think how you manage it all. Oh, you mustneed a holiday. "

Thresk laughed. 

"I am thirty-six, so I have a year or two still in front of me before Ihave the right to break down. I'll save up my holidays for my old age. "

"But you are not married, " cried Mrs. Carruthers. "You can't do that. Youcan't grow comfortably old unless you're married. You will want to workthen to get through the time. You had better take your holidays now. "

"Very well. I shall have twelve days upon the steamer. When does it go?"asked Thresk as he rose from his chair. 

"On Friday, and this is Monday, " said Mrs. Carruthers. "You certainlyhaven't much time to go anywhere, have you?"

"No, " replied Thresk, and Mrs. Carruthers saw his face quicken suddenlyto surprise. He actually caught his breath; he stared, no longer aware ofher presence in the room. He was looking over her head towards the grandpiano which stood behind her chair; and she began to run over in her mindthe various ornaments which encumbered it. A piece of Indian draperycovered the top and on the drapery stood a little group of Dresden Chinafigures, a crystal cigarette-box, some knick-knacks and half-a-dozenphotographs in silver frames. It must be one of those photographs, shedecided, which had caught his eye, which had done more than catch hiseye. For she was looking up at Thresk's face all this while, and thesurprise had gone from it. It seemed to her that he was moved. 

"You have the portrait of a friend of mine there, " he said, and hecrossed the room to the piano. 

Mrs. Carruthers turned round. 

"Oh, Stella Ballantyne!" she cried. "Do you know her, Mr. Thresk?"

"Ballantyne?" said Thresk. For a moment or two he was silent. Then heasked: "She is married then?"

"Yes, didn't you know? She has been married for a long time. "

"It's a long time since I have heard of her, " said Thresk. He lookedagain at the photograph. 

"When was this taken?"

"A few months ago. She sent it to me in October. She is beautiful, don'tyou think?"

"Yes. "

But it was not the beauty of the girl who had ridden along the SouthDowns with him eight years ago. There was more of character in the facenow, less, much less, of youth and none of the old gaiety. The openfrankness had gone. The big dark eyes which looked out straight atThresk as he stood before them had, even in that likeness, something ofaloofness and reserve. And underneath, in a contrast which seemed to himstartling, there was her name signed in the firm running hand in whichshe had written the few notes which passed between them during thatmonth in Sussex. Thresk looked back again at the photograph and thenresumed his seat. 

"Tell me about her, Mrs. Carruthers, " he said. "You hear from her often?"

"Oh no! Stella doesn't write many letters, and I don't know hervery well. "

"But you have her photograph, " said Thresk, "and signed by her. "

"Oh yes. She stayed with me last Christmas, and I simply made her get herportrait taken. Just think! She hadn't been taken for years. Can youunderstand it? She declared she was bored with it. Isn't that curious?However, I persuaded her and she gave me one. But I had to force her towrite on it. "

"Then she was in Bombay last winter?" said Thresk slowly. 

"Yes. " And then Mrs. Carruthers had an idea. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed, "if you are really interested in Stella I'll putMrs. Repton next to you to-night. "

"Thank you very much, " said Thresk. "But who is Mrs. Repton?"

Mrs. Carruthers sat forward in her chair. 

"Well, she's Stella's great friend--very likely her only real friend inIndia. Stella's so reserved. I simply adore her, but she quite prettilyand politely keeps me always at arm's length. If she has ever opened outto anybody it's to Jane Repton. You see Charlie Repton was Collector atAgra before he came into the Bombay Presidency, and so they went up toMussoorie for the hot weather. The Ballantynes happened actually to havethe very next bungalow--now wasn't that strange?--so naturally theybecame acquainted. I mean the Ballantynes and the Reptons did... "

"But one moment, Mrs. Carruthers, " said Thresk, breaking in upon thetorrent of words. "Am I right in guessing that Mrs. Ballantyne livesin India?"

"But of course!" cried Mrs. Carruthers. 

"She is actually in India now?"

"To be sure she is!"

Thresk was quite taken aback by the news. 

"I had no idea of it, " he said slowly, and Mrs. Carruthers repliedsweetly:

"But lots of people live in India, Mr. Thresk. Didn't you know that? Weare not the uttermost ends of the earth. "

Thresk set to work to make his peace. He had not heard of Mrs. Ballantynefor so long. It seemed strange to him to find himself suddenly near toher now--that is if he was near. He just avoided that other exasperatingtrick of treating India as if it was a provincial town and all itsinhabitants neighbours. But he only just avoided it. Mrs. Carruthers, however, was easily appeased. 

"Yes, " she said. "Stella has lived in India for the best part of eightyears. She came out with some friends in the winter, made CaptainBallantyne's acquaintance and married him almost at once--in January, Ithink it was. Of course I only know from what I've been told. I was aschoolgirl in England at the time. "

"Of course, " Thresk agreed. He was conscious of a sharp little stab ofresentment. So very quickly Stella had forgotten that morning on theDowns! It must have been in the autumn of that same year that she hadgone out to India, and by February she was married. The resentment wasquite unjustified, as no one knew better than himself. But he was a man;and men cannot easily endure so swift an obliteration of their imagesfrom the thoughts and the hearts of the ladies who have admitted thatthey loved them. None the less he pressed for details. Who wasBallantyne? What was his position? After all he was obviously not themillionaire to whom in a more generous moment he had given Stella. Hecaught himself on a descent to the meanness of rejoicing upon that. Meanwhile Mrs. Carruthers rippled on. 

"Captain Ballantyne? Oh, he's a most remarkable man! Older thanStella, certainly, but a man of great knowledge and insight. Peoplethink most highly of him. Languages come as easily to him ascrochet-work to a woman. "

This paragon had been Resident in the Principality of Bakuta to the northof Bombay when Stella had first arrived. But he had been moved now toChitipur in Rajputana. It was supposed that he was writing in his leisuremoments a work which would be the very last word upon the nativePrincipalities of Central India. Oh, Stella was to be congratulated! AndMrs. Carruthers, in her fine mansion on Malabar Hill, breathed a sigh ofenvy at the position of the wife of a high official of the British _Raj_. 

Thresk looked over again to the portrait on the piano. 

"I am very glad, " he said cordially as once more he rose. 

"But you shall sit next to Mrs. Repton to-night, " said Mrs. Carruthers. "And she will tell you more. "

"Thank you, " answered Thresk. "I only wished to know that things aregoing well with Mrs. Ballantyne--that was all. "

CHAPTER IV

JANE REPTON

Mrs. Carruthers kept her promise. She went in herself with Henry Thresk, as she had always meant to do, but she placed Mrs. Repton upon his leftjust round the bend of the table. Thresk stole a glance at her now andthen as he listened to the rippling laughter of his hostess during thefirst courses. She was a tall woman and rather stout, with a pleasantface and a direct gaze. Thresk gave her the age of thirty-five and puther down as a cheery soul. Whether she was more he had to wait to learnwith what patience he could. He was free to turn to her at last and hebegan without any preliminaries. 

"You know a friend of mine, " he said. 

"I do?"

"Yes. "

"Who is it?"

"Mrs. Ballantyne. "

He noticed at once a change in Mrs. Repton. The frankness disappearedfrom her face; her eyes grew wary. 

"I see, " she said slowly. "I was wondering why I was placed next to you, for you are the lion of the evening and there are people here of moreimportance than myself. I knew it wasn't for my _beaux yeux_. "

She turned again to Thresk. 

"So you know my Stella?"

"Yes. I knew her in England before she came out here and married. I havenot, of course, seen her since. I want you to tell me about her. "

Mrs. Repton looked him over with a careful scrutiny. 

"Mrs. Carruthers has no doubt told you that she married very well. "

"Yes; and that Ballantyne is a remarkable man, " said Thresk. 

Mrs. Repton nodded. 

"Very well then?" she said, and her voice was a challenge. 

"I am not contented, " Thresk replied. Mrs. Repton turned her eyes to herplate and said demurely:

"There might be more than one reason for that. "

Thresk abandoned all attempt to fence with her. Mrs. Repton was not ofthose women who would lightly give their women-friends away. Her phrase"my Stella" had, besides, revealed a world of love and championship. Thresk warmed to her because of it. He threw reticence to the winds. 

"I am going to give you the real reason, Mrs. Repton. I saw herphotograph this afternoon on Mrs. Carruthers' piano, and it left mewondering whether happiness could set so much character in awoman's face. "

Mrs. Repton shrugged her shoulders. 

"Some of us age quickly here. "

"Age was not the new thing which I read in that photograph. "

Mrs. Repton did not answer. Only her eyes sounded him. She seemed to bejudging the stuff of which he was made. 

"And if I doubted her happiness this afternoon I must doubt it still morenow, " he continued. 

"Why?" exclaimed Mrs. Repton. 

"Because of your reticence, Mrs. Repton, " he answered. "For you have beenreticent. You have been on guard. I like you for it, " he added with asmile of genuine friendliness. "May I say that? But from the first momentwhen I mentioned Stella Ballantyne's name you shouldered your musket. "

Mrs. Repton neither denied nor accepted his statement. She kept lookingat him and away from him as though she were still not sure of him, and attimes she drew in her breath sharply, as though she had already takenupon herself some great responsibility and now regretted it. In the endshe turned to him abruptly. 

"I am puzzled, " she cried. "I think it's strange that since you areStella's friend I knew nothing of that friendship--nothing whatever. "

Thresk shrugged his shoulders. 

"It is years since we met, as I told you. She has new interests. "

"They have not destroyed the old ones. We remember home things out here, all of us. Stella like the rest. Why, I thought that I knew her wholelife in England, and here's a definite part of it--perhaps a veryimportant part--of which I am utterly ignorant. She has spoken of manyfriends to me; of you never. I am wondering why. "

She spoke obviously without any wish to hurt. Yet the words did hurt. Shesaw Thresk redden as she uttered them, and a swift wild hope flamed likea rose in her heart: if this man with the brains and the money and theperseverance sitting at her side should turn out to be the Perseus forher beautiful chained Andromeda, far away there in the state of Chitipur!The lines of a poem came into her thoughts. 

"I know; the world proscribes not love, Allows my finger to caressYour lips' contour and downinessProvided it supplies the glove. "

Suppose that here at her side was the man who would dispense with theglove! She looked again at Thresk. The lean strong face suggested that hemight, if he wanted hard enough. All her life had been passed in thesupport of authority and law. Authority--that was her husband'sprofession. But just for this hour, as she thought of Stella Ballantyne, lawlessness shone out to her desirable as a star. 

"No, she has never once mentioned your name, Mr. Thresk. "

Again Thresk was conscious of the little pulse of resentment beating athis heart. 

"She has no doubt forgotten me. "

Mrs. Repton shook her head. 

"That's one explanation. There might be another. "

"What is it?"

"That she remembers you too much. "

Mrs. Repton was a little startled by her own audacity, but it provokednothing but an incredulous laugh from her companion. 

"I am afraid that's not very likely, " he said. There was no hint ofelation in his voice nor any annoyance. If he felt either, why, he was onguard no less than she. Mrs. Repton was inclined to throw up her hands indespair. She was baffled and she was little likely, as she knew, to getany light. 

"If you take the man you know best of all, " she used to say, "you stillknow nothing at all of what he's like when he's alone with a woman, especially if it's a woman for whom he cares--unless the woman talks. "

Very often the woman does talk and the most intimate and private factscome in a little while to be shouted from the housetops. But StellaBallantyne did not talk. She had talked once, and once only, under agreat stress to Jane Repton; but even then Thresk had nothing to do withher story at all. 

Thresk turned quickly towards her. 

"In a moment Mrs. Carruthers will get up. Her eyes are collectingthe women and the women are collecting their shoes. What have youto tell me?"

Mrs. Repton wanted to speak. Thresk gave her confidence. He seemed to bea man without many illusions, he was no romantic sentimentalist. She wentback to the poem of which the lines had been chasing one another throughher head all through this dinner, as a sort of accompaniment to theirconversation. Had he found it out? she asked herself--

"The world and what it fears. "

Thus she hung hesitating while Mrs. Carruthers gathered in her hands hergloves and her fan. There was a woman at the other end of the tablehowever who would not stop talking. She was in the midst of some storyand heeded not the signals of her hostess. Jane Repton wished she wouldgo on talking for the rest of the evening, and recognised that the wishwas a waste of time and grew flurried. She had to make up her mind to saysomething which should be true or to lie. Yet she was too staunch tobetray the confidence of her friend unless the betrayal meant herfriend's salvation. But just as the woman at the end of the table ceasedto talk an inspiration came to her. She would say nothing to Thresk, butif he had eyes to see she would place him where the view was good. 

"I have this to say, " she answered in a low quick voice. "Go yourself toChitipur. You sail on Friday, I think? And to-day is Monday. You can makethe journey there and back quite easily in the time. "

"I can?" asked Thresk. 

"Yes. Travel by the night-mail up to Ajmere tomorrow night. You will bein Chitipur on Wednesday afternoon. That gives you twenty-four hoursthere, and you can still catch the steamer here on Friday. "

"You advise that?"

"Yes, I do, " said Mrs. Repton. 

Mrs. Carruthers rose from the table and Jane Repton had no further wordwith Thresk that night. In the drawing-room Mrs. Carruthers led him fromwoman to woman, allowing him ten minutes for each one. 

"He might be Royalty or her pet Pekingese, " cried Mrs. Repton inexasperation. For now that her blood had cooled she was not so sure thather advice had been good. The habit of respect for authority resumed itsancient place in her. She might be planting that night the seed of a veryevil flower. "Respectability" had seemed to her a magnificent poem as shesat at the dinner-table. Here in the drawing-room she began to think thatit was not for every-day use. She wished a word now with Thresk, so thatshe might make light of the advice which she had given. "I had nobusiness to interfere, " she kept repeating to herself whilst she talkedwith her host. "People get what they want if they want it enough, butthey can't control the price they have to pay. Therefore it was nobusiness of mine to interfere. "

But Thresk took his leave and gave her no chance for a private word. Shedrove homewards a few minutes later with her husband; and as theydescended the hill to the shore of Back Bay he said:

"I had a moment's conversation with Thresk after you had left thedining-room, and what do you think?"

"Tell me!"

"He asked me for a letter of introduction to Ballantyne at Chitipur. "

"But he knows Stella!" exclaimed Jane Repton. 

"Does he? He didn't tell me that! He simply said that he had time to seeChitipur before he sailed and asked for a line to the Resident. "

"And you promised to give him one?"

"Of course. I am to send it to the Taj Mahal hotel to-morrow morning. "

Mrs. Repton was a little startled. She did not understand at all whyThresk asked for the letter and, not understanding, was the more alarmed. The request seemed to imply not merely that he had decided to make thejourney but that during the hour or so since they had sat at thedinner-table he had formed some definite and serious plan. 

"Did you tell him anything?" she asked rather timidly. 

"Not a word, " replied Repton. 

"Not even about--what happened in the hills at Mussoorie?"

"Of course not. "

"No, of course not, " Jane Repton agreed. 

She leaned back against the cushions of the victoria. A clear dark sky ofstars wonderfully bright stretched above her head. After the hot day acool wind blew pleasantly on the hill, and between the trees of thegardens she could see the lights of the city and of a ship here and therein the Bay at their feet. 

"But it's not very likely that Thresk will find them at Chitipur, " saidRepton. "They will probably be in camp. "

Mrs. Repton sat forward. 

"Yes, that's true. This is the time they go on their tour of inspection. He will miss them. " And at once disappointment laid hold of her. Mrs. Repton was not in the mood for logic that evening. She had been afraid amoment since that the train she had laid would bring about aconflagration. Now that she knew it would not even catch fire she passedat once to a passionate regret. Thresk had inspired her with a greatconfidence. He was the man, she believed, for her Stella. But he wasgoing up to Chitipur! Anything might happen! She leaned back again in thecarriage and cried defiantly to the stars. 

"I am glad that he's going. I am very glad. " And in spite of herconscience her heart leaped joyously in her bosom. 

CHAPTER V

THE QUEST

The next night Henry Thresk left Bombay and on the Wednesday afternoon hewas travelling in a little white narrow-gauge train across a flat yellowdesert which baked and sparkled in the sun. Here and there a patch ofgreen and a few huts marked a railway station and at each gaily-robednatives sprung apparently from nowhere and going no-whither thronged theplatform and climbed into the carriages. Thresk looked impatientlythrough the clouded windows, wondering what he should find in Chitipur ifever he got there. The capital of that state lies aloof from the trunkroads and is reached by a branch railway sixty miles long, which is theprivate possession of the Maharajah and takes four hours to traverse. Forin Chitipur the ancient ways are devoutly followed. Modern ideas of speedand progress may whirl up the big central railroad from Bombay to Ajmere. But they stop at the junction. They do not travel along the Maharajah'sprivate lines to Chitipur, where he, directly descended from an importantand most authentic goddess, dispenses life and justice to his subjectswithout even the assistance of the Press. There is little criticism inthe city and less work. A patriarchal calm sleeps in all its streets. InChitipur it is always Sunday afternoon. Even down by the lake, where thehuge white many-storeyed palace contemplates its dark-latticed windowsand high balconies mirrored in still water unimaginably blue nothingwhich could be described as energy is visible. You may see an elephantkneeling placidly in the lake while an attendant polishes up his trunkand his forehead with a brickbat. But the elephant will be toowell-mannered to trumpet his enjoyment. Or you may notice a fishermandrowsing in a boat heavy enough to cope with the surf of the Atlantic. But the fisherman will not notice you--not even though you call to himwith dulcet promises of rupees. You will, if you wait long enough, see awoman coming down the steps with a pitcher balanced on her head; andindeed perhaps two women. But when your eyes have dwelt upon thesewonders you will have seen what there is of movement and life about theshores of those sleeping waters. It was in accordance with the fitness ofthings that the city and its lake should be three miles from the railwaystation and quite invisible to the traveller. The hotel however and theResidency were near to the station, and it was the Residency which hadbrought Thresk out of the crowds and tumult of Bombay. He put up at thehotel and enclosing Repton's introduction in a covering letter sent it byhis bearer down the road. Then he waited; and no answer came. 

Finally he asked if his bearer had returned. Quite half an hour he wastold, and the man was sent for. 

"Well? You delivered my letter?" said Thresk. 

"Yes, Sahib. "

"And there was no answer?"

"No. No answer, Sahib, " replied the man cheerfully. 

"Very well. "

He waited yet another hour, and since still no acknowledgment had come hestrolled along the road himself. He came to a large white house. Aflagpost tapered from its roof but no flag blew out its folds. There wasa garden about the house, the trim well-ordered garden of the Englishfolk with a lawn and banks of flowers, and a gardener with a hose wasbusy watering it. Thresk stopped before the hedge. The windows were allshuttered, the big door closed: there was nowhere any sign of theinhabitants. 

Thresk turned and walked back to the hotel. He found the bearer layingout a change of clothes for him upon his bed. 

"His Excellency is away, " he said. 

"Yes, Sahib, " replied the bearer promptly. "His Excellency gone oninspection tour. "

"Then why in heaven's name didn't you tell me?" cried Thresk. 

The bearer's face lost all its cheerfulness in a second and became amask. He was a Madrassee and black as coal. To Thresk it seemed that theman had suddenly withdrawn himself altogether and left merely an imagewith living eyes. He shrugged his shoulders. He knew that change in hisservant. It came at the first note of reproach in his voice and with suchcompleteness that it gave him the shock of a conjurer's trick. One momentthe bearer was before him, the next he had disappeared. 

"What did you do with the letter?" Thresk asked and was careful thatthere should be no exasperation in his voice. 

The bearer came to life again, his white teeth gleamed in smiles. 

"I leave the letter. I give it to the gardener. All letters are sent tohis Excellency. "

"When?"

"Perhaps this week, perhaps next. "

"I see, " said Thresk. He stood for a moment or two with his eyes upon thewindow. Then he moved abruptly. 

"We go back to Bombay to-morrow afternoon. "

"The Sahib will see Chitipur to-morrow. There are beautiful palaces onthe lake. "

Thresk laughed, but the laugh was short and bitter. 

"Oh yes, we'll do the whole thing in style to-morrow. "

He had the tone of a man who has caught himself out in some childish actof folly. He seemed at once angry and ashamed. 

None the less he was the next morning the complete tourist doing Indiaat express speed during a cold weather. He visited the Museum, he walkedthrough the Elephant Gate into the bazaar, he was rowed over the lake tothe island palaces; he admired their marble steps and columns and floorsand was confounded by their tinkling blue glass chandeliers. He did thecorrect thing all through that morning and early in the afternoon climbedinto the little train which was to carry him back to Jarwhal Junction andthe night mail to Bombay. 

"You will have five hours to wait at the junction, Mr. Thresk, " said themanager of the hotel, who had come to see him off. "I have put up somedinner for you and there is a dâk-bungalow where you can eat it. "

"Thank you, " said Thresk, and the train moved off. The sun had set beforehe reached the junction. When he stepped out on to the platform twilighthad come--the swift twilight of the East. Before he had reached thedâk-bungalow the twilight had changed to the splendour of an Indiannight. The bungalow was empty of visitors. Thresk's bearer lit a fire andprepared dinner while Thresk wandered outside the door and smoked. Helooked across a plain to a long high ridge, where once a city hadstruggled. Its deserted towers and crumbling walls still crowned theheight and made a habitation for beasts and birds. But they were quitehidden now and the sharp line of the ridge was softened. Halfway betweenthe old city and the bungalow a cluster of bright lights shone upon theplain and the red tongues of a fire flickered in the open. Thresk was inno hurry to go back to the bungalow. The first chill of the darkness hadgone. The night was cool but not cold; a moon had risen, and that dustyplain had become a place of glamour. From somewhere far away came thesound of a single drum. Thresk garnered up in his thoughts the beauty ofthat night. It was to be his last night in India. By this time to-morrowBombay would have sunk below the rim of the sea. He thought of it withregret. He had come up into Rajputana on a definite quest and on theadvice of a woman whose judgment he was inclined to trust. And his questhad failed. He was to see for himself. He would see nothing. And stillfar away the beating of that drum went on--monotonous, mournful, significant--the real call of the East made audible. Thresk leanedforward on his seat, listening, treasuring the sound. He rose reluctantlywhen his bearer came to tell him that dinner was ready. Thresk took alook round. He pointed to the cluster of lights on the plain. 

"Is that a village?" he asked. 

"No, Sahib, " replied the bearer. "That's his Excellency's camp. "

"What!" cried Thresk, swinging round upon his heel. 

His bearer smiled cheerfully. 

"Yes. His Excellency to whom I carried the Sahib's letter. That's hiscamp for to-night. The keeper of the bungalow told me so. His Excellencycamped here yesterday and goes on to-morrow. "

"And you never told me!" exclaimed Thresk, and he checked himself. Hestood wondering what he should do, when there came suddenly out of thedarkness a queer soft scuffling sound, the like of which he had neverheard. He heard a heavy breathing and a bubbling noise and then intothe fan of light which spread from the window of the bungalow a man ina scarlet livery rode on a camel. The camel knelt; its riderdismounted, and as he dismounted he talked to Thresk's bearer. Something passed from hand to hand and the bearer came back to Threskwith a letter in his hand. 

"A chit from his Excellency. "

Thresk tore open the envelope and found within it an invitation todinner, signed "Stephen Ballantyne. "

"Your letter has reached me this moment, " the note ran. "It came by yourtrain. I am glad not to have missed you altogether and I hope that youwill come to-night. The camel will bring you to the camp and take youback in plenty of time for the mail. "

After all then the quest had not failed. After all he was to see forhimself--what a man could see within two hours, of the inner life of amarried couple. Not very much certainly, but a hint perhaps, some tokenwhich would reveal to him what it was that had written so muchcharacter into Stella Ballantyne's face and driven Jane Repton intowarnings and reserve. 

"I will go at once, " said Thresk and his bearer translated the words tothe camel-driver. 

But even so Thresk stayed to look again at the letter. Its handwriting atthe first glance, when the unexpected words were dancing before his eyes, had arrested his attention; it was so small, so delicately clear. Thresk's experience had made him quick to notice details and slow toinfer from them. Yet this handwriting set him wondering. It might havebeen the work of some fastidious woman or of some leisured scholar; somuch pride of penmanship was there. It certainly agreed with no pictureof Stephen Ballantyne which his imagination had drawn. 

He mounted the camel behind the driver, and for the next few minutes allhis questions and perplexities vanished from his mind. He simply clung tothe waist of the driver. For the camel bumped down into steep ditches andscuffled up out of them, climbed over mounds and slid down the furtherside of them, and all the while Thresk had the sensation of being poiseduncertainly in the air as high as a church-steeple. Suddenly however thelights of the camp grew large and the camel padded silently in betweenthe tents. It was halted some twenty yards from a great marquee. Anotherservant robed in white with a scarlet sash about his waist receivedThresk from the camel-driver. 

He spoke a few words in Hindustani, but Thresk shook his head. Then theman moved towards the marquee and Thresk followed him. He was consciousof a curious excitement, and only when he caught his breath was he awarethat his heart was beating fast. As they neared the tent he heard voiceswithin. They grew louder as he reached it--one was a man's, loud, wrathful, the other was a woman's. It was not raised but it had a ring init of defiance. The words Thresk could not hear, but he knew the woman'svoice. The servant raised the flap of the tent. 

"Huzoor, the Sahib is here, " he said, and at once both the voices werestilled. As Thresk stood in the doorway both the man and the womanturned. The man, with a little confusion in his manner, came quicklytowards him. Over his shoulder Thresk saw Stella Ballantyne staring athim, as if he had risen from the grave. Then, as he took Ballantyne'sextended hand, Stella swiftly raised her hand to her throat with acurious gesture and turned away. It seemed as if now that she was surethat Thresk stood there before her, a living presence, she had somethingto hide from him. 

CHAPTER VI

IN THE TENT AT CHITIPTUR

The marquee was large and high. It had a thick lining of a dull redcolour and a carpet covered the floor; cushioned basket chairs and a fewsmall tables stood here and there; against one wall rose an openescritoire with a box of cheroots upon it; the two passages to thesleeping-tents and the kitchen were hidden by grass-screens and betweenthem stood a great Chesterfield sofa. It was, in a word, the tent ofpeople who were accustomed to make their home in it for weeks at a time. Even the latest books were to be seen. But it was dark. 

A single lamp swinging above the round dinner-table from the cross-poleof the roof burnt in the very centre of the tent; and that was all. Thecorners were shadowy; the lining merely absorbed the rays and gave noneback. The round pool of light which spread out beneath the lamp wasbehind Ballantyne when he turned to the doorway, so Thresk for a momentwas only aware of him as a big heavily-built man in a smoking-jacket anda starched white shirt; and it was to that starched white shirt that hespoke, making his apologies. He was glad too to delay for a second ortwo the moment when he must speak to Stella. In her presence this eightlong years of effort and work had become a very little space. 

"I had to come as I was, Captain Ballantyne, " he said, "for I have onlywith me what I want for the night in the train. "

"Of course. That's all right, " Ballantyne replied with a greatcordiality. He turned towards Stella. "Mr. Thresk, this is my wife. "

Now she had to turn. She held out her right hand but she still coveredher throat with her left. She gave no sign of recognition and she did notlook at her visitor. 

"How do you do, Mr. Thresk?" she said, and went on quickly, allowing himno time for a reply. "We are in camp, you see. You must just take us aswe are. Stephen did not tell me till a minute ago that he expected avisitor. You have not too much time. I will see that dinner is served atonce. " She went quickly to one of the grass-screens and lifting itvanished from his view. It seemed to Thresk that she had just seized uponan excuse to get away. Why? he asked himself. She was nervous anddistressed, and in her distress she had accepted without surpriseThresk's introduction to her as a stranger. To that relationship then heand she were bound for the rest of his stay in the Resident's camp. 

Mrs. Repton had been wrong when she had attributed Thresk's request fora formal introduction to Ballantyne to a plan already matured in hismind. He had no plan, although he formed one before that dinner was at anend. He had asked for the letter because he wished faithfully to followher advice and see for himself. If he called upon Stella he would findher alone; the mere sending in of his name would put her on her guard; hewould see nothing. She would take care of that. He had no wish to makeBallantyne's acquaintance as Mrs. Ballantyne's friend. He could claimthat friendship afterwards. Now however Stella herself in her confusionhad made the claim impossible. She had fled--there was no other wordwhich could truthfully describe her swift movement to the screen. 

Ballantyne however had clearly not been surprised by it. 

"It was a piece of luck for me that I camped here yesterday andtelegraphed for my letters, " he said. "You mentioned in your note thatyou had only twenty-four hours to give to Chitipur, didn't you? So I wassure that you would be upon this train. "

He spoke with a slow precision in a voice which he was careful--or so itstruck Thresk--to keep suave and low; and as he spoke he moved towardsthe dinner-table and came within the round pool of light. Thresk had aclear view of him. He was a man of a gross and powerful face, with ablue heavy chin and thick eyelids over bloodshot eyes. 

"Will you have a cocktail?" he asked, and he called aloud, going to thesecond passage from the tent: "Quai hai! Baram Singh, cocktails!"

The servant who had met Thresk at the door came in upon the instant witha couple of cocktails on a tray. 

"Ah, you have them, " he said. "Good!"

But he refused the glass when the tray was held out to him, refused itafter a long look and with a certain violence. 

"For me? Certainly not! Never in this world. " He looked up at Threskwith a laugh. "Cocktails are all very well for you, Mr. Thresk, who arehere during a cold weather, but we who make our homes here--we have tobe careful. "

"Yes, so I suppose, " said Thresk. But just behind Ballantyne, on asideboard against the wall of the tent opposite to that wall where thewriting-table stood, he noticed a syphon of soda, a decanter of whiskyand a long glass which was not quite empty. He looked at Ballantynecuriously and as he looked he saw him start and stare with wide-openedeyes into the dim corners of the tent. Ballantyne had forgotten Thresk'spresence. He stood there, his body rigid, his mouth half-open and fearlooking out from his eyes and every line in his face--stark paralysingfear. Then he saw Thresk staring at him, but he was too sunk in terrorto resent the stare. 

"Did you hear anything?" he said in a whisper. 

"No. "

"I did, " and he leaned his head on one side. For a moment the two menstood holding their breath; and then Thresk did hear something. It wasthe rustle of a dress in the corridor beyond the mat-screen. 

"It's Mrs. Ballantyne, " he said, and she lifted the screen and came in. 

Thresk just noticed a sharp movement of revulsion in Ballantyne, but hepaid no heed to him. His eyes were riveted on Stella Ballantyne. She waswearing about her throat now a turquoise necklace. It was a heavynecklace of Indian make, rather barbaric and not at all beautiful, but ithad many rows of stones and it hid her throat--just as surely as her handhad hidden it when she first saw Thresk. It was to hide her throat thatshe had fled. He saw Ballantyne go up to his wife, he heard his voice andnoticed that her face grew grave and hard. 

"So you have come to your senses, " he said in a low tone. Stella passedhim and did not answer. It was, then, upon the question of that necklacethat their voices had been raised when he reached the camp. He had heardBallantyne's, loud and dominant, the voice of a bully. He had beenordering her to cover her throat. Stella, on the other hand, had beenquiet but defiant. She had refused. Now she had changed her mind. 

Baram Singh brought in the soup-tureen a second afterwards and Ballantyneraised his hands in a simulation of the profoundest astonishment. 

"Why, dinner's actually punctual! What a miracle! Upon my word, Stella, Ishan't know what to expect next if you spoil me in this way. "

"It's usually punctual, Stephen, " Stella replied with a smile of anxietyand appeal. 

"Is it, my dear? I hadn't noticed it. Let us sit down at once. "

Upon this tone of banter the dinner began; and no doubt in another man'smouth it might have sounded good-humoured enough. There was certainly noword as yet which, it could be definitely said, was meant to wound, butunderneath the raillery Thresk was conscious of a rasp, a bitterness justheld in check through the presence of a stranger. Not that Thresk wasspared his share of it. At the very outset he, the guest whom it was sucha rare piece of good fortune for Ballantyne to meet, came in for a tasteof the whip. 

"So you could actually give four-and-twenty hours to Chitipur, Mr. Thresk. That was most kind and considerate of you. Chitipur is grateful. Let us drink to it! By the way what will you drink? Our cellar is ratherlimited in camp. There's some claret and some whisky-and-soda. "

"Whisky-and-soda for me, please, " said Thresk. 

"And for me too. You take claret, don't you, Stella dear?" and helingered upon the "dear" as though he anticipated getting a great deal ofamusement out of her later on. And so she understood him, for there camea look of trouble into her face and she made a little gesture ofhelplessness. Thresk watched and said nothing. 

"The decanter's in front of you, Stella, " continued Ballantyne. He turnedhis attention to his own tumbler, into which Baram Singh had alreadypoured the whisky; and at once he exclaimed indignantly:

"There's much too much here for me! Good heavens, what next!" and inHindustani he ordered Baram Singh to add to the soda-water. Then heturned again to Thresk. "But I've no doubt you exhausted Chitipur in yourtwenty-four hours, didn't you? Of course you are going to write a book. "

"Write a book!" cried Thresk. He was surprised into a laugh. "Not I. "

Ballantyne leaned forward with a most serious and puzzled face. 

"You're not writing a book about India? God bless my soul! D'you hearthat, Stella? He's actually twenty-four hours in Chitipur and he's notgoing to write a book about it. "

"Six weeks from door to door: or how I made an ass of myself in India, "said Thresk. "No thank you!"

Ballantyne laughed, took a gulp of his whisky-and-soda and put the glassdown again with a wry face. 

"This is too strong for me, " he said, and he rose from his chair andcrossed over to the tantalus upon the sideboard. He gave a cautious looktowards the table, but Thresk had bent forward towards Stella. She wassaying in a low voice:

"You don't mind a little chaff, do you?" and with an appeal so wistfulthat it touched Thresk to the heart. 

"Of course not, " he answered, and he looked up towards Ballantyne. Stellanoticed a change come over his face. It was not surprise so much whichshowed there as interest and a confirmation of some suspicion which healready had. He saw that Ballantyne was secretly pouring into his glassnot soda-water at all but whisky from the tantalus. He came back with thetumbler charged to the brim and drank deeply from it with relish. 

"That's better, " he said, and with a grin he turned his attention to hiswife, fixing her with his eyes, gloating over her like some great snakeover a bird trembling on the floor of its cage. The courses followed oneupon the other and while he ate he baited her for his amusement. She tookrefuge in silence but he forced her to talk and then shivered withridicule everything she said. Stella was cowed by him. If she answered itwas probably some small commonplace which with an exaggerated politenesshe would nag at her to repeat. In the end, with her cheeks on fire, shewould repeat it and bend her head under the brutal sarcasm with which itwas torn to rags. Once or twice Thresk was on the point of springing upin her defence, but she looked at him with so much terror in her eyesthat he did not interfere. He sat and watched and meanwhile his planbegan to take shape in his mind. 

There came an interval of silence during which Ballantyne leaned back inhis chair in a sort of stupor; and in the midst of that silence Stellasuddenly exclaimed with a world of longing in her voice:

"And you'll be in England in thirteen days! To think of it!" She glancedround the tent. It seemed incredible that any one could be so fortunate. 

"You go straight from Jarwhal Junction here at our tent door to Bombay. To-morrow you go on board your ship and in twelve days afterwards you'llbe in England. "

Thresk leaned forward across the table. 

"When did you go home last?" he asked. 

"I have never been home since I married. "

"Never!" exclaimed Thresk. 

Stella shook her head. 

"Never. "

She was looking down at the tablecloth while she spoke, but as shefinished she raised her head. 

"Yes, I have been eight years in India, " she added, and Thresk saw thetears suddenly glisten in her eyes. He had come up to Chitipurreproaching himself for that morning on the South Downs, a morning sodistant, so aloof from all the surroundings in which he found himselfthat it seemed to belong to an earlier life. But his reproaches becamedoubly poignant now. She had been eight years in India, tied to thisbrute! But Stella Ballantyne mastered herself with a laugh. 

"However I am not alone in that, " she said lightly. "And how's London?"

It was unfortunate that just at this moment Captain Ballantyne woke up. 

"Eh what!" he exclaimed in a mock surprise. "You were talking, Stella, were you? It must have been something extraordinarily interesting thatyou were saying. Do let me hear it. "

At once Stella shrank. Her spirit was so cowed that she almost had thelook of a stupid person; she became stupid in sheer terror of herhusband's railleries. 

"It wasn't of any importance. "

"Oh, my dear, " said Ballantyne with a sneer, "you do yourself aninjustice, " and then his voice grew harsh, his face brutal. "What wasit?" he demanded. 

Stella looked this way and that, like an animal in a trap. Then shecaught sight of Thresk's face over against her. Her eyes appealed to himfor silence; she turned quickly to her husband. 

"I only said how's London?"

A smile spread over Ballantyne's face. 

"Now did you say that? How's London! Now why did you ask how London was?How should London be? What sort of an answer did you expect?"

"I didn't expect any answer, " replied Stella. "Of course the questionsounds stupid if you drag it out and worry it. "

Ballantyne snorted contemptuously. 

"How's London? Try again, Stella!"

Thresk had come to the limit of his patience. In spite of Stella's appealhe interrupted and interrupted sharply. 

"It doesn't seem to me an unnatural question for any woman to ask who hasnot seen London for eight years. After all, say what you like, for womenIndia means exile--real exile. "

Ballantyne turned upon his visitor with some rejoinder on his tongue. But he thought better of it. He looked away and contented himselfwith a laugh. 

"Yes, " said Stella, "we need next-door neighbours. "

The restraint which Ballantyne showed towards Thresk only served toinflame him against his wife. 

"So that you may pull their gowns to pieces and unpick their characters, "he said. "Never mind, Stella! The time'll come when we shall settle downto domestic bliss at Camberley on twopence-halfpenny a year. That'll bejolly, won't it? Long walks over the heather and quiet evenings--alonewith me. You must look forward to that, my dear. " His voice rose to averitable menace as he sketched the future which awaited them and thensank again. 

"How's London!" he growled, harping scornfully on the unfortunate phrase. Ballantyne had had luck that night. He had chanced upon two of thebanalities of ordinary talk which give an easy occasion for the bully. Thresk's twenty-four hours to give to Chitipur provided the best opening. Only Thresk was a guest--not that that in Ballantyne's present mood wouldhave mattered a great deal, but he was a guest whom Ballantyne had it inhis mind to use. All the more keenly therefore he pounced upon Stella. But in pouncing he gave Thresk a glimpse into the real man that he was, aglimpse which the barrister was quick to appreciate. 

"How's London? A lot of London we shall be able to afford! God! what alife there's in store for us! Breakfast, lunch and dinner, dinner, breakfast, lunch--all among the next-door neighbours. " And upon that heflung himself back in his chair and reached out his arms. 

"Give me Rajputana!" he cried, and even through the thickness of hisutterance his sincerity rang clear as a bell. "You can stretch yourselfhere. The cities! Live in the cities and you can only wear yourself outhankering to do what you like. Here you can do it. Do you see that, Mr. Thresk? You can do it. " And he thumped the table with his hand. 

"I like getting away into camp for two months, three months at atime--on the plain, in the jungle, alone. That's the point--alone. You'vegot it all then. You're a king without a Press. No one to spy on you--noone to carry tales--no next-door neighbours. How's London?" and with asneer he turned back to his wife. "Oh, I know it doesn't suit Stella. Stella's so sociable. Stella wants parties. Stella likes frocks. Stellaloves to hang herself about with beads, don't you, my darling?"

But Ballantyne had overtried her to-night. Her face suddenly flushed andwith a swift and violent gesture she tore at the necklace round herthroat. The clasp broke, the beads fell with a clatter upon her plate, leaving her throat bare. For a moment Ballantyne stared at her, unable tobelieve his eyes. So many times he had made her the butt of his savagehumour and she had offered no reply. Now she actually dared him!

"Why did you do that?" he asked, pushing his face close to hers. But hecould not stare her down. She looked him in the face steadily. Even herlips did not tremble. 

"You told me to wear them. I wore them. You jeer at me for wearing them. I take them off. "

And as she sat there with her head erect Thresk knew why he had biddenher to wear them. There were bruises upon her throat--upon each side ofher throat--the sort of bruises which would be made by the grip of aman's fingers. "Good God!" he cried, and before he could speak anotherword Stella's moment of defiance passed. She suddenly covered her facewith her hands and burst into tears. 

Ballantyne pushed back his chair sulkily. Thresk sprang to his feet. ButStella held him off with a gesture of her hand. 

"It's nothing, " she said between her sobs. "I am foolish. These last fewdays have been hot, haven't they?" She smiled wanly, checking her tears. "There's no reason at all, " and she got up from her chair. "I think I'llleave you for a little while. My head aches and--and--I've no doubt Ihave got a red nose now. "

She took a step or two towards the passage into her private tentbut stopped. 

"I _can_ leave you to get along together alone, can't I?" she said withher eyes on Thresk. "You know what women are, don't you? Stephen willtell you interesting things about Rajputana if you can get him to talk. I shall see you before you go, " and she lifted the screen and went outof the room. In the darkness of the passage she stood silent for amoment to steady herself and while she stood there, in spite of herefforts, her tears burst forth again uncontrollably. She clasped herhands tightly over her mouth so that the sound of her sobbing might notreach to the table in the centre of the big marquee; and with her lipswhispering in all sincerity the vain wish that she were dead shestumbled along the corridor. 

But the sound had reached into the big marquee and coming after thesilence it wrung Thresk's heart. He knew this of her at all events--thatshe did not easily cry. Ballantyne touched him on the arm. 

"You blame me for this. "

"I don't know that I do, " answered Thresk slowly. He was wondering howmuch share in the blame he had himself, he who had ridden with her on theDowns eight years ago and had let her speak and had not answered. He satin this tent to-night with shame burning at his heart. "It wasn't as if Ihad no confidence in myself, " he argued, unable quite to cast back to theThresk of those early days. "I had--heaps of it. "

Ballantyne lifted himself out of his chair and lurched over to thesideboard. Thresk, watching him, fell to wondering why in the worldStella had married him or he her. He knew that a blind man may see suchmysteries on any day and that a wise one will not try to explain them. Still he wondered. Had the man's reputation dazzled her?--for undoubtedlyhe had one; or was it that intellect which suffered an eclipse whenBallantyne went into camp with nobody to carry tales?

He was still pondering on that problem when Ballantyne swung back to thetable and set himself to prove, drunk though he was, that his reputationwas not ill-founded. 

"I am afraid Stella's not very well, " he said, sitting heavily down. "But she asked me to tell you things, didn't she? Well, her wishes are mylaw. So here goes. "

His manner altogether changed now that they were alone. He becameconfidential, intimate, friendly. He was drunk. He was a coarseheavy-featured man with bloodshot eyes; he interrupted his conversationwith uneasy glances into the corners of the tent, such glances as Threskhad noticed when he was alone with him before they sat down to dinner;but he managed none the less to talk of Rajputana with a knowledge whichamazed Thresk now and would have enthralled him at another time. Avisitor may see the surface of Rajputana much as Thresk had done, mayadmire its marble palaces, its blue lakes and the great yellow stretchesof its desert, but to know anything of the life underneath in thatstrange secret country is given to few even of those who for long yearsfly the British flag over the Agencies. Nevertheless Ballantyneknew--very little as he acknowledged but more than his fellows. Andgroping drunkenly in his mind he drew out now this queer intrigue, nowthat fateful piece of history, now the story of some savage punishmentwreaked behind the latticed windows, and laid them one after anotherbefore Thresk's eyes--his peace-offerings. And Thresk listened. Butbefore his eyes stood the picture of Stella Ballantyne standing alone inthe dark corridor beyond the grass-screen whispering with wild lips herwish that she was dead; and in his ears was the sound of her sobbing. Here, it seemed, was another story to add to the annals of Rajputana. 

Then Ballantyne tapped him on the arm. 

"You're not listening, " he said with a leer. "And I'm telling you goodthings--things that people don't know and that I wouldn't tell them--theswine. You're not listening. You're thinking I'm a brute to my wife, eh?"And Thresk was startled by the shrewdness of his host's guess. 

"Well, I'll tell you the truth. I am not master of myself, " Ballantynecontinued. His voice sank and his eyes narrowed to two little brightslits. "I am afraid. Yes, that's the explanation. I am so afraid thatwhen I am not alone I seek relief any way, any how. I can't help it. " Andeven as he spoke his eyes opened wide and he sat staring intently at adim corner of the tent, moving his head with little jerks from one sideto the other that he might see the better. 

"There's no one over there, eh?" he asked. 

"No one. "

Ballantyne nodded as he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. 

"They make these tents too large, " he said in a whisper. "One great blotof light in the middle and all around in the corners--shadows. We sithere in the blot of light--a fair mark. But what's going on in theshadows, Mr. --What's your name? Eh? What's going on in the shadows?"

Thresk had no doubt that Ballantyne's fear was genuine. He was notputting forward merely an excuse for the scene which his guest hadwitnessed and might spread abroad on his return to Bombay. No, he wasreally terrified. He interspersed his words with sudden unexpectedsilences, during which he sat all ears and his face strained to listen, as though he expected to surprise some stealthy movement. But Threskaccounted for it by that decanter on the sideboard, in which the level ofthe whisky had been so noticeably lowered that evening. He was wronghowever, for Ballantyne sprang to his feet. 

"You are going away to-night. You can do me a service. "

"Can I?" asked Thresk. 

He understood at last why Ballantyne had been at such pains to interestand amuse him. 

"Yes. And in return, " cried Ballantyne, "I'll give you another glimpseinto the India you don't know. "

He walked up to the door of the tent and drew it aside. "Look!"

Thresk, leaning forward in his chair, looked out through the opening. Hesaw the moonlit plain in a soft haze, in the middle of it the green lampof a railway signal and beyond the distant ridge, on which straggled theruins of old Chitipur. 

"Look!" cried Ballantyne. "There's tourist India all in one: a desert, arailway and a deserted city, hovels and temples, deep sacred pools andforgotten palaces--the whole bag of tricks crumbling slowly to ruinthrough centuries on the top of a hill. That's what the good people comeout for to see in the cold weather--Jarwhal Junction and old Chitipur. "

He dropped the curtain contemptuously and it swung back, shutting out thedesert. He took a step or two back into the tent and flung out his armswide on each side of him. 

"But bless your soul, " he cried vigorously, "here's the real India. "

Thresk looked about the tent and understood. 

"I see, " he answered--"a place very badly lit, a great blot of light inthe centre and all around it dark corners and grim shadows. "

Ballantyne nodded his head with a grim smile upon his lips. 

"Oh, you have learnt that! Well, you shall do me a service and in returnyou shall look into the shadows. But we will have the table clearedfirst. " And he called aloud for Baram Singh. 

CHAPTER VII

THE PHOTOGRAPH

While Baram Singh was clearing the table Ballantyne lifted the box ofcheroots from the top of the bureau and held it out to Thresk. 

"Will you smoke?"

Thresk, however, though he smoked had not during his stay in Indiaacquired the taste for the cheroot; and it interested him in later timesto reflect how largely he owed his entanglement in the tragic eventswhich were to follow to that accidental distaste. For conscious of it hehad brought his pipe with him, and he now fetched it out of his pocket. 

"This, if I may, " he said. 

"Of course. "

Thresk filled his pipe and lighted it, Ballantyne for his part lit acheroot and replaced the box upon the top, close to a heavyriding-crop with a bone handle, which Thresk happened now to noticefor the first time. 

"Be quick!" he cried impatiently to Baram Singh, and seated himself inthe swing-chair in front of the bureau, turning it so as not to have hisback to Thresk at the table. Baram Singh hurriedly finished his work andleft the marquee by the passage leading to the kitchen. Ballantyne waitedwith his eyes upon that passage until the grass-mat screen had ceased tomove. Then taking a bunch of keys from his pocket he stooped under theopen writing-flap of the bureau and unlocked the lowest of the threedrawers. From this drawer he lifted a scarlet despatch-box, and was justgoing to bring it to the table when Baram Singh silently appeared oncemore. At once Ballantyne dropped the box on the floor, covering it aswell as he could with his legs. 

"What the devil do you want?" he cried, speaking of course in Hindustani, and with a violence which seemed to be half made up of anger and half offear. Baram Singh replied that he had brought an ash-tray for the Sahib, and he placed it on the round table by Thresk's side. 

"Well, get out and don't come back until you are called, " criedBallantyne roughly, and in evident relief as Baram Singh once moreretired he took a long draught from a fresh tumbler of whisky-and-sodawhich stood on the flap of the bureau beside him. He then stooped oncemore to lift the red despatch-box from the floor, but to Thresk'samazement in the very act of stooping he stopped. He remained with hishands open to seize the box and his body bent over his knees, quitemotionless. His mouth was open, his eyes staring, and upon his face sucha look of sheer terror was stamped as Thresk could never find words todescribe. For the first moment he imagined that the man had had a stroke. His habits, his heavy build all pointed that way. The act of stoopingwould quite naturally be the breaking pressure upon that overchargedbrain. But before Thresk had risen to make sure Ballantyne moved an arm. He moved it upwards without changing his attitude in any other way, oreven the direction of his eyes, and he groped along the flap of thebureau very cautiously and secretly and up again to the top ledge. Allthe while his eyes were staring intently, but with the intentness ofextreme fear, not at the despatch-box but at the space of carpet--acouple of feet at the most--between the despatch-box and the tent-wall. His fingers felt along the ledge of the bureau and closed with a silentgrip upon the handle of the riding-crop. Thresk jumped to the naturalconclusion: a snake had crept in under the tent-wall and Ballantyne darednot move lest the snake should strike. Neither did he dare to movehimself. Ballantyne was clearly within reach of its fangs. But he lookedand--there was nothing. The light was not good certainly, and down by thetent-wall there close to the floor it was shadowy and dim. But Thresk'seyes were keen. The space between the despatch-box and the wall wasempty. Nothing crawled there, nothing was coiled. 

Thresk looked at Ballantyne with amazement; and as he looked Ballantynesprang from his chair with a scream of terror--the scream of apanic-stricken child. He sprang with an agility which Thresk would neverhave believed possible in a man of so gross a build. He leapt into theair and with his crop he struck savagely once, twice and thrice at thefloor between the wall and the box. Then he turned to Thresk with everymuscle working in his face. 

"Did you see?" he cried. "Did you see?"

"What? There was nothing to see!"

"Nothing!" screamed Ballantyne. He picked up the box and placed it on thetable, thrusting it under Thresk's hand. "Hold that! Don't let go! Stayhere and don't let go, " he said, and running up the tent raised his voiceto a shout. 

"Baram Singh!" and lifting the tent-door he called to others of hisservants by name. Without waiting for them he ran out himself and in asecond Thresk heard him cursing thickly and calling in panic-strickentones just close to that point of the wall against which the bureaustood. The camp woke to clamour. 

Thresk stood by the table gripping the handle of the despatch-box as hehad been bidden to do. The tent-door was left open. He could see lightsflashing, he heard Ballantyne shouting orders, and his voice dwindled andgrew loud as he moved from spot to spot in the encampment. And in themidst of the noise the white frightened face of Stella Ballantyneappeared at the opening of her corridor. 

"What has happened?" she asked in a whisper. "Oh, I was afraid thatyou and he had quarrelled, " and she stood with her hand pressed overher heart. 

"No, no indeed, " Thresk replied, and Captain Ballantyne stumbled backinto the tent. His face was livid, and yet the sweat stood upon hisforehead. Stella Ballantyne drew back, but Ballantyne saw her as shemoved and drove her to her own quarters. 

"I have a private message for Mr. Thresk's ears, " he said, and when shehad gone he took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. 

"Now you must help me, " he said in a low voice. But his voice shook andhis eyes strayed again to the ground by the wall of the tent. 

"It was just there the arm came through, " he said. "Yes, just there, " andhe pointed a trembling finger. 

"Arm?" cried Thresk. "What are you talking about?"

Ballantyne looked away from the wall to Thresk, his eyes incredulous. 

"But you saw!" he insisted, leaning forward over the table. 

"What?"

"An arm, a hand thrust in under the tent there, along the ground reachingout for my box. "

"No. There was nothing to see. "

"A lean brown arm, I tell you, a hand thin and delicate as a woman's. "

"No. You are dreaming, " exclaimed Thresk; but dreaming was a euphemismfor the word he meant. 

"Dreaming!" repeated Ballantyne with a harsh laugh. "Good God! I wish Iwas. Come. Sit down here! We have not too much time. " He seated himselfopposite to Thresk and drew the despatch-box towards him. He had regainedenough mastery over himself now to be able to speak in a level voice. Nodoubt too his fright had sobered him. But it had him still in its grip, for when he opened the despatch-box his hand so shook that he couldhardly insert the key in the lock. It was done at last however, andfeeling beneath the loose papers on the surface he drew out from the verybottom a large sealed envelope. He examined the seals to make sure theyhad not been tampered with. Then he tore open the envelope and took out aphotograph, somewhat larger than cabinet size. 

"You have heard of Bahadur Salak?" he said. 

Thresk started. 

"The affair at Umballa, the riots at Benares, the murder in Madras?"

"Exactly. "

Ballantyne pushed the photograph into Thresk's hand. 

"That's the fellow--the middle one of the group. "

Thresk held up the photograph to the light. It represented a group ofnine Hindus seated upon chairs in a garden and arranged in a row facingthe camera. Thresk looked at, the central figure with a keen andprofessional interest. Salak was a notorious figure in the Indianpolitics of the day--the politics of the subterranean kind. For someyears he had preached and practised sedition with so much subtlety andskill that though all men were aware that his hand worked the strings ofdisorder there was never any convicting evidence against him. In all thethree cases which Thresk had quoted and in many others less well-knownthose responsible for order were sure that he had devised the crime, chosen the moment for its commission and given the order. But up till amonth ago he had slipped through the meshes. A month ago, however, he hadmade his mistake. 

"Yes. It's a clever face, " said Thresk. 

Ballantyne nodded his head. 

"He's a Mahratta Brahmin from Poona. They are the fellows for brains, andSalak's about the cleverest of them. "

Thresk looked again at the photograph. 

"I see the picture was taken at Poona. "

"Yes, and isn't it an extraordinary thing!" cried Ballantyne, his faceflashing suddenly into interest and enjoyment. The enthusiasm of theadministrator in his work got the better of his fear now, just as alittle earlier it had got the better of his drunkenness. Thresk waslooking now into the face of a quite different man, the man of theintimate knowledge and the high ability for whom fine rewards wereprophesied in Bombay. "The very cleverest of them can't resist thetemptation of being photographed in group. Crime after crime has beenbrought home to the Indian criminal both here and in London because theywill sit in garden-chairs and let a man take their portraits. Nothingwill stop them. They won't learn. They are like the ladies of the lightopera stage. Well, let 'em go on I say. Here's an instance. "

"Is it?" asked Thresk. "Surely that photograph was taken a longtime ago. "

"Nine years. But he was at the same game. You have got the proof in yourhands. There's a group of nine men--Salak and his eight friends. Well, of his eight friends every man jack is now doing time for burglary, insome cases with violence--that second ruffian, for instance, he's in forlife--in some cases without, but in each case the crime was burglary. And why? Because Salak in the centre there set them on to it. BecauseSalak nine years ago wasn't the big swell he is now. Because Salakwanted money to start his intrigues. That's the way he gotit--burglaries all round Bombay. "

"I see, " said Thresk. "Salak's in prison now?"

"He's in prison in Calcutta, yes. But he's awaiting his trial. He's notconvicted yet. "

"Exactly, " Thresk answered. "This photograph is a valuable thing to havejust now. "

Ballantyne threw up his arms in despair at the obtuseness of hiscompanion. 

"Valuable!" he cried in derision. "Valuable!" and he leaned forward onhis elbows and began to talk to Thresk with an ironic gentleness as if hewere a child. 

"You don't quite understand me, do you? But a little effort and all willbe plain. "

He got no farther however upon this line of attack, for Threskinterrupted him sharply. 

"Here! Say what you have got to say if you want me to help you. Oh, youneedn't scowl! You are not going to bait me for your amusement. I am notyour wife. " And Ballantyne after a vain effort to stare Thresk downchanged to a more cordial tone. 

"Well, you say it's a valuable thing to have just now. I say it's aninfernally dangerous thing. On the one side there's Salak the greatnational leader, Salak the deliverer, Salak professing from his prison inCalcutta that he has never used any but the most legitimateconstitutional means to forward his propaganda. And here on the other isSalak in his garden-chair amongst the burglars. Not a good thing topossess--this photograph, Mr. Thresk. Especially because it's the onlyone in existence and the negative has been destroyed. So Salak's friendsare naturally anxious to get it back. "

"Do they know you have it?" Thresk asked. 

"Of course they do. You had proof that they knew five minutes ago whenthat brown arm wriggled in under the tent-wall. "

Ballantyne's fear returned upon him as he spoke. He sat shivering; hiseyes wandered furtively from corner to corner of the great tent and camealways back as though drawn by a serpent to the floor by the wall of thetent. Thresk shrugged his shoulders. To dispute with Ballantyne once moreupon his delusion would be the merest waste of time. He took up thephotograph again. 

"How do you come to possess it?" he asked. If he was to serve his host inthe way he suspected he would be asked to, he must know its history. 

"I was agent in a state not far from Poona before I came here. "

Thresk agreed. 

"I know. Bakuta. "

"Oh?" said Ballantyne with a sharp look. "How did you know that?"

He was always in alarm lest somewhere in the world gossip was whisperinghis secret. 

"A Mrs. Carruthers at Bombay. "

"Did she tell you anything else?"

"Yes. She told me that you were a great man. "

Ballantyne grinned suddenly. 

"Isn't she a fool?" Then the grin left his face. "But how did you come todiscuss me with her at all?"

That was a question which Thresk had not the slightest intention toanswer. He evaded it altogether. 

"Wasn't it natural since I was going to Chitipur?" he asked, andBallantyne was appeased. 

"Well, the Rajah of Bakutu had that photograph and he gave it to me whenI left the State. He came down to the station to see me off. He was toonear Poona to be comfortable with that in his pocket. He gave it to me onthe platform in full view, the damned coward. He wanted to show that hehad given it to me. He said that I should be safe with it in Chitipur. "

"Chitipur's a long way from Poona, " Thresk agreed. 

"But don't you see, this trial that's coming along in Calcutta makes allthe difference. It's known I have got it. It's not safe here now and nomore am I so long as I've got it. "

One question had been puzzling Thresk ever since he had seen the look ofterror reappear in Ballantyne's face. It was clear that he lived in avery real fear. He believed that he was watched, and he believed that hewas in danger; and very probably he actually was. There had, to be sure, been no attempt that night to rob him of it as he imagined. But none theless Salak and his friends could not like the prospect of the productionof that photograph in Calcutta, and would hardly be scrupulous what meansthey took to prevent it. Then why had not Ballantyne destroyed it?Thresk asked the question and was fairly startled by the answer. For itpresented to him in the most unexpected manner another and a new side ofthe strange and complex character of Stephen Ballantyne. 

"Yes, why don't I destroy it?" Ballantyne repeated. "I ask myself that, "and he took the photograph out of Thresk's hands and sat in a sort ofmuse, staring at it. Then he turned it over and took the edge between hisforefinger and his thumb, hesitating whether he would not even at thismoment tear it into strips and have done with it. But in the end he castit upon the table as he had done many a time before and cried in a voiceof violence:

"No, I can't. That's to own these fellows my masters and I won't. By GodI won't! I may be every kind of brute, but I have been bred up in thisservice. For twenty years I have lived in it and by it. And the serviceis too strong for me. No, I can't destroy that photograph. There's thetruth. I should hate myself to my dying day if I did. "

He rose abruptly as if half ashamed of his outburst and crossing to hisbureau lighted another cheroot. 

"Then what do you want me to do with it?" asked Thresk. 

"I want you to take it away. "

Ballantyne was taking a casuistical way of satisfying his conscience, andhe was aware of it. He would not destroy the portrait--no! But hewouldn't keep it either. "You are going straight back to England, " hesaid. "Take it with you. When you get home you can hand it to one of thebig-wigs at the India Office, and he'll put it in a pigeon-hole, and someday an old charwoman cleaning the office will find it, and she'll take ithome to her grandchildren to play with and one of them'll drop it on thefire, and there'll be an end of it. "

"Yes, " replied Thresk slowly. "But if I do that, it won't be useful atCalcutta, will it?"

"Oh, " said Ballantyne with a sneer. "You've got a conscience too, eh?Well, I'll tell you. I don't think that photograph will be needed atCalcutta. "

"Are you sure of that?"

"Yes. Salak's friends don't know it, but I do. "

Thresk sat still in doubt. Was Ballantyne speaking the truth or did hespeak in fear? He was still standing by the bureau looking down uponThresk and behind him, so that Thresk had not the expression of his faceto help him to decide. But he did not turn in his chair to look. For ashe sat there it dawned upon him that the photograph was the very thingwhich he himself needed. The scheme which had been growing in his mindall through this evening, which had begun to grow from the very momentwhen he had entered the tent, was now complete in every detail exceptone. He wanted an excuse, a good excuse which should explain why hemissed his boat, and here it was on the table in front of him. Almost hehad refused it! Now it seemed to him a Godsend. 

"I'll take it, " he cried, and Baram Singh silently appeared at the outerdoorway of the tent. 

"Huzoor, " he said. "Railgharri hai. "

Ballantyne turned to Thresk. 

"Your train is signalled, " and as Thresk started up he reassured him. "There's no hurry. I have sent word that it is not to start without you. "And while Baram Singh still stood waiting for orders in the doorway ofthe tent Ballantyne walked round the table, took up the portrait verydeliberately and handed it to Thresk. 

"Thank you, " he said. "Button it in your coat pocket. "

He waited while Thresk obeyed. 

"Thus, " said Thresk with a laugh, "did the Rajah of Bakutu, " andBallantyne replied with a grin. 

"Thank you for mentioning that name. " He turned to Baram Singh. "Thecamel, quick!"

Baram Singh went out to the enclosure within the little village of tentsand Thresk asked curiously:

"Do you distrust him?"

Ballantyne looked steadily at his visitor and said:

"I don't answer such questions. But I'll tell you something. If that manwere dying he would ask for leave. And if he would ask for leave becausehe would not die with my scarlet livery on his back. Are you answered?"

"Yes, " said Thresk. 

"Very well. " And with a brisk change of tone Ballantyne added: "I'll seethat your camel is ready. " He called aloud to his wife: "Stella! Stella!Mr. Thresk is going, " and he went out through the doorway into themoonlight. 

CHAPTER VIII

AND THE RIFLE

Thresk, alone in the tent, looked impatiently towards the grass-screen. He wanted half-a-dozen words with Stella alone. Here was the opportunity, the unhoped-for opportunity, and it was slipping away. Through the opendoorway of the tent he saw Ballantyne standing by a big fire and menmoving quickly in obedience to his voice. Then he heard the rustle of adress in the corridor, and she was in the room. He moved quickly towardsher, but she held up her hand and stopped him. 

"Oh, why did you come?" she said, and the pallor of her face reproachedhim no less than the regret in her voice. 

"I heard of you in Bombay, " he replied. "I am glad that I did come. "

"And I am sorry. "

"Why?"

She looked about the tent as though he might find his answer there. Thresk did not move. He stood near to her, watching her face intentlywith his jaw rather set. 

"Oh, I didn't say that to wound you, " said Stella, and she sat down onone of the cushioned basket-chairs. "You mustn't think I wasn't glad tosee you. I was--at the first moment I was very glad;" and she saw hisface lighten as she spoke. "I couldn't help it. All the years rolledaway. I remembered the Sussex Downs and--and--days when we rode therehigh up above the weald. Do you remember?"

"Yes. "

"How long was that ago?"

"Eight years. "

Stella laughed wistfully. 

"To me it seems a century. " She was silent for a moment, and though hespoke to her urgently she did not answer. She was carried back to thehigh broad hills of grass with the curious clumps of big beech-trees upontheir crests. 

"Do you remember Halnaker Gallop?" she asked with a laugh. "We found itwhen the chains weren't up and had the whole two miles free. Was thereever such grass?"

She was looking straight at the bureau, but she was seeing that greenlane of shaven turf in the haze of an August morning. She saw it rise anddip in the open between long brown grass. There was a tree on theleft-hand side just where the ride dipped for the first time. Then it ranstraight to the big beech-trees and passed between them, a wide glade ofsunlight, and curved out at the upper end by the road and dipped downagain to the two lodges. 

"And the ridge at the back of Charlton forest, all the weald to LeithHill in view?" She rose suddenly from her chair. "Oh, I am sorry thatyou came. "

"And I am glad, " repeated Thresk. 

The stubbornness with which he repeated his words arrested her. Shelooked at him--was it with distrust, he asked himself? He could not besure. But certainly there was a little hard note in her voice which hadnot been there before, when in her turn she asked:

"Why?"

"Because I shouldn't have known, " he said in a quick whisper. "I shouldhave gone back. I should have left you here. I shouldn't have known. "

Stella recoiled. 

"There is nothing to know, " she said sharply, and Thresk pointed ather throat. 

"Nothing?"

Stella Ballantyne raised her hand to cover the blue marks. 

"I--I fell and hurt myself, " she stammered. 

"It was he--Ballantyne. "

"No, " she cried and she drew herself erect. But Thresk would not acceptthe denial. 

"He ill-treats you, " he insisted. "He drinks and ill-treats you. "

Stella shook her head. 

"You asked questions in Bombay where we are known. You were not toldthat, " she said confidently. There was only one person in Bombay whoknew the truth and Jane Repton, she was very sure, would never havebetrayed her. 

"That's true, " Thresk conceded. "But why? Because it's only here in campthat he lets himself go. He told us as much to-night. You were here atthe table. You heard. He let his secret slip: no one to carry tales, noone to spy. In the towns he sets a guard upon himself. Yes, but he looksforward to the months of camp when there are no next-door neighbours. "

"No, that's not true, " she protested and cast about for explanations. "He--he has had a long day and to-night he was tired--and when you aretired--Oh, as a rule he's different. " And to her relief she heardBallantyne's voice outside the tent. 

"Thresk! Thresk!"

She came forward and held out her hand. 

"There! Your camel's ready, " she said. "You must go! Goodbye, " and as hetook it the old friendliness transfigured her face. "You are a great mannow. I read of you. You always meant to be, didn't you? Hard work?"

"Very, " said Thresk. "Four o'clock in the morning till midnight;" and shesuddenly caught him by the arm. 

"But it's worth it. " She let him go and clasped her hands together. "Oh, you have got everything!" she cried in envy. 

"No, " he answered. But she would not listen. 

"Everything you asked for, " she said and she added hurriedly, "Do youstill collect miniatures? No time for that now I suppose. " Once moreBallantyne's voice called to them from the camp-fire. 

"You must go. "

Thresk looked through the opening of the tent. Ballantyne had turned andwas coming back towards them. 

"I'll write to you from Bombay, " he said, and utter disbelief showed inher face and sounded in her laugh. 

"That letter will never reach me, " she said lightly, and she went up tothe door of the tent. Thresk had a moment whilst her back was turned andhe used it. He took his pipe out of his pocket and placed it silently andquickly on the table. He wanted a word with her when Ballantyne was outof the way and she was not upon her guard to fence him off. The pipemight be his friend and give it him. He went up to Stella at thetent-door and Ballantyne, who was half-way between the camp-fire and thetent, stopped when he caught sight of him. 

"That's right, " he said. "You ought to be going;" and he turned againtowards the camel. Thus for another moment they were alone together, butit was Stella who seized it. 

"There go!" she said. "You must go, " and in the same breath she added:

"Married yet?"

"No, " answered Thresk. 

"Still too busy getting on?"

"That's not the reason"--and he lowered his voice to a whisper--"Stella. "

Again she laughed in frank and utter disbelief. 

"Nor is Stella. That's mere politeness and good manners. We must show thedear creatures the great part they play in our lives. " And upon that allher fortitude suddenly deserted her. She had played her part so far, shecould play it no longer. An extraordinary change came over her face. Thesmiles, the laughter slipped from it like a loosened mask. Thresk sawsuch an agony of weariness and hopeless longing in her eyes as he hadnever seen even with his experience in the Courts of Law. She drew backinto the shadow of the tent. 

"In thirteen days you'll be steaming up the Channel, " she whispered, andwith a sob she covered her face with her hands. Thresk saw the tearstrickle between her fingers. 

Ballantyne at the fire was looking back towards the tent. Thresk hurriedout to him. The camel was crouching close to the fire saddled and ready. 

"You have time, " said Ballantyne. "The train's not in yet, " and Threskwalked to the side of the camel, where a couple of steps had been placedfor him to mount. He had a foot on the step when he suddenly clapped hishand to his pocket. 

"I've left my pipe, " he cried, "and I've a night's journey in front ofme. I won't be a second. "

He ran back with all his speed to the tent. The hangings at the door wereclosed. He tore them aside and rushed in. 

"Stella!" he said in a whisper, and then he stopped in amazement. He hadleft her on the very extremity of distress. He found her, though to besure the stains of her tears were still visible upon her face, busy withone of the evening preparations natural in a camp-life--quietly, energetically busy. She looked up once when he raised the hanging overthe door, but she dropped her eyes the next instant to her work. 

She was standing by the table with a small rook-rifle in her hands. Thebreech was open. She looked down the barrel, holding up the weapon sothat the light might shine into the breech. 

"Yes?" she said, and with so much indifference that she did not lift hereyes from her work. "I thought you had gone. "

"I left my pipe behind me, " said Thresk. 

"There it is, on the table. "

"Thank you. "

He put it in his pocket. Of the two he was disconcerted and at a loss, she was entirely at her ease. 

CHAPTER IX

AN EPISODE IN BALLANTYNE'S LIFE

The Reptons lived upon the Khamballa Hill and the bow-window of theirdrawing-room looked down upon the Arabian Sea and southwards along thecoast towards Malabar Point. In this embrasure Mrs. Repton sat througha morning, denying herself to her friends. A book lay open on her lapbut her eyes were upon the sea. A few minutes after the clock upon hermantelpiece had struck twelve she saw that for which she watched: thebowsprit and the black bows of a big ship pushing out from under thehill and the water boiling under its stem. The whole ship came intoview with its awnings and its saffron funnels and headed to thenorth-west for Aden. 

Jane Repton rose up from her chair and watched it go. In the sunlight itsblack hull was so sharply outlined on the sea, its lines and spars wereso trim that it looked a miniature ship which she could reach out herhand and snatch. But her eyes grew dim as she watched, so that it becameshapeless and blurred, and long before the liner was out of sight it wasquite lost to her. 

"I am foolish, " she said as she turned away, and she bit herhandkerchief hard. This was midday of the Friday and ever since thatdinner-party at the Carruthers' on the Monday night she had beenalternating between wild hopes and arguments of prudence. But until thismoment of disappointment she had not realised how completely the hopeshad gained the upper hand with her and how extravagantly she had builtupon Thresk's urgent questioning of her at the dinner-table. 

"Very likely he never found the Ballantynes at all, " she argued. But hemight have sent her word. All that morning she had been expecting atelephone message or a telegram or a note scribbled on board the steamerand sent up the Khamballa Hill by a messenger. But not a token had comefrom him and now of the boat which was carrying him to England there wasnothing left but the stain of its smoke upon the sky. 

Mrs. Repton put her handkerchief in her pocket and was going about thebusiness of her house when the butler opened the door. 

"I am not in--" Mrs. Repton began and cut short the sentence with a cryof welcome and surprise, for close upon the heels of the servant Threskwas standing. 

"You!" she cried. "Oh!"

She felt her legs weakening under her and she sat down abruptly on achair. 

"Thank Heaven it was there, " she said. "I should have sat on thefloor if it hadn't been. " She dismissed the butler and held out herhand to Thresk. "Oh, my friend, " she said, "there's your steamer onits way to Aden. "

Her voice rang with enthusiasm and admiration. Thresk only nodded hishead gloomily. 

"I have missed it, " he replied. "It's very unfortunate. I have clientswaiting for me in London. "

"You missed it on purpose, " she declared and Thresk's face relaxed into asmile. He turned away from the window to her. He seemed suddenly to wearthe look of a boy. 

"I have the best of excuses, " he replied, "the perfect excuse. " But evenhe could not foresee how completely that excuse was to serve him. 

"Sit down, " said Jane Repton, "and tell me. You went to Chitipur, I know. From your presence here I know too that you found--them--there. "

"No, " said Thresk, "I didn't. " He sat down and looked straight into JaneRepton's eyes. "I had a stroke of luck. I found them--in camp. "

Jane Repton understood all that the last two words implied. 

"I should have wished that, " she answered, "if I had dared to think itpossible. You talked with Stella?"

"Hardly a word alone. But I saw. "

"What did you see?"

"I am here to tell you. " And he told her the story of his night at thecamp so far as it concerned Stella Ballantyne, and indeed not quite allof that. For instance he omitted altogether to relate how he had left hispipe behind in the tent and had returned for it. That seemed to himunimportant. Nor did he tell her of his conversation with Ballantyneabout the photograph. "He was in a panic. He had delusions, " he said andleft the matter there. Thresk had the lawyer's mind or rather the mind ofa lawyer in big practice. He had the instinct for the essential fact andthe knowledge that it was most lucid when presented in a nakedsimplicity. He was at pains to set before Jane Repton what he had seen ofthe life which Stella lived with Stephen Ballantyne and nothing else. 

"Now, " he said when he had finished, "you sent me to Chitipur. I mustknow why. "

And when she hesitated he overbore her. 

"You can be guilty of no disloyalty to your friend, " he insisted, "bybeing frank with me. After all I have given guarantees. I went toChitipur upon your word. I have missed my boat. You bade me go toChitipur. That told me too little or too much. I say too little. I havegot to know all now. " And he rose up and stood before her. "What do youknow about Stephen Ballantyne?"

"I'll tell you, " said Jane Repton. She looked at the clock. "You hadbetter stay and lunch with us if you will. We shall be alone. I'll tellyou afterwards. Meanwhile--" and in her turn she stood up. The sense ofresponsibility was heavy upon her. 

She had sent this man upon his errand of knowledge. He had done, inconsequence of it, a stronger, a wilder thing than she had thought, thanshe had hoped for. She had a panicky feeling that she had set greatforces at work. 

"Meanwhile--" asked Thresk; and she drew a breath of relief. Thesteadiness of his eyes and voice comforted her. His quiet insistence gaveher courage. None of her troubles and doubts had any place apparently inhis mind. A nervous horse in the hands of a real horseman--thus shethought of herself in Thresk's presence. 

"Meanwhile I'll give you one reason why I wanted you to go. My husband'stime in India is up. We are leaving for England altogether in a month'stime. We shall not come back at all. And when we have gone Stella will beleft without one intimate friend in the whole country. "

"Yes, " said Thresk. "That wouldn't do, would it?" and they went in totheir luncheon. 

All through that meal, before the servants, they talked what is writtenin the newspapers. And of the two she who had fears and hesitations wasstill the most impatient to get it done. She had her curiosity and itwas beginning to consume her. What had Thresk known of Stella and she ofhim before she had come out to India and become Stella Ballantyne? Hadthey been in love? If not why had Thresk gone to Chitipur? Why had hemissed his boat and left all his clients over there in England in thelurch? If so, why hadn't they married--the idiots? Oh, how she wanted toknow all the answers to all these questions! And what he proposed to donow! And she would know nothing unless she was frank herself. She hadread his ultimatum in his face. 

"We'll have coffee in my sitting-room. You can smoke there, " she said andled the way to it. "A cheroot?"

Thresk smiled with amusement. But the amusement annoyed her for she didnot understand it. 

"I have got a Havana cigar here, " he said. "May I?"

"Of course. "

He lit it and listened. But it was not long before it went out and he didnot stir to light it again. The incident of which Mrs. Repton had beenthe witness, and which she related now, invested Ballantyne with horror. Thresk had left the camp at Chitipur with an angry contempt for him. Thecontempt passed out of his feelings altogether as he sat in Mrs. Repton'sdrawing-room. 

"I am not telling you what Stella has confided to me, " said Mrs. Repton. "Stella's loyal even when there's no cause for loyalty; and if loyaltydidn't keep her mouth closed, self-respect would. I tell you what I saw. We were at Agra at the time. My husband was Collector there. There wasa Durbar held there and the Rajah of Chitipur came to it with hiselephants and his soldiers, and naturally Captain Ballantyne and his wifecame too. They stayed with us. You are to understand that I knewnothing--absolutely nothing--up to that time. I hadn't a suspicion--untilthe afternoon of the finals in the Polo Tournament. Stella and I wenttogether alone and we came home about six. Stella went upstairs and I--Iwalked into the library. "

She had found Ballantyne sitting in a high arm-chair, his eyes glitteringunder his black thick eyebrows and his face livid. He looked at her asshe entered, but he neither moved nor spoke, and she thought that he wasill. But the decanter of whisky stood empty on a little table at his sideand she noticed it. 

"We have some people coming to dinner to-night, Captain Ballantyne, " shesaid. "We shall dine at eight, so there's an hour and a half still. "

She went over to a book-case and took out a book. When she turned backinto the room a change had taken place in her visitor. Life had flickeredinto his face. His eyes were wary and cunning. 

"And why do you tell me that?" he asked in a voice which was thick andformidable. She had a notion that he did not know who she was and thensuddenly she became afraid. She had discovered a secret--his secret. Foronce in the towns he had let himself go. She had a hope now that he couldnot move and that he knew it; he sat as still as his arm-chair. 

"I had forgotten to tell you, " she replied. "I thought you might like toknow beforehand. "

"Why should I like to know beforehand?"

She had his secret, he plied her with questions to know if she had it. She must hide her knowledge. Every instinct warned her to hide it. 

"The people who are coming are strangers to India, " she said, "but I havetold them of you and they will come expectant. "

"You are very kind. "

She had spoken lightly and with a laugh. Ballantyne replied without ironyor amusement and with his eyes fixed upon her face. Mrs. Repton could notaccount for the panic which seized hold upon her. She had dined inCaptain Ballantyne's company before often enough; he had now been forthree days in her house; she had recognised his ability and had neitherparticularly liked nor disliked him. Her main impression had been that hewas not good enough for Stella, and it was an impression purely feminineand instinctive. Now suddenly he had imposed himself upon her as acreature dangerous, beastlike. She wanted to get out of the room but shedared not, for she was sure that her careful steps would, despiteherself, change into a run. She sat down, meaning to read for a fewmoments, compose herself and then go. But no sooner had she taken herseat than her terror increased tenfold, for Ballantyne rose swiftly fromhis chair and walking in a circle round the room with an extraordinarilylight and noiseless step disappeared behind her. Then he sat down. Mrs. Repton heard the slight grating of the legs of a chair upon the floor. Itwas a chair at a writing-table close by the window and exactly at herback. He could see every movement which she made, and she could seenothing, not so much as the tip of one of his fingers. And of his fingersshe was now afraid. He was watching her from his point of vantage; sheseemed to feel his eyes burning upon the nape of her neck. And he saidnothing; and he did not stir. It was broad daylight, she assured herself. She had but to cross the room to the bell beside the fireplace. Nay, shehad only to scream--and she was very near to screaming--to bring theservants to her rescue. But she dared not do it. Before she was half-wayto the bell, before the cry was out of her mouth she would feel hisfingers close about her throat. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Repton had begun to tell her story with reluctance, dreading lestThresk should attribute it to a woman's nerves and laugh. But he did not. He listened gravely, seriously; and, as she continued, that nightmare ofan evening so lived again in her recollections that she could not butmake it vivid in her words. 

"I had more than a mere sense of danger, " she said. "I felt besides asort of hideous discomfort, almost physical discomfort, which made mebelieve that there was something evil in that room beyond the power oflanguage to describe. "

She felt her self-control leaving her. If she stayed she must betray heralarm. Even now she had swallowed again and again, and she wondered thathe had not detected the working of her throat. She summoned what was leftof her courage and tossing her book aside rose slowly and deliberately. 

"I think I shall copy Stella's example and lie down for an hour, " shesaid without turning her head towards Ballantyne, and even while shespoke she knew that she had made a mistake in mentioning Stella. He wouldfollow her to discover whether she went to Stella's room and told whatshe had seen to her. But he did not move. She reached the door, turnedthe handle, went out and closed the door behind her. 

For a moment then her strength failed her; she leaned against the wall bythe side of the door, her heart racing. But the fear that he would followurged her on. She crossed the hall and stopped deliberately before acabinet of china at the foot of the stairs, which stood against the wallin which the library door was placed. While she stood there she saw thedoor open very slowly and Ballantyne's livid face appear at the opening. She turned towards the stairs and mounted them without looking back. Halfway up a turn hid the hall from her, and the moment after she hadpassed the turn she heard him crossing the hall after her, again with alightness of step which seemed to be uncanny and inhuman in so heavy andgross a creature. 

"I was appalled, " she said to Thresk frankly. "He had the step of ananimal. I felt that some great baboon was tracking me stealthily. "

Mrs. Repton came to Stella Ballantyne's door and was careful not to stop. She reached her own room, and once in shot the bolt; and in a moment ortwo she heard him breathing just outside the panels. 

"And to think that Stella is alone with him in the jungle months at atime!" she cried, actually wringing her hands. "That thought was in mymind all the time--a horror of a thought. Oh, I could understand now theloss of her spirits, her colour, her youth. "

Pictures of lonely camps and empty rest-houses, far removed from anyhabitation in the silence of Indian nights, rose before her eyes. Sheimagined Stella propped up on her elbow in bed, wide-eyed with terror, listening and listening to the light footsteps of the drunken brutebeyond the partition-wall, shivering when they approached, dropping backwith the dew of her sweat upon her forehead when they retired; andthese pictures she translated in words for Thresk in her house on theKhamballa Hill. 

Thresk was moved and showed that he was moved. He rose and walked to thewindow, turning his back to her. 

"Why did she marry him?" he exclaimed. "She was poor, but she had alittle money. Why did she marry him?" and he turned back to Mrs. Reptonfor an answer. 

She gave him one quick look and said:

"That is one of the things she has never told me and I didn't meet heruntil after she had married him. "

"And why doesn't she leave him?"

Mrs. Repton held up her hands. 

"Oh, the easy questions, Mr. Thresk! How many women endure the thing thatis because it is? Even to leave your husband you want a trifle of spirit. And what if your spirit's broken? What if you are cowed? What if you livein terror day and night?"

"Yes. I am a fool, " said Thresk, and he sat down again. "There are twomore questions I want to ask. Did you ever talk to Stella"--the Christianname slipped naturally from him and only Jane Repton of the two remarkedthat he had used it--"of that incident in the library at Agra?"

"Yes. "

"And did she in consequence of what you told her give you any account ofher life with her husband?"

Mrs. Repton hesitated not because she was any longer in doubt as towhether she would speak the whole truth or not--she had committed herselfalready too far--but because the form of the question nettled her. It wasa little too forensic for her taste. She was anxious to know the man; shecould dispense with the barrister altogether. 

"Yes, she did, " she replied, "and don't cross-examine me, please. "

"I beg your pardon, " said Thresk with a laugh which made him human onthe instant. 

"Well, it's true, " said Jane Repton in a rush. "She told me thetruth--what you know and more. He stripped when he was drunk, strippedto the skin. Think of it! Stella told me that and broke down. Oh, if youhad seen her! For Stella to give way--that alone must alarm her friends. Oh, but the look of her! She sat by my side on the sofa, wringing herhands, with the tears pouring down her face ... " Thresk rose quicklyfrom his chair. 

"Thank you, " he said, cutting her short. He wanted to hear no more. Heheld out his hand to her with a certain abruptness. 

Mrs. Repton rose too. 

"What are you going to do?" she asked breathlessly. "I must know I have aright to, I think. I have told you so much. I was in great doubt whetherI should tell you anything. But--" Her voice broke and she ended herplea lamely enough: "I am very fond of Stella. "

"I know that, " said Thresk, and his voice was grateful and his facemost friendly. 

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"I am going to write to her to ask her to join me in Bombay, " he replied. 

CHAPTER X

NEWS FROM CHITIPUR

A long silence followed upon his words. Jane Repton turned to themantelshelf and moved an ornament here and another one there. She hadcontemplated this very consequence of Thresk's journey to Chitipur. Shehad actually worked for it herself. She was frank enough to acknowledgethat. None the less his announcement, quietly as he had made it, was ashock to her. She did not, however, go back upon her work; and when shespoke it was rather to make sure that he was not going to act upon anunconsidered impulse. 

"It will damage your career, " she said. "Of course you havethought of that. "

"It will alter it, " he answered, "if she comes to me. I shall go out ofParliament, of course. "

"And your practice?"

"That will suffer too for a while no doubt. But even if I lost italtogether I should not be a poor man. "

"You have saved money?"

"No. There has not been much time for that, but for a good many years nowI have collected silver and miniatures. I know something about them andthe collection is of value. "

"I see. "

Mrs. Repton looked at him now. Oh, yes, he had thought his proposal outduring the night journey to Bombay--not a doubt of it. 

"Stella, too, will suffer, " she said. 

"Worse than she does now?" asked Thresk. 

"No. But her position will be difficult for awhile at least, " and shecame towards Thresk and pleaded. 

"You will be thoughtful of her, for her? Oh, if you should play herfalse--how I should hate you!" and her eyes flashed fire at him. 

"I don't think that you need fear that. "

But he was too calm for her, too quiet. She was in the mood to wantheroics. She clamoured for protestations as a drug for her uneasy mind. And Thresk stood before her without one. She searched his face withdoubtful eyes. Oh, there seemed to her no tenderness in it. 

"She will need--love, " said Mrs. Repton. "There--that's the word. Can yougive it her?"

"If she comes to me--yes. I have wanted her for eight years, " and thensuddenly she got, not heroics, but a glimpse of a real passion. A spasmof pain convulsed his face. He sat down and beat with his fist upon thetable. "It was horrible to me to ride away from that camp and leave herthere--miles away from any friend. I would have torn her from him byforce if there had been a single hope that way. But his levies would havebarred the road. No, this was the only chance: to come away to Bombay, to write to her that the first day, the first night she is able to slipout and travel here she will find me waiting. "

Mrs. Repton was satisfied. But while he had been speaking a new fear hadentered into her. 

"There's something I should have thought of, " she exclaimed. 

"Yes?"

"Captain Ballantyne is not generous. He is just the sort of man not todivorce his wife. "

Thresk raised his head. Clearly that possibility had no more occurred tohim than it had to Jane Repton. He thought it over now. 

"Just the sort of man, " he agreed. "But we must take that risk--ifshe comes. "

"The letter's not yet written, " Mrs. Repton suggested. 

"But it will be, " he replied, and then he stood and confronted her. "Doyou wish me not to write it?"

She avoided his eyes, she looked upon the floor, she began more than onesentence of evasion; but in the end she took both his hands in hers andsaid stoutly:

"No, I don't! Write! Write!"

"Thank you!"

He went to the door, and when he had reached it she called to him in alow voice. 

"Mr. Thresk, what did you mean when you repeated and repeated ifshe comes?"

Thresk came slowly back into the room. 

"I meant that eight years ago I gave her a very good reason why sheshould put no faith in me. "

He told her that quite frankly and simply, but he told her no more thanthat, and she let him go. He went back to the great hotel on the ApolloBund and sent off a number of cablegrams to London saying that he hadmissed his steamer and that the work waiting for him must go to otherhands. The letter to Stella Ballantyne he kept to the last. It could notreach her immediately in any case since she was in camp. For all he knewit might be weeks before she read it; and he had need to go warily in thewriting of it. Certain words she had used to him were an encouragement;but there were others which made him doubt whether she would have anyfaith in him. Every now and then there had been a savour of bitterness. Once she had been shamed because of him, on Bignor Hill where StaneStreet runs to Chichester, and a second time in front of him in the tentat Chitipur. No, it was not an easy letter which he had to write, and hetook the night and the greater part of the next day to decide upon itswording. It could not in any case go until the night-mail. He hadfinished it and directed it by six o'clock in the evening and he wentdown with the letter in his hand into the big lounge to post it in thebox there. But it never was posted. 

Close to the foot of the staircase stood a tape machine, and as Threskdescended he heard the clicking of the instrument and saw the usual smallgroup of visitors about it. They were mostly Americans, and they werereading out to one another the latest prices of the stock-markets. Someof the chatter reached to Thresk's inattentive ears, and when he was onlytwo steps from the floor one carelessly-spoken phrase interjected betweenthe values of two securities brought him to a stop. The speaker was ayoung man with a squarish face and thick hair parted accurately in themiddle. He was dressed in a thin grey suit and he was passing the tapebetween his fingers as it ran out. The picture of him was impressedduring that instant upon Thresk's mind, so that he could never afterwardsforget it. 

"Copper's up one point, " he was saying, "that's fine. Who's CaptainBallantyne, I wonder? United Steel has dropped seven-eighths. Well, thatdoesn't affect me, " and so he ran on. 

Thresk heard no more of what he said. He stood wondering what news couldhave come up on the tape of Captain Ballantyne who was out in camp in thestate of Chitipur, or if there was another Captain Ballantyne. He joinedthe little group in front of the machine, and picking up the ribbon fromthe floor ran his eyes backwards along it until he came to "UnitedSteel. " The sentence in front of that ran as follows:

"Captain Ballantyne was found dead early yesterday morning outside histent close to Jarwhal Junction. "

Thresk read the sentence twice and then walked away. The news might befalse, of course, but if it were true here was a revolution in his life. There was no need for this letter which he held in his hand. The way wassmoothed out for Stella, for him. Not for a moment could he pretend to doanything but welcome the news, to wish with all his heart that it wastrue. And it seemed probable news. There was the matter of thatphotograph. Thresk had carried it out to the Governor's house on MalabarPoint on the very morning of his arrival in Bombay. He had driven on toMrs. Repton's house after he had left it there. But he had taken it awayfrom Chitipur at too late a day to save Ballantyne. Ballantyne had, afterall, had good cause to be afraid while he possessed it, and the news hadnot yet got to Salak's friends that it had left his possession. Thus hemade out the history of Captain Ballantyne's death. 

The tape machine, however, might have ticked out a mere rumour with notruth in it at all. He went to the office and obtained a copy of _TheAdvocate of India_, --the evening newspaper of the city. He looked at thestop-press telegrams. There was no mention of Ballantyne's death. Nor onglancing down the columns could he find in any paragraph a statement thatany mishap had befallen him. But on the other hand he read that hehimself, Henry Thresk, having brought his case to a successfulconclusion, had left India yesterday by the mail-steamer Madras, boundfor Marseilles. He threw down the paper and went to the telephone-box. Ifthe news were true the one person likely to know of it was Mrs. Repton. Thresk rang up the house on the Khamballa Hill and asked to speak to her. An answer was returned to him at once that Mrs. Repton had given ordersthat she was not to be disturbed. Thresk however insisted:

"Will you please give my name to her--Henry Thresk, " and he waited withhis ear to the receiver for a century. At last a voice spoke to him, butit was again the voice of the servant. 

"The Memsahib very sorry, sir, but cannot speak to any one just now;" andhe heard the jar of the instrument as the receiver at the other end wassharply hung up and the connection broken. 

Thresk came out from the telephone-box with a face puzzled and verygrave. Mrs. Repton refused to speak to him!

It was a fact, an inexplicable fact, and it alarmed him. It wasimpossible to believe that mere reflection during the last twenty-fourhours had brought about so complete a revolution in her feelings. He towhom she had passionately cried "Write! Write!" only yesterday couldhardly be barred out from mere speech with her to-day for any fault ofhis. He had done nothing, had seen no one. Thresk was certain now thatthe news upon the tape was true. But it could not be all the truth. Therewas something behind it--something rather grim and terrible. 

Thresk walked to the door of the hotel and called up a motor-car. "Tellhim to drive to the Khamballa Hill, " he said to the porter. "I'll let himknow when to stop. "

The porter translated the order and Thresk stopped him at Mrs. Repton's door. 

"The Memsahib does not receive any one to-day, " said the butler. 

"I know, " replied Thresk. He scribbled on a card and sent it in. Therewas a long delay. Thresk stood in the hall looking out through the opendoor. Night had come. There were lights upon the roadway, lights a longway below at the water's edge on Breach Candy, and there was a lighttwinkling far out on the Arabian Sea. But in the house behind him all wasdark. He had come to an abode of desolation and mourning; and his heartsank and he was attacked with forebodings. At last in the passage behindhim there was a shuffling of feet and a gleam of white. The Memsahibwould receive him. 

Thresk was shown into the drawing-room. That room too was unlit. But theblinds had not been lowered and light from a street lamp outside turnedthe darkness into twilight. No one came forward to greet him, but theroom was not empty. He saw Repton and his wife huddled close together ona sofa in a recess by the fireplace. 

"I thought that I had better come up from Bombay, " said Thresk, as hestood in the middle of the room. No answer was returned to him for a fewmoments and then it was Repton himself who spoke. 

"Yes, yes, " he said, and he got up from the sofa. "I think we had betterhave some light, " he added in a strange indifferent voice. He turned thelight on in the central chandelier, leaving the corners of the room inshadow, like--the parallel forced its way into Thresk's mind--like thetent in Chitipur. Then very methodically he pulled down the blinds. Hedid not look at Thresk and Jane Repton on the couch never stirred. Thresk's forebodings became a dreadful certainty. Some evil thing hadhappened. He might have been in a house of death. He knew that he wasnot wanted there, that husband and wife wished to be alone and silentlyresented his presence. But he could not go without more knowledge than hehad. 

"A message came up on the tape half an hour ago, " he said in a low voice. "It reported that Ballantyne was dead. "

"Yes, " replied Repton. He was leaning forward over a table and looking upto the chandelier as if he fancied that its light burnt more dimly thanwas usual. 

"That's true, " and he spoke in the same strange mechanical voice he hadused before. 

"That he was found dead outside his tent, " Thresk added. 

"It's quite true, " Repton agreed. "We are very sorry. "

"Sorry!"

The exclamation burst from Thresk's lips. 

"Yes. "

Repton moved away from the chandelier. He had not looked at Thresk oncesince he had entered the room; nor did he look towards his wife. His facewas very pale and he was busy now setting a chair in place, moving aphotograph, doing any one of the little unnecessary things peoplerestlessly do when there is an importunate visitor in the room who willnot go. 

"You see, there's terribly bad news, " he added. 

"What news?"

"He was shot, you know. That wasn't in the telegram on the tape, ofcourse. Yes, he was shot--on the same night you dined there--after youhad gone. "

"Shot!"

Thresk's voice dropped to a whisper. 

"Yes, " and the dull quiet voice went on, speaking apparently of sometrivial affair in which none of them could have any interest. "He wasshot by a bullet from a little rook-rifle which belonged to Stella, andwhich she was in the habit of using. "

Thresk's heart stood still. A picture flashed before his eyes. Hesaw the inside of that dimly lit tent with its red lining and Stellastanding by the table. He could hear her voice: "This is my littlerook-rifle. I was seeing that it was clean for to-morrow. " She had spokenso carelessly, so indifferently that it wasn't conceivable that what wasin all their minds could be true. Yet she had spoken, after all, no moreindifferently than Repton was speaking now; and he was in a great stressof grief. Then Thresk's mind leaped to the weak point in all this chainof presumption. 

"But Ballantyne was found outside the tent, " he cried with a little noteof triumph. But it had no echo in Repton's reply. 

"I know. That makes everything so much worse. "

"What do you mean?"

"Ballantyne was found in the morning outside the tent stone-cold. Butno one had heard the shot, and there were sentries on the edge of theencampment. He had been dragged outside after he was dead or when hewas dying. "

A low cry broke from Thresk. The weak point became of a sudden the mostdeadly, the most terrible element in the whole case. He could hear theprosecuting counsel making play with it. He stood for a moment lost inhorror. Repton had no further word to say to him. Mrs. Repton had neveronce spoken. They wanted him away, out of the room, out of the house. Some insight let him into the meaning of her silence. In the presence ofthis tragedy remorse had gripped her. She was looking upon herself as onewho had plotted harm for Stella. She would never forgive Thresk for hisshare in the plot. 

Thresk went out of the room without a word more to either Repton or hiswife. Whatever he did now he must do by himself. He would not be admittedinto that house again. He closed the door of the room behind him, andhardly had he closed it when he heard the snap of a switch and the lineof light under the door vanished. Once more there was darkness in thedrawing-room. Repton no doubt had returned to his wife's side and theywere huddled again side by side on the sofa. Thresk walked down the hillwith a horrible feeling of isolation and loneliness. But he shook it offas he neared the lights of Bombay. 

CHAPTER XI

THRESK INTERVENES

Thresk reached his hotel with some words ringing in his head which JaneRepton had spoken to him at Mrs. Carruthers' dinner-party:

"You can get any single thing in life you want if you want it enough, butyou cannot control the price you will have to pay for it. That you willonly learn afterwards and gradually. "

He had got what he had wanted--the career of distinction, and he wonderedwhether he was to begin now to learn its price. 

He mounted to his sitting-room on the second floor, avoiding the loungeand the lift and using a small side staircase instead of the greatcentral one. He had passed no one on the way. In his room he looked uponthe mantelshelf and on the table. No visitor had called on him that day;no letter awaited him. For the first time since he had landed in India aday had passed without some resident leaving on him a card or a note ofinvitation. The newspapers gave him the reason. He was supposed to haveleft on the _Madras_ for England. To make sure he rang for his waiter; nomessage of any kind had come. 

"Shall I ask at the office?" the waiter asked. 

"By no means, " answered Thresk, and he added: "I will have dinner servedup here to-night. "

There was just a possibility, he thought, that he might after all escapethis particular payment. He took from his pocket his unposted letter toStella Ballantyne. There was no longer any use for it and even itsexistence was now dangerous to Stella. For let it be discovered, howevershe might plead that she knew nothing of its contents, a motive for thedeath of Ballantyne might be inferred from it. It would be a falsemotive, but just the sort of motive which the man in the street wouldimmediately accept. Thresk burnt the letter carefully in a plate andpounded up each black flake of paper until nothing was left but ashes. Then for the moment his work was done. He had only to wait and he did notwait long. On the very next morning his newspaper informed him thatInspector Coulson of the Bombay Police had left for Chitipur. 

The Inspector was a young man devoted to his work, but he travelled nowupon a duty which he would gladly have handed to any other of hiscolleagues. He had met Stella Ballantyne in Bombay upon one of her rarevisits to Jane Repton. He had sat at the same dinner-table with her, andhe did not find it pleasant to reflect on the tragic destiny which shemust now fulfil. For the facts were fatal. 

At daybreak on the morning of the Friday a sentry on the outer edge ofthe camp at Jarwhal Junction had noticed something black lying upon theground in the open just outside the door of the Agent's big marquee. Heran across the ground and discovered Captain Ballantyne sprawling, facedownwards, in the smoking-suit which he had worn at dinner the nightbefore. The sentry shook him gently by the shoulder, but the limpness ofthe body frightened him. Then he noticed that there was blood upon theground, and calling loudly for help he ran to the guard-room tent. Hereturned with others of the native levies and they lifted Ballantyne up. He was dead and the body was cold. The levies carried him into the tentand opened his shirt. He had been shot through the heart. They thenroused Mrs. Ballantyne's ayah and bade her wake her mistress. The ayahwent into Mrs. Ballantyne's room and found her mistress sound asleep. Shewaked her up and told her what had happened. Stella Ballantyne said not aword. She got out of bed, and flinging on some clothes went into theouter tent, where the servants were standing about the body. StellaBallantyne went quite close to it and looked down upon the dead man'sface for a long time. She was pale, but there was no shrinking in herattitude--no apprehension in her eyes. 

"He has been killed, " she said at length; "telegrams must be sent atonce: to Ajmere for a doctor, to Bombay, and to His Highness theMaharajah. "

Baram Singh salaamed. 

"It is as your Excellency wills, " he said. 

"I will write them, " said Stella quietly. And she sat down at her ownwriting-table there and then. 

The doctor from Ajmere arrived during the day, made an examination andtelegraphed a report to the Chief Commissioner at Ajmere. That reportcontained the three significant points which Repton had enumerated toThresk, but with some still more significant details. The bullet whichpierced Captain Ballantyne's heart had been fired from Mrs. Ballantyne'ssmall rook-rifle, and the exploded cartridge was still in the breech. Therifle was standing up against Mrs. Ballantyne's writing-table in a cornerof the tent, when the doctor from Ajmere discovered it. In the secondplace, although Ballantyne was found in the open, there was a patch ofblood upon the carpet within the tent and a trail of blood from that spotto the door. There could be no doubt that Ballantyne was killed inside. There was the third point to establish that theory. Neither the sentry onguard nor any one of the servants sleeping in the adjacent tents hadheard the crack of the rifle. It would not be loud in any case, but ifthe weapon had been fired in the open it would have been sufficientlysharp and clear to attract the attention of the men on guard. The heavydouble lining of the tent however was thick enough so to muffle anddeaden the sound that it would pass unnoticed. 

The report was considered at Ajmere and forwarded. It now broughtInspector Coluson of the Police up the railway from Bombay. He found Mrs. Ballantyne waiting for him at the Residency of Chitipur. 

"I must tell you who I am, " he said awkwardly. 

"There is no need to, " she answered, "I know. "

He then cautioned her in the usual way, and producing his pocket-bookasked her whether she wished to throw any light upon her husband's death. 

"No, " she said. "I have nothing to say. I was asleep and in bed when myayah came into my room with the news of his death. "

"Yes, " said the Inspector uncomfortably. That detail, next to thedragging of the body out of the tent, seemed to him the grimmest part ofthe whole tragedy. 

He shut up his book. 

"I am afraid it is all very unsatisfactory, " he said. "I think we must goback to Bombay. "

"It is as your Excellency wills, " said Stella in Hindustani, and theInspector was startled by the bad taste of the joke. He had not theknowledge of her life with Ballantyne, which alone would have given himthe key to understand her. But he was not a fool, and a second glance ather showed to him that she was not speaking in joke at all. He had animpression that she was so tired that she did not at the moment care whathappened to her at all. The fatigue would wear off, no doubt, when sherealised that she must fight for her life, but now she stood in front ofhim indifferent and docile--much as one of the native levies was wont tostand before her husband. The words which the levies used and thelanguage in which they spoke them rose naturally to her lips, as the onlywords and language suitable to the occasion. 

"You see, Mrs. Ballantyne, " he said gently, "there is no reason tosuspect a single one of your servants or of your escort. "

"And there is reason to suspect me, " she added, looking at him quietlyand steadily. 

The Inspector for his part looked away. He was a young man--no more thana year or two older than Stella Ballantyne herself. They both came fromthe same kind of stock. Her people and his people might have been friendsin some pleasant country village in one of the English counties. She waspretty, too, disconcertingly pretty, in spite of the dark circles underher eyes and the pallor of her face. There was a delicacy in her looksand in her dress which appealed to him for tenderness. The appeal was allthe stronger because it was only in that way and unconsciously that sheappealed. In her voice, in her bearing, in her eyes there was no request, no prayer. 

"I have been to the Palace, " he said, "I have had an audience with theMaharajah. "

"Of course, " she answered. "I shall put no difficulties in your way. "

He was standing in her own drawing-room, noticing with what skillcomfort had been combined with daintiness, and how she had followed theusual instinct of her kind in trying to create here in this room a pieceof England. Through the window he looked out upon a lawn which was beingwatered by a garden-sprinkler, and where a gardener was at work attendingto a bed of bright flowers. There, too, she had been making the usualpathetic attempt to convert a half-acre of this country of yellow desertinto a green garden of England. Coulson had not a shadow of doubt in hismind Stella Ballantyne would exchange this room with its restful coloursand its outlook on a green lawn for--at the best--many years of solitaryimprisonment in Poona Gaol. He shut up his book with a snap. 

"Will you be ready to go in an hour?" he asked roughly. 

"Yes, " said she. 

"If I leave you unwatched during that hour you will promise to me thatyou will be ready to go in an hour?"

Stella Ballantyne nodded her head. 

"I shall not kill myself now, " she said, and he looked at her quickly, but she did not trouble to explain her words. She merely added: "I maytake some clothes, I suppose?"

"Whatever you need, " said the Inspector. And he took her down to Bombay. 

She was formally charged next morning before the stipendiary for themurder of her husband and remanded for a week. 

She was remanded at eleven o'clock in the morning, and five minutes laterthe news was ticked off on the tape at the Taj Mahal Hotel. Withinanother five minutes the news was brought upstairs to Thresk. He had beenfortunate. He was in a huge hotel, where people flit through its roomsfor a day and are gone the next, and no one is concerned with the doingsof his neighbour, a place of arrival and departure like the platform of agreat railway station. There was no place in all Bombay where Threskcould so easily pass unnoticed. And he had passed unnoticed. A singleinquiry at the office, it is true, would have revealed his presence, butno one had inquired, since by this time he should be nearing Aden. He hadkept to his rooms during the day and had only taken the air after it wasdark. This was in the early stages of wireless telegraphy, and the_Madras_ had no installation. It might be that inquiries would be madefor him at Aden. He could only wait with Jane Repton's words ringing inhis ears: "You cannot control the price you will have to pay. "

Stella Ballantyne was brought up again in a week's time and the case thenproceeded from day to day. The character of Ballantyne was revealed, hisbrutalities, his cunning. Detail by detail he was built up into a grosssinister figure secret and violent which lived again in that crowdedcourt and turned the eyes of the spectators with a shiver of discomfortupon the young and quiet woman in the dock. And in that character theprosecution found the motive of the crime. Sympathy at times ran high forStella Ballantyne, but there were always the two grim details to keep itin check: she had been found asleep by her ayah, quietly restfully asleepwithin a few hours of Ballantyne's death; and she had, according to thetheory of the Crown, found in some violence of passion the strength todrag the dying man from the tent and to leave him to gasp out his lifeunder the stars. 

Thresk watched the case from his rooms at the Taj Mahal Hotel. Every factwhich was calculated to arouse sympathy for her was also helping tocondemn her. No one doubted that she had shot Stephen Ballantyne. Hedeserved shooting--very well. But that did not give her the right to behis executioner. What was her defence to be? A sudden intolerableprovocation? How would that square with the dragging of his body acrossthe carpet to the door? There was the fatal insuperable act. 

Thresk read again and again the reports of the proceedings for a hint asto the line of the defence. He got it the day when Repton appeared in thewitness-box on a subpoena from the Crown to bear testimony to theviolence of Stephen Ballantyne. He had seen Stella with her wristbruised so that in public she could not remove her gloves. 

"What kind of bruises?" asked the counsel. 

"Such bruises as might be made by some one twisting her arms, " heanswered, and then Mr. Travers, a young barrister who was enjoying hisfirst leap into the public eye, rose to cross-examine. 

Thresk read through that cross-examination and rose to his feet. "Youcannot control the price you will have to pay, " he said to himself. Thatday, when Mrs. Ballantyne's solicitor returned to his office after therising of the Court, he found Thresk waiting for him. 

"I wish to give evidence for Mrs. Ballantyne, " said Thresk--"evidencewhich will acquit her. "

He spoke with so much certainty that the solicitor was fairly startled. 

"And with evidence so positive in your possession it is only thisafternoon that you come here with it! Why?"

Thresk was prepared for the question. 

"I have a great deal of work waiting for me in London, " he returned. "Ihoped that it might not be necessary for me to appear at all. Now I seethat it is. "

The solicitor looked straight at Thresk. 

"I knew from Mrs. Repton that you dined with the Ballantynes that night, but she was sure that you knew nothing of the affair. You had left thetent before it happened. "

"That is true, " answered Thresk. 

"Yet you have evidence which will acquit Mrs. Ballantyne?"

"I think so. "

"How is it, then, " the lawyer asked, "that we have heard nothing of thisevidence at all from Mrs. Ballantyne herself?"

"Because she knows nothing of it, " replied Thresk. 

The lawyer pointed to a chair. The two men sat down together in theoffice and it was long before they parted. 

Within an hour of Thresk's return from the solicitor's office anInspector of Police waited on him at his hotel and was instantly shownup. 

"We did not know until to-day, " he said, "that you were still in Bombay, Mr. Thresk. We believed you to be on the Madras, which reached Marseillesearly this morning. "

"I missed it, " replied Thresk. "Had you wanted me you could have inquiredat Port Said five days ago. "

"Five days ago we had no information. "

The native servants of Ballantyne had from the first shrouded themselvesin ignorance. They would answer what questions were put to them; theywould not go one inch beyond. The crime was an affair of the Sahibs andthe less they had to do with it the better, until at all events they weresure which way the wind was setting from Government House. Of their owninitiative they knew nothing. It was thus only by the discovery ofThresk's letter to Captain Ballantyne, which was found crumpled up in awaste-paper basket, that his presence that night in the tent wassuspected. 

"It is strange, " the Inspector grumbled, "that you did not come to us ofyour own accord when you had missed your boat and tell us what you knew. "

"I don't think it is strange at all, " answered Thresk, "for I am awitness for the defence. I shall give my evidence when the case for thedefence opens. "

The Inspector was disconcerted and went away. Thresk's policy had so farsucceeded. But he had taken a great risk and now that it was past herealised with an intense relief how serious the risk had been. If theInspector had called upon him before he had made known his presence toMrs. Ballantyne's solicitor and offered his evidence, his position wouldhave been difficult. He would have had to discover some other goodreason why he had lain quietly at his hotel during these last days. Butfortune had favoured him. He had to thank, above all, the secrecy of thenative servants. 

CHAPTER XII

THRESK GIVES EVIDENCE

Thresk's fears were justified. Sympathy for Stella Ballantyne hadalready begun to wane. The fact that Ballantyne had been found outsidethe door of the tent was already assuming a sinister importance. Mrs. Ballantyne's counsel slid discreetly over that awkward incident. Veryfortunately, as it was now to prove, he did not cross-examine the doctorfrom Ajmere at all. But there are always the few who oppose the generalopinion--the men and women who are in the minority because it is theminority; those whom the hysterical glorification made of StellaBallantyne had offended; the austere, the pedantic, the just, thejealous, all were quick to seize upon this disconcerting fact: StellaBallantyne had dragged her dying husband from the tent. It was eithersheer callousness or blind fury--you might take your choice. In eithercase it dulled the glow of martyrdom which for a week or two had been soradiant upon Stella Ballantyne's forehead; and the few who argued thusattracted adherents daily. And with the sympathy for Stella Ballantyneinterest in the case began to wane too. 

The magisterial inquiry threatened to become tedious. The pictures ofthe witnesses and the principals occupied less and less space in thenewspapers. In another week the case would be coldly left with a shrug ofthe shoulders to the Law Courts. But unexpectedly curiosity was stirredagain, for the day after Thresk had called upon the lawyer, when the casefor the Crown was at an end, Mrs. Ballantyne's counsel, Mr. Travers, asked permission to recall Baram Singh. Permission was granted, and BaramSingh once more took his place in the witness-box. 

Mr. Travers leant against the desk behind him and put his questions withthe most significant slowness. 

"I wish to ask you, Baram Singh, " he said, "about the dinner-table on theThursday night. You laid it?"

"Yes, " replied Baram Singh. 

"For how many?"

"For three. "

There was a movement through the whole court. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Travers, "Captain Ballantyne had a visitor that night. "

Baram Singh agreed. 

"Look round the court and tell the magistrate if you can see here the manwho dined with Captain Ballantyne and his wife that night. "

For a moment the court was filled with the noise of murmuring. The ushercried "Silence!" and the murmuring ceased. A hush of expectation filledthat crowded room as Baram Singh's eyes travelled slowly round thewalls. He dropped them to the well of the court, and even hisunexpressive face flashed with a look of recognition. 

"There, " he cried, "there!" and he pointed to a man who was sitting justunderneath the counsel's bench. 

Mr. Travers leant forward and in a quiet but particularly clearvoice said:

"Will you kindly stand up, Mr. Thresk?"

Thresk stood up. To many of those present--the idlers, the people offashion, the seekers after a thrill of excitement who fill the publicgalleries and law-courts--his long conduct of the great Carruthers trialhad made him a familiar figure. To the others his name, at all events, was known, and as he stood up on the floor of the court a swift andregular movement like a ripple of water passed through the throng. Theyleant forward to get a clearer view of him and for a moment there was ahiss of excited whispering. 

"That is the man who dined with Captain and Mrs. Ballantyne on the nightwhen Captain Ballantyne was killed?" said Mr. Travers. 

"Yes, " replied Baram Singh. 

No one understood what was coming. People began to ask themselves whetherThresk was concerned in the murder. Word had been published that he hadalready left for England. How was it he was here now? Mr. Travers, forhis part, was enjoying to the full the suspense which his question hadaroused. Not by any intonation did he allow a hint to escape him whetherhe looked upon Thresk as an enemy or friend. 

"You may sit down, sir, now, " he said, and Thresk resumed his seat. 

"Will you tell us what you know of Mr. Thresk's visit to the Captain?"Travers resumed, and Baram Singh told how a camel had been sent to thedâk-house by the station of Jarwhal Junction. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Travers, "and he dined in the tent. How long did hestay?"

"He left the camp at eleven o'clock on the camel to catch the night trainto Bombay. The Captain-sahib saw him off from the edge of the camp. "

"Ah, " said Mr. Travers, "Captain Ballantyne saw him off?"

"Yes--from the edge of the camp. "

"And then went back to the tent?"

"Yes. "

"Now I want to take you to another point. You waited at dinner?"

"Yes. "

"And towards the close of dinner Mrs. Ballantyne left the room?"

"Yes. "

"She did not come back again?"

"No. "

"No. The two men were then left alone?"

"Yes. "

"After dinner was the table cleared?"

"Yes, " said Baram Singh, "the Captain-sahib called to me to clear thetable quickly. "

"Yes, " said Travers. "Now, will you tell me what the Captain-sahib wasdoing while you were clearing the table?"

Baram Singh reflected. 

"First of all the Captain-sahib offered a box of cheroots to his visitor, and his visitor refused and took a pipe from his pocket. TheCaptain-sahib then lit a cheroot for himself and replaced the box on thetop of the bureau. "

"And after that?" asked Travers. 

"After that, " said Baram Singh, "he stooped down, unlocked the bottomdrawer of his bureau and then turned sharply to me and told me to hurryand get out. "

"And that order you obeyed?"

"Yes. "

"Now, Baram Singh, did you enter the room again?"

Baram Singh explained that after he had gone out with the table-cloth hereturned in a few moments with an ash-tray, which he placed beside thevisitor-sahib. 

"Yes, " said Travers. "Had Captain Ballantyne altered his position?"

Baram Singh then related that Captain Ballantyne was still sitting inhis chair by the bureau, but that the drawer of the bureau was now open, and that on the ground close to Captain Ballantyne's feet there was a reddespatch-box. 

"The Captain-sahib, " he continued, "turned to me with great anger, anddrove me again out of the room. "

"Thank you, " said Mr. Travers, and he sat down. 

The prosecuting counsel rose at once. 

"Now, Baram Singh, " he said with severity, "why did you not mention whenyou were first put in the witness-box that this gentleman was present inthe camp that night?"

"I was not asked. "

"No, that is quite true, " he continued, "you were not asked specifically, but you were asked to tell all that you knew. "

"I did not interfere, " replied Baram Singh. "I answered what questionswere asked. Besides, when the sahib left the camp the Captain-sahibwas alive. "

At this moment Mr. Travers leaned across to the prosecuting counsel andsaid: "It will all be made clear when Mr. Thresk goes into the box. "

And once more, as Mr. Travers spoke these words, a rustle of expectancyran round the court. 

Travers opened the case for the defence on the following morning. He hadbeen originally instructed, he declared, to reserve the defence for theactual trial before the jury, but upon his own urgent advice that planwas not to be followed. The case which he had to put before thestipendiary must so infallibly prove that Mrs. Ballantyne was free fromall complicity in this crime that he felt he would not be doing his dutyto her unless he made it public at the first opportunity. That unhappylady had already, as every one who had paid even the most carelessattention to the facts that had been presented by the prosecution mustknow, suffered so much distress and sorrow in the course of her marriedlife that he felt it would not be fair to add to it the strain andsuspense which even the most innocent must suffer when sent for trialupon such a serious charge. He at once proposed to call Mr. Thresk, andThresk rose and went into the witness-box. 

Thresk told the story of that dinner-party word for word as it hadoccurred, laying some emphasis on the terror which from time to time hadtaken possession of Stephen Ballantyne, down to the moment when BaramSingh had brought the ash-tray and left the two men together, Thresksitting by the table in the middle of the room and Ballantyne at hisbureau with the despatch-box on the floor at his feet. 

"Then I noticed an extraordinary look of fear disfigure his face, " hecontinued, "and following the direction of his eyes I saw a lean brownarm with a thin hand as delicate as a woman's wriggle forward frombeneath the wall of the tent towards the despatch-box. "

"You saw that quite clearly?" asked Mr. Travers. 

"The tent was not very brightly lit, " Thresk explained. "At the firstglance I saw something moving. I was inclined to believe it a snake andto account in that way for Captain Ballantyne's fear and the suddenrigidity of his attitude. But I looked again and I was then quite surethat it was an arm and hand. "

The evidence roused those present to such a tension of excitement and toso loud a burst of murmuring that it was quite a minute before order wasrestored and Thresk took up his tale again. He described Ballantyne'ssearch for the thief. 

"And what were you doing, " Mr. Travers asked, "whilst the search wasbeing made?"

"I stood by the table holding the despatch-box firmly in my hands asBallantyne had urgently asked me to do. "

"Quite so, " said Mr. Travers; and the attention of the court was nowdirected to that despatch-box and the portrait of Bahadur Salak which itcontained. The history of the photograph, its importance at this momentwhen Salak's trial impended, and Ballantyne's conviction of the extremedanger which its possessor ran--a conviction established by the boldattempt to steal it made under their very eyes--was laid before thestipendiary. He sent the case to trial as he was bound to do, but theverdict in most people's eyes was a foregone conclusion. Thresk hadsupplied a story which accounted for the crime, and cross-examinationcould not shake him. It was easy to believe that at the very moment whenThresk was saying goodbye to Captain Ballantyne by the fire on the edgeof the camp the thief slipped into the marquee, and when discovered byBallantyne either on his return or later shot him with Mrs. Ballantyne'srifle. It was clear that no conviction could be obtained while this storyheld the field and in due course Mrs. Ballantyne was acquitted. OfThresk's return to the tent just before leaving the camp nothing wassaid. Thresk himself did not mention it and the counsel for the Crown hadno hint which could help him to elicit it. 

Thus the case ended. The popular heroine of a criminal trial loses, asall observers will have noticed, her crown of romance the moment she isset free; and that good fortune awaited Stella Ballantyne. Thresk calledthe next day upon Jane Repton and was coldly told that Stella had alreadygone from Bombay. He betook himself to her solicitor, who was cordial butuncommunicative. The Reptons, it appeared, were responsible to him forthe conduct of the case. He had not any knowledge of Stella Ballantyne'sdestination, and he pointed to a stack of telegrams and letters asconfirmation of his words. 

"They will all go up to Khamballa Hill, " he said. "I have noother address. "

The next day, however, a little note of gratitude came to Thresk throughthe post. It was unsigned and without any address. But it was in StellaBallantyne's handwriting and the post-mark was Kurrachee. That she didnot wish to see him he could quite understand; Kurrachee was a port fromwhich ships sailed to many destinations; he could hardly set out in ablind search for her across the world. So here, it seemed, was thatchapter closed. He took the next steamer westwards from Bombay, landed atBrindisi and went back to his work in the Law Courts and in Parliament. 

CHAPTER XIII

LITTLE BEEDING AGAIN

But though she disappeared Stella Ballantyne was not in flight from menand women. She avoided them because they did not for the moment count inher thoughts, except as possible hindrances. She was not so much runningaway as running to the place of her desires. She yielded to an impulsewith which they had nothing whatever to do, an impulse so overmasteringthat even to the Reptons her precipitancy wore a look of ingratitude. Shedrove home with Jane Repton as soon as she was released, to the house onKhamballa Hill, and while she was still in the carriage she said:

"I must go away to-morrow morning. "

She was sitting forward with a tense and eager look upon her face and herhands clenched tightly in her lap. 

"There is no need for that. Make your home with us, Stella, for a littlewhile and hold your head high. "

Jane Repton had talked over this proposal with her husband. Both ofthem recognised that the acceptance of it would entail on them somelittle sacrifice. Prejudice would be difficult. But they had thrustthese considerations aside in the loyalty of their friendship and JaneRepton was a little hurt that Stella waved away their invitationwithout ceremony. 

"I can't. I can't, " she said irritably. "Don't try to stop me. "

Her nerves were quite on edge and she spoke with a greater violence thanshe knew. Jane Repton tried to persuade her. 

"Wouldn't it be wiser for you to face things here, even though it meanssome effort and pain?"

"I don't know, " answered Stella, still in the quick peremptory tone ofone who will not be argued with. "I don't care either. I have nothing todo with wisdom just now. I don't want people at all. I want--oh, how Iwant--" She stopped and then she added vaguely: "Something else, " and hervoice trailed away into silence. She sat without a word, all tinglingimpatience, during the rest of that drive and continued so to sit afterthe carriage had stopped. When Jane Repton descended, and she woke upwith a start and looked at the house, it was as though she brought hereyes down from heaven to earth. Once within the house she went straightup to Repton. He had left his wife behind with Stella at the Law Courtsand had come home in advance of them. He had not spoken a word to Stellathat day, and he had not the time now, for she began immediately in aneager voice and a look of fever in her eyes:

"You won't try to stop me, will you? I must go away to-morrow. "

Repton used more tact now than his wife had done. He took the troubledand excited woman's hand and answered her very gently:

"Of course, Stella. You shall go when you like. "

"Oh, thank you, " she cried, and was freed to remember the debt which sheowed to these good friends of hers. "You must think me a brute, Jane! Ihaven't said a word to you about all your kindness. But--oh, you'llthink me ridiculous, when you know"--and she began to laugh and to sobin one breath. Stella Ballantyne had remained so sunk in apathy throughall that long trial that her friends were relieved at her outburst oftears. Jane Repton led her upstairs and put her to bed just as if shehad been a child. 

"There! You can get up for dinner if you like, Stella, or stay where youare. And if you'll tell us what you want to do we'll make thearrangements for you and not ask you a question. "

Jane Repton kissed her and left her alone; and it was while Stella wassleeping upstairs that Henry Thresk called at the house and was told thatthere was no news for him. 

"No doubt she will write to you, Mr. Thresk, if she wishes you to knowwhat she is doing. But I should not count upon it if I were you, " saidJane Repton, in a sweet voice and with eyes like pebbles. "She did notmention you, I am sorry to say, when the trial was over. "

She could not forgive him because of her own share in what she now calledhis "treachery" towards Stella. She had no more of the logician in hercomposition than Thresk had of the hero. He had committed under a greatstress of emotion and sympathy what the whole experience and method ofhis life told him was one of the worst of crimes. And now that its objectwas achieved, and Stella Ballantyne free, he was in the mood to see onlythe harm which he had done to the majesty of the law; he was uneasy; hewas not troubled by the thought that discovery would absolutely ruin him. That indeed did not enter into his thoughts. But he could not but make apicture of himself in the robe of a King's Counsel, claiming sternly theanger of the Law against some other man who should have done just what hehad done, no more and no less. And so when Mrs. Repton's door was finallyclosed upon him, and no message was given to him from the woman he hadsaved, he was at once human and unheroic enough to visit a little of hisresentment upon her. He had not spoken to her at all since the night atChitipur; he had no knowledge of the stupor and the prostration intowhich, after her years of misery, she had fallen; he had no insight intothe one compelling passion which now had her, body and soul, in its grip. He turned away from the door and went back to the Taj Mahal. A steamerwould be starting for Port Said in two days and by that steamer he wouldtravel. That Stella was in the house on the Khamballa Hill he did notdoubt, but since she had no word or thought to spare for him he could notbut turn his back and go. 

Stella herself got up to dinner, and after it was over she told herfriends of the longing which filled her soul. 

"All through the trial, " she said shyly, with the shrinking of those whoreveal a very secret fancy and are afraid that it will be ridiculed, "inthe heat of the court, in the close captivity of my cell, I was consciousof just one real unconquerable passion--to feel the wind blowing againstmy face upon the Sussex Downs. Can you understand that? Just to see thebroad green hills with the white chalk hollows in their sides and theforests marching down to the valleys like the Roman soldiers fromChichester--oh! I was mad for the look and the smell and the sounds ofthem! It was all that I thought about. I used to close my eyes in thedock and I was away in a second riding through Charlton Forest or overFarm Hill, or looking down to Slindon from Gumber Corner, and over itswoods to the sea. And now that I am free"--she clasped her hands and herface grew radiant--"oh, I don't want to see people. " She reached out ahand to each of her friends. "I don't call you people, you know. But evenyou--you'll understand and forgive and not be hurt--I don't want to seefor a little while. "

The beaten look of her took the sting of ingratitude out of her words. She stood between them, her delicate face worn thin, her eyes unnaturallybig; she had the strange transparent beauty of people who have been lyingfor months in a mortal sickness. Jane Repton's eyes filled with tears andher hand sought for her handkerchief. 

"Let's see what can be done, " said Repton. "There's a mail-steamer ofcourse, but you won't want to travel by that. "

"No. "

Repton worked out the sailings from Bombay and the other ports on thewestern coast of India while Stella leaned over his shoulder. 

"Look!" he said. "This is the best way. There's a steamer going toKurrachee to-morrow, and when you reach Kurrachee you'll just have timeto catch a German Lloyd boat which calls at Southampton. You won't behome in thirteen days to be sure, but on the other hand you won't bepestered by curious people. "

"Yes, yes, " cried Stella eagerly. "I can go to-morrow. "

"Very well. "

Repton looked at the clock. It was still no more than half-past ten. Hesaw with what a fever of impatience Stella was consumed. 

"I believe I could lay my hand on the local manager of the line to-nightand fix your journey up for you. "

"You could?" cried Stella. He might have been offering her a crown, sobrightly her thanks shone in her eyes. 

"I think so. "

He got up from the table and stood looking at her, and then away from herwith his lips pursed in doubt. 

"Yes?" said she. 

"I was thinking. Will you travel under another name? I don't suggest itreally, only it might save you--annoyance. "

Repton's hesitation was misplaced, for Stella Ballantyne's pride wasquite beaten to the ground. 

"Yes, " she said at once. "I should wish to do that"; and both he and hiswife understood from that ready answer more completely than they ever hadbefore how near Stella had come to the big blank wall at the end of life. For seven years she had held her head high, never so much as whispering areproach against her husband, keeping with a perpetual guard the secretof her misery. Pride had been her mainspring; now even that was broken. Repton went out of the house and returned at midnight. 

"It's all settled, " he said. "You will have a cabin on deck in bothsteamers. I gave your name in confidence to the manager here and he willtake care that everything possible is done for you. There will be veryfew passengers on the German boat. The season is too early for either thetourists or the people on leave. "

Thus Stella Ballantyne crept away from Bombay and in five weeks' timeshe landed at Southampton. There she resumed her name. She travelled intoSussex and stayed for a few nights at the inn whither Henry Thresk hadcome years before on his momentous holiday. She had a little money--thetrifling income which her parents had left to her upon their death--andshe began to look about for a house. By a piece of good fortune shediscovered that the cottage in which she had lived at Little Beedingwould be empty in a few months. She took it and before the summer was outshe was once more established there. It was on an afternoon of Augustwhen Stella made her home in it again. She passed along the yellow lanedriven deep between high banks of earth where the roots of greatelm-trees cropped out. Every step was familiar to her. The lane with manytwists under overarching branches ran down a steep hill and came out intothe open by the big house with its pillared portico and its light greystone and its wonderful garden of lawn and flowers and cedars. A tinychurch with a narrow graveyard and strange carefully-trimmed squarebushes of yew stood next to the house, and beyond the church the lanedipped to the river and the cottage. 

Stella went from room to room. She had furnished the cottage simply anddaintily; the walls were bright, her servant-girl had gathered flowersand set them about. Outside the window the sunlight shone on a greengarden. She was alone. It was the home-coming she had wished for. 

For three or four months she was left alone; and then one afternoon asshe came into the cottage after a walk she found a little white card uponthe table. It bore the name of Mr. Hazlewood. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE HAZLEWOODS

In the quiet country town obvious changes had taken place during theeight years of Stella's absence. They were not changes of importance, however, and one sentence can symbolize them all--there was now tarmacupon its roads. But in the cluster of houses a mile away at the end ofthe deep lane the case was different. Mr. Harold Hazlewood had come toLittle Beeding. He now lived in the big house to which the village owedits name and indeed its existence. He lived--and spread consternationamongst the gentry for miles round. 

"Lord, how I wish poor Arthur hadn't died!" old John Chubble used tocry. He had hunted the West Sussex hounds for thirty years and the veryname of Little Beeding turned his red face purple. "There was a man. Butthis fellow! And to think he's got that beautiful house! Do you knowthere's hardly a pheasant on the place. And I've hashed them down out ofthe sky in the old days there by the dozen. Well, he's got a son in theColdstream, Dick Hazlewood, who's not so bad. But Harold! Oh, pass methe port!"

Harold indeed had inherited Little Beeding by an accident during thefirst summer after Stella had gone out to India. Arthur Hazlewood, theowner and Harold's nephew, had been lost with his yacht in a gale of windoff the coast of Portugal. Arthur was a bachelor and thus HaroldHazlewood came quite unexpectedly into the position of a country squirewhen he was already well on in middle age. He was a widower and a man ofa noticeable aspect. At the first glance you knew that he was not asother men; at the second you suspected that he took a pride in hisdissimilarity. He was long, rather shambling in his gait, with a mildblue eye and fair thin hair now growing grey. But length was the chiefimpression left by his physical appearance. His legs, his arms, his face, even his hair, unless his son in the Coldstream happened to be at home atthe time, were long. 

"Is your father mad?" Mr. Chubble once asked of Dick Hazlewood. The twomen had met in the broad street of Great Beeding at midday, and the elderone, bubbling with indignation, had planted himself in front of Dick. 

"Mad?" Dick repeated reflectively. "No, I shouldn't go as far as that. Ohno! What has he done now?"

"He has paid out of his own pocket the fines of all the people in GreatBeeding who have just been convicted for not having their babiesvaccinated. "

Dick Hazlewood stared in surprise at his companion's indignant face. 

"But of course he'd do that, Mr. Chubble, " he answered cheerfully. "He'santi-everything--everything, I mean, which experience has established orprudence could suggest. "

"In addition he wants to sell the navy for old iron and abolishthe army. "

"Yes, " said Dick, nodding his head amicably. "He's like that. Hethinks that without an army and a navy we should be less aggressive. Ican't deny it. "

"I should think not indeed, " cried Mr. Chubble. "Are you walking home?"

"Yes. "

"Let us walk together. " Mr. Chubble took Dick Hazlewood by the arm and asthey went filled the lane with his plaints. 

"I should think you can't deny it. Why, he has actually written apamphlet to enforce his views upon the subject. "

"You should bless your stars, Mr. Chubble, that there is only one. Hesuffers from pamphlets. He writes 'em and prints 'em and every member ofParliament gets one of 'em for nothing. Pamphlets do for him what thegout does for other old gentlemen--they carry off from his system a greatnumber of disquieting ailments. He's at prison reform now, " said Dickwith a smile of thorough enjoyment. "Have you heard him on it?"

"No, and I don't want to, " Mr. Chubble exploded. 

He struck viciously at an overhanging bough, as though it was the headof Harold Hazlewood, and went on with the catalogue of crimes. "He made aspeech last week in the town-hall, " and he jerked his thumb backwardstowards the town they had left. "Intolerable I call it. He actuallydenounced his own countrymen as a race of oppressors. "

"He would, " answered Dick calmly. "What did I say to you a minute ago?He's advanced, you know. "

"Advanced!" sneered Mr. Chubble, and then Dick Hazlewood stopped andcontemplated his companion with a thoughtful eye. 

"I really don't think you understand my father, Mr. Chubble, " said Dickwith a gentle remonstrance in his voice which Mr. Chubble was at a losswhether to take seriously or no. 

"Can you give me the key to him?" he cried. 

"I can. "

"Then out with it, my lad. "

Mr. Chubble disposed himself to listen but with so bristling anexpression that it was clear no explanation could satisfy him. Dick, however, took no heed of that. He spoke slowly as one lecturing to anobtuse class of scholars. 

"My father was born predestined to believe that all the people whom heknows are invariably wrong, and all the people he doesn't know areinvariably right. And when I feel inclined to deplore his abuse of hisown country I console myself with the reflection that he would be thestaunchest friend of England that England ever had--if only he had beenborn in Germany. "

Mr. Chubble grunted and turned the speech suspiciously over in his mind. Was Dick poking fun at him or at his father?

"That's bookish, " he said. 

"I am afraid it is, " Dick Hazlewood agreed humbly. "The fact is I am nowan Instructor at the Staff College and much is expected of me. "

They had reached the gate of Little Beeding House. It was summer time. A yellow drive of gravel ran straight between long broad flower-bedsto the door. 

"Won't you come in and see my father?" Dick asked innocently. "He's at home. "

"No, my lad, no. " Mr. Chubble hastened to add: "I haven't the time. But Iam very glad to have met you. You are here for long?"

"No. Only just for luncheon, " said Dick, and he walked along the driveinto the house. He was met in the hall by Hubbard the butler, an oldcolourless man of genteel movements which seemed slow and wereastonishingly quick. He spoke in gentle purring tones and was the verybutler for Mr. Harold Hazlewood. 

"Your father has been asking for you, sir, " said Hubbard. "He seems alittle anxious. He is in the big room. "

"Very well, " said Dick, and he crossed the hall and the drawing-room, wondering what new plan for the regeneration of the world was beinghatched in his father's sedulous brains. He had received a telegram atCamberley the day before urgently calling upon him to arrive at LittleBeeding in time for luncheon. He went into the library as it was called, but in reality it was the room used by everybody except upon ceremonialoccasions. It was a big room; half of it held a billiard table, the otherhalf had writing-tables, lounges, comfortable chairs and a table forbridge. The carpet was laid over a parquet floor so that young people, when they stayed there, rolled it up and danced. There were windows upontwo sides of the room. Here a row of them looked down the slope of thelawn to the cedar-trees and the river, the other, a great bay whichopened to the ground, gave a view of a corner of the high churchyard walland of a meadow and a thatched cottage beyond. In this bay Mr. Hazlewoodwas standing when Dick entered the room. 

"I got your telegram, father, and here I am. "

Mr. Hazlewood turned back from the window with a smile upon his face. 

"It is good of you, Richard. I wanted you to-day. "

A very genuine affection existed between these two, dissimilar as theywere in physique and mind. Dick Hazlewood was at this time thirty-fouryears old, an officer of hard work and distinction, one of the youngermen to whom the generals look to provide the brains in the next greatwar. He had the religion of his type. To keep physically fit for thehardest campaigning and mentally fit for the highest problems of modernstrategy and to boast about neither the one qualification nor theother--these were the articles of his creed. In appearance he was alittle younger than his years, lithe, long in the leg, with a thin brownface and grey eyes which twinkled with humour. Harold Hazlewood wasintensely proud of him, though he professed to detest his profession. Andno doubt he found at times that the mere healthful, well-groomed look ofhis son was irritatingly conventional. What was quite wholesome couldnever be quite right in the older man's philosophy. To Dick, on the otherhand, his father was an intense enjoyment. Here was a lovable innocentwith the most delightful illusion that he understood the world. Dickwould draw out his father by the hour, but, as he put it, he wouldn't letthe old boy down. He stopped his chaff before it could begin to hurt. 

"Well, I am here, " he said. "What scrape have you got into now?"

"I am in no scrape, Richard. I don't get into scrapes, " replied hisfather. He shifted from one foot to the other uneasily. "I was wondering, Richard--you have been away all this last year, haven't you?--I waswondering whether you could give me any of your summer. "

Dick looked at his father. What in the world was the old boy up to now?he asked himself. 

"Of course I can. I shall get my leave in a day or two. I thought ofplaying some polo here and there. There are a few matches arranged. Thenno doubt--" He broke off. "But look here, sir! You didn't send me anurgent telegram merely to ask me that. "

"No, Richard, no. " Everybody else called his son Dick, but HaroldHazlewood never. He was Richard. From Richard you might expect much, theawakening of a higher nature, a devotion to the regeneration of theworld, humanitarianism, even the cult of all the "antis. " From Dick youcould expect nothing but health and cleanliness and robustiousconventionality. Therefore Richard Captain Hazlewood of the Coldstreamand the Staff Corps remained. "No, there was something else. "

Mr. Hazlewood took his son by the arm and led him into the bay window. Hepointed across the field to the thatched cottage. 

"You know who lives there?"

"No. "

"Mrs. Ballantyne. "

Dick put his head on one side and whistled softly. He knew the generaltenor of that _cause celebre_. 

Mr. Hazlewood raised remonstrating hands. 

"There! You are like the rest, Richard. You take the worst view. Here isa good woman maligned and slandered. There is nothing against her. Shewas acquitted in open trial by a jury of responsible citizens under ajudge of the Highest Court in India. Yet she is left alone--like a leper. She is the victim of gossip and _such_ gossip. Richard, " said the old mansolemnly, "for uncharitableness, ill-nature and stupid malice the gossipof a Sussex village leaves the most deplorable efforts of Voltaire andSwift entirely behind. "

"Father, you _are_ going it, " said Dick with a chuckle. "Do you mean togive me a step-mother?"

"I do not, Richard. Such a monstrous idea never entered my thoughts. But, my boy, I have called upon her. "

"Oh, you have!"

"Yes. I have seen her too. I left a card. She left one upon me. I calledagain. I was fortunate. "

"She was in?"

"She gave me tea, Richard. "

Richard cocked his head on one side. 

"What's she like, father? Topping?"

"Richard, she gave me tea, " said the old man, dwelling insistently uponhis repetition. 

"So you said, sir, and it was most kind of her to be sure. But that factwon't help me to form even the vaguest picture of her looks. "

"But it will, Richard, " Mr. Hazlewood protested with a nervousness whichset Dick wondering again. "She gave me tea. Therefore, don't you see, Imust return the hospitality, which I do with the utmost eagerness. Richard, I look to you to help me. We must champion that slandered lady. You will see her for yourself. She is coming here to luncheon. "

The truth was out at last. Yet Dick was aware that he might very easilyhave guessed it. This was just the quixotic line his father could havebeen foreseen to take. 

"Well, we must just keep our eyes open and see that she doesn't slipanything into the decanters while our heads are turned, " said Dick with achuckle. Old Mr. Hazlewood laid a hand upon his son's shoulder. 

"That's the sort of thing they say. Only you don't mean it, Richard, andthey do, " he remarked with a mild and reproachful shake of the head. "Ah, some day, my boy, your better nature will awaken. "

Dick expressed no anxiety for the quick advent of that day. 

"How many are there of us to be at luncheon?" asked Dick. 

"Only the two of us. "

"I see. We are to keep the danger in the family. Very wise, sir, upon my word. "

"Richard, you pervert my meaning, " said Mr. Hazlewood. "Theneighbourhood has not been kind to Mrs. Ballantyne. She has been made tosuffer. The Vicar's wife, for instance--a most uncharitable person. Andmy sister, your Aunt Margaret, too, in Great Beeding--she is what youwould call--"

"Hot stuff, " murmured Dick. 

"Quite so, " replied Mr. Hazlewood, and he turned to his son with a lookof keen interest upon his face. "I am not familiar with the phrase, Richard, but not for the first time I notice that the crude andinelegant vulgarisms in which you abound and which you no doubt pick upin the barrack squares compress a great deal of forcible meaning intovery few words. "

"That is indeed true, sir, " replied Dick with an admirable gravity, "andif I might be allowed to suggest it, a pamphlet upon that interestingsubject would be less dangerous work than coquetting with the latestedition of the Marquise de Brinvilliers. "

The word pamphlet was a bugle-call to Mr. Hazlewood. 

"Ah! Speaking of pamphlets, my boy, " he began, and walked over to a deskwhich was littered with papers. 

"We have not the time, sir, " Dick interrupted from the bay of the window. A woman had come out from the cottage. She unlatched a little gate in hergarden which opened on to the meadow. She crossed it. Yet another gategave her entrance to the garden of Little Beeding. In a moment Hubbardannounced:

"Mrs. Ballantyne"; and Stella came into the room and stood near to thedoor with a certain constraint in her attitude and a timid watchfulnessin her big eyes. She had the look of a deer. It seemed to Dick that atone abrupt movement she would turn and run. 

Mr. Hazlewood pressed forward to greet her and she smiled with a warmthof gratitude. Dick, watching her from the bay window, was surprised bythe delicacy of her face, by a look of fragility. She was dressed verysimply in a coat and short skirt of white, her shoes and her gloves wereof white suede, her hat was small. 

"And this is my son Richard, " said Mr. Hazlewood; and Dick came forwardout of the bay. Stella Ballantyne bowed to him but said no word. Shewas taking no risks even at the hands of the son of her friend. Ifadvances of friendliness were to be made they must be made by him, nother. There was just one awkward moment of hesitation. Then DickHazlewood held out his hand. 

"I am very glad to meet you, Mrs. Ballantyne, " he said cordially, and hesaw the blood rush into her face and the fear die out in her eyes. 

The neighbourhood, to quote Mr. Hazlewood, had not been kind to StellaBallantyne. She had stood in the dock and the fact tarnished her. Moreover here and there letters had come from India. The verdict wasinevitable, but--but--there was a doubt about its justice. The fullpenalty--no. No one desired or would have thought it right, but somethingbetwixt and between in the proper spirit of British compromise would nothave been amiss. Thus gossip ran. More-over Stella Ballantyne was toogood-looking, and she wore her neat and simple clothes too well. To someof the women it was an added offence when they considered what she mightbe wearing if only the verdict had been different. Thus for a year Stellahad been left to her own company except for a couple of visits which theReptons had paid to her. At the first she had welcomed the silence, thepeace of her loneliness. It was a balm to her. She recovered like aflower in the night. But she was young--she was twenty-eight thisyear--and as her limbs ceased to be things of lead and became once moreaglow with life there came to her a need of companionship. She tried totramp the need away on the turf of her well-loved downs, but she failed. A friend to share with her the joy of these summer days! Her bloodclamoured for one. But she was an outcast. Friends did not come her way. Therefore she had gratefully received old Mr. Hazlewood in her house, andhad accepted, though with some fear, his proposal that she should lunchat the big house and make the acquaintance of his son. 

She was nervous at the beginning of that meal, but both father and sonwere at the pains to put her at her ease; and soon she was talkingnaturally, with a colour in her cheeks, and now and then a note oflaughter in her voice. Dick worked for the recurrence of that laughter. He liked the clear sound of it and the melting of all her face intosweetness and tender humour which came with it. And for another thing hehad a thought, and a true one, that it was very long since she had knownthe pleasure of good laughter. 

They took their coffee out on the lawn under the shade of a hugecedar-tree. The river ran at their feet and a Canadian canoe and arowing-boat were tethered close by in a little dock. The house, a placeof grey stone with grey weathered and lichen-coloured slates, raised itsgreat oblong chimneys into a pellucid air. The sunlight flashed upon itsrows of tall windows--they were all flat to the house, except the onegreat bay on the ground floor in the library--and birds called from allthe trees. The time slipped away. Dick Hazlewood found himself talking ofhis work, a practice into which he seldom fell, and was surprised thatshe could talk of it with him. He realised with a start how it was thatshe knew. But she talked naturally and openly, as though he must know herhistory. Once even some jargon of the Staff College slipped from her. "You were doing let us pretend at Box Hill last week, weren't you?" shesaid, and when he started at the phrase she imagined that he started atthe extent of her information. "It was in the papers, " she said. "I readevery word of them, " and then for a second her face clouded, and sheadded: "I have time, you see. "

She looked at her watch and sprang to her feet. 

"I must go, " she said. "I didn't know it was so late. I have enjoyedmyself very much. " She did not hesitate now to offer her hand. "Goodbye. "

Dick Hazlewood went with her as far as the gate and came back tohis father. 

"You were asking me, " he said carelessly, "if I could give you some partof the summer. I don't see why I shouldn't come here in a day or two. Thepolo matches aren't so important. "

The old man's eyes brightened. 

"I shall be delighted, Richard, if you will. " He looked at his son withsomething really ecstatic in his expression. At last then his betternature was awakening. "I really believe--" he exclaimed and Dick cuthim short. 

"Yes, it may be that, sir. On the other hand it may not. What is quiteclear is that I must catch my train. So if I might order the car?"

"Of course, of course. "

He came out with his son into the porch of the house. 

"We have done a fine thing to-day, Richard, " he said with enthusiasm anda nod towards the cottage beyond the meadow. 

"We have indeed, sir, " returned Dick cheerily. "Did you ever see such apair of ankles?"

"She lost the tragic look this afternoon, Richard. We must be herchampions. "

"We will put in the summer that way, father, " said Dick, and waving hishand was driven off to the station. 

Mr. Hazlewood walked back to the library. But "walked" is a poor word. Heseemed to float on air. A great opportunity had come to him. He hadenlisted the services of his son. He saw Dick and himself as Toreadorswaving red flags in the face of a bull labelled Conventionality. He wentback to the pamphlet on which he was engaged with renewed ardour andlaboured diligently far into the night. 

CHAPTER XV

THE GREAT CRUSADE

"I was in Great Beeding this morning, " said Dick, as he sat at luncheonwith his father, "and the blinds were up in Aunt Margaret's house. "

"They have returned from their holiday then, " his father observed with atremor in his voice. He looked afraid. Then he looked annoyed. 

"Pettifer will break down if he doesn't take care, " he exclaimedpetulantly. "No man with any sense would work as hard as he does. Heought to have taken two months this year at the least. "

"We should still have to meet Aunt Margaret at the end of them, " saidDick calmly. He had no belief in Mr. Hazlewood's distress at the overworkof Pettifer. 

A month had passed since the inauguration of the great Crusade, andthough talk was rife everywhere and indignation in many places loud, acertain amount of success had been won. But all this while Mrs. Pettiferhad been away. Now she had returned. Mr. Hazlewood stood in some awe ofhis sister. She was not ill-natured, but she knew her mind and expressedit forcibly and without delay. She was of a practical limited nature; shesaw very clearly what she saw, but she walked in blinkers, and hadneither comprehension of nor sympathy with those of a wider vision. Shewas at this time a woman of forty, comfortable to look upon and the wifeof Mr. Robert Pettifer, the head of the well-known firm of solicitors, Pettifer, Gryll and Musgrave. Mrs. Pettifer had very little patience tospare for the idiosyncrasies of her brother, though she owed him a gooddeal more than patience. For at the time, some twenty years before, whenshe had married Robert Pettifer, then merely a junior partner of thefirm, Harold Hazlewood had alone stood by her. To the rest of the familyshe was throwing herself away; to her brother Harold she was doing a finething, not because it was a fine thing but because it was an exceptionalthing. Robert Pettifer however had prospered, and though he had reachedan age when he might have claimed his leisure the nine o'clock trainstill took him daily to London. 

"Aunt Margaret isn't after all so violent, " said Dick, for whom she kepta very soft place in her heart. But Harold shook his head. 

"Your aunt, Richard, has all the primeval ferocity of the average woman. "And then the fires of the enthusiast were set alight in his blue eyes. "I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll send her my new pamphlet, Richard. Itmay have a humanising influence upon her. I have some advance copies. I'll send her one this afternoon. "

Dick's eyes twinkled. 

"I should if I were you, though to be sure, sir, we have tried that planbefore without any prodigious effect. "

"True, Richard, true, but I have never before risen to such heights asthese. " Mr. Hazlewood threw down his napkin and paced the room. "Richard, I am not inclined to boast. I am a humble man. "

"It is only humility, sir, which achieves great work, " said Dick, as hewent contentedly on with his luncheon. 

"But the very title of this pamphlet seems to me calculated to interestthe careless and attract the thoughtful. It is called _The Prison Wallsmust Cast no Shadow_. "

With an arm outstretched he seemed to deliver the words of the titleone by one from the palm of his hand. Then he stood smiling, confident, awaiting applause. Dick's face, which had shown the highestexpectancy, slowly fell in a profound disappointment. He laid down hisknife and fork. 

"Oh, come, father. All walls cast shadows. It entirely depends upon thealtitude of the sun. "

Mr. Hazlewood returned to his seat and spoke gently. 

"The phrase, my boy, is a metaphor. I develop in this pamphlet my beliefthat a convict, once he has expiated his offence, should upon his releasebe restored to the precise position in society which he held before withall its privileges unimpaired. "

Dick chuckled in the most unregenerate delight. 

"You are going it, father, " he said, and disappointment came to Mr. Hazlewood. 

"Richard, " he remonstrated mildly, "I hoped that I should have had yourapproval. It seemed to me that a change was taking place in you, that theplayer of polo, the wild hunter of an inoffensive little white ball, wasdeveloping into the humanitarian. "

"Well, sir, " rejoined Dick, "I won't deny that of late I have beenbeginning to think that there is a good deal in your theories. But youmustn't try me too high at the beginning, you know. I am only in mynovitiate. However, please send it to Aunt Margaret, and--oh, how I wouldlike to hear her remarks upon it!"

An idea occurred to Mr. Hazlewood. 

"Richard, why shouldn't you take it over yourself this afternoon?"

Dick shook his head. 

"Impossible, father, I have something to do. " He looked out of the windowdown to the river running dark in the shade of trees. "But I'll goto-morrow morning, " he added. 

And the next morning he walked over early to Great Beeding. His auntwould have received the pamphlet by the first post and he wished to seizethe first fine careless rapture of her comments. But he found her in amood of distress rather than of wordy impatience. 

The Pettifers lived in a big house of the Georgian period at the bottomof an irregular square in the middle of the little town. Mrs. Pettiferwas sitting in a room facing the garden at the back with the pamphlet ona little table beside her. She sprang up as Dick was shown into the room, and before he could utter a word of greeting she cried:

"Dick, you are the one person I wanted to see. "

"Oh?"

"Yes. Sit down. "

Dick obeyed. 

"Dick, I believe you are the only person in the world who has any controlover your father. "

"Yes. Even in my pinafores I learnt the great lesson that to controlone's parents is the first duty of the modern child. "

"Don't be silly, " his aunt rejoined sharply. Then she looked him over. "Yes, you must have some control over him, for he lets you remain in thearmy, though an army is one of his abominations. "

"Theoretically it's a great grief to him, " replied Dick. "But you see Ihave done fairly well, so actually he's ready to burst with pride. Everysentimental philosopher sooner or later breaks his head against his owntheories. "

Mrs. Pettifer nodded her head in commendation. 

"That's an improvement on your last remark, Dick. It's true. And yourfather's going to break his head very badly unless you stop him. "

"How?"

"Mrs. Ballantyne. "

All the flippancy died out of Dick Hazlewood's face. He became at oncegrave, wary. 

"I have been hearing about him, " continued Mrs. Pettifer. "He has madefriends with her--a woman who has stood in the dock on a capital charge. "

"And has been acquitted, " Dick Hazlewood added quietly and Mrs. Pettiferblazed up. 

"She wouldn't have been acquitted if I had been on the jury. Aparcel of silly men who are taken in by a pretty face!" she cried, and Dick broke in:

"Aunt Margaret, I am sorry to interrupt you. But I want you to understandthat I am with my father heart and soul in this. "

He spoke very slowly and deliberately and Mrs. Pettifer wasutterly dismayed. 

"You!" she cried. She grew pale, and alarm so changed her face it was asif a tragic mask had been slipped over it. "Oh, Dick, not you!"

"Yes, I. I think it is cruelly hard, " he continued with his eyesrelentlessly fixed upon Mrs. Pettifer's face, "that a woman like Mrs. Ballantyne, who has endured all the horrors of a trial, the publicity, the suspense, the dread risk that justice might miscarry, should haveafterwards to suffer the treatment of a leper. "

There was for the moment no room for any anger now in Mrs. Pettifer'sthoughts. Consternation possessed her. She weighed every quiet firm wordthat fell from Dick, she appreciated the feeling which gave them wings, she searched his face, his eyes. Dick had none of his father'sflightiness. He was level-headed, shrewd and with the conventions of histimes and his profession. If Dick spoke like this, with so much certitudeand so much sympathy, why then--She shrank from the conclusion with asinking heart. She became very quiet. 

"Oh, she shouldn't have come to Little Beeding, " she said in a low voice, staring now upon the ground. It was to herself she spoke, but Dickanswered her, and his voice rose to a challenge. 

"Why shouldn't she? Here she was born, here she was known. What elseshould she do but come back to Little Beeding and hold her head high? Irespect her pride for doing it. "

Here were reasons no doubt why Stella should come back; but they did notinclude the reason why she had. Dick Hazlewood was well aware of it. Hehad learnt it only the afternoon before when he was with her on theriver. But he thought it a reason too delicate, of too fine a gossamer tobe offered to the prosaic mind of his Aunt Margaret. With what ridiculeand disbelief she would rend it into tatters! Reasons so exquisite werenot for her. She could never understand them. 

Mrs. Pettifer abandoned her remonstrances and was for dropping thesubject altogether. But Dick was obstinate. 

"You don't know Mrs. Ballantyne, Aunt Margaret. You are unjust to herbecause you don't know her. I want you to, " he said boldly. 

"What!" cried Mrs. Pettifer. "You actually--Oh!" Indignation robbed herof words. She gasped. 

"Yes, I do, " continued Dick calmly. "I want you to come one night anddine at Little Beeding. We'll persuade Mrs. Ballantyne to come too. "

It was a bold move, and even in his eyes it had its risks for Stella. Tobring Mrs. Pettifer and her together was, so it seemed to him, to mixearth with delicate flame. But he had great faith in Stella Ballantyne. Let them but meet and the earth might melt--who could tell? At the worsthis aunt would bristle, and there were his father and himself to see thatthe bristles did not prick. 

"Yes, come and dine. "

Mrs. Pettifer had got over her amazement at her nephew's audacity. Curiosity had taken its place--curiosity and fear. She must see thiswoman for herself. 

"Yes, " she answered after a pause. "I will come. I'll bring Robert too. "

"Good. We'll fix up a date and write to you. Goodbye. "

Dick went back to Little Beeding and asked for his father. The oldgentleman added to his other foibles that of a collector. It was theonly taste he had which was really productive, for he owned a collectionof miniatures, gathered together throughout his life, which would haverealised a fortune if it had been sold at Christie's. He kept it arrangedin cabinets in the library and Dick found him bending over one of thedrawers and rearranging his treasures. 

"I have seen Aunt Margaret, " he said. "She will meet Stella hereat dinner. "

"That will be splendid, " cried the old man with enthusiasm. 

"Perhaps, " replied his son; and the next morning the Pettifers receivedtheir invitation. 

Mrs. Pettifer accepted it at once. She had not been idle since Dick hadleft her. Before he had come she had merely looked upon the crusade asone of Harold Hazlewood's stupendous follies. But after he had gone shewas genuinely horrified. She saw Dick speaking with the set dogged lookand the hard eyes which once or twice she had seen before. He had alwaysgot his way, she remembered, on those occasions. She drove round to herfriends and made inquiries. At each house her terrors were confirmed. Itwas Dick now who led the crusade. He had given up his polo, he wasspending all his leave at Little Beeding and most of it with StellaBallantyne. He lent her a horse and rode with her in the morning, herowed her on the river in the afternoon. He bullied his friends to callon her. He brandished his friendship with her like a flag. Love me, lovemy Stella was his new motto. Mrs. Pettifer drove home with every fearexaggerated. Dick's career would be ruined altogether--even if nothingworse were to happen. To any view that Stella Ballantyne might hold shehardly gave a thought. She was sure of what it would be. StellaBallantyne would jump at her nephew. He had good looks, social position, money and a high reputation. It was the last quality which would give hima unique value in Stella Ballantyne's eyes. He was not one of thechinless who haunt the stage doors; nor again one of that more subtlydecadent class which seeks to attract sensation by linking itself tonotoriety. No. From Stella's point of view Dick Hazlewood must be theideal husband. 

Mrs. Pettifer waited for her husband's return that evening with unusualimpatience, but she was wise enough to hold her tongue until dinner wasover and he with a cigar between his lips and a glass of old brandy onthe table-cloth in front of him, disposed to amiability and concession. 

Then, however, she related her troubles. 

"You see it must be stopped, Robert. "

Robert Pettifer was a lean wiry man of fifty-five whose brown dried faceseemed by a sort of climatic change to have taken on the colour of thebinding of his law-books. He, too, was a little troubled by the story, but he was of a fair and cautious mind. 

"Stopped?" he said. "How? We can't arrest Mrs. Ballantyne again. "

"No, " replied Mrs. Pettifer. "Robert, you must do something. "

Robert Pettifer jumped in his chair. 

"I, Margaret! Lord love you, no! I decline to mix myself up in the matterat all. Dick's a grown man and Mrs. Ballantyne has been acquitted. "

Margaret Pettifer knew her husband. 

"Is that your last word?" she asked ruefully. 

"Absolutely. "

"It isn't mine, Robert. "

Robert Pettifer chuckled and laid a hand upon his wife's. 

"I know that, Margaret. "

"We are going to dine next Friday night at Little Beeding to meet StellaBallantyne. "

Mr. Pettifer was startled but he held his tongue. 

"The invitation came this morning after you had left for London, "she added. 

"And you accepted it at once?"

"Yes. "

Pettifer was certain that she had before she opened her mouth toanswer him. 

"I shall dine at Little Beeding on Friday, " he said, "because Haroldalways gives me an admirable glass of vintage port"; and with that hedismissed the subject. Mrs. Pettifer was content to let it smoulder inhis mind. She was not quite sure that he was as disturbed as she wishedhim to be, but that he was proud of Dick she knew, and if by any chanceuneasiness grew strong in him, why, sooner or later he would let fallsome little sentence; and that little sentence would probably be useful. 

CHAPTER XVI

CONSEQUENCES

The dinner-party at Little Beeding was a small affair. There were but tenaltogether who sat down at Mr. Hazlewood's dinner-table and with theexception of the Pettifers all, owing to Dick Hazlewood's insistence, were declared partisans of Stella Ballantyne. None the less Stella cameto it with hesitation. It was the first time that she had dined abroadsince she had left India, now the best part of eighteen months ago, andshe went forth to it as to an ordeal. For though friends of hers would bepresent to enhearten her she was to meet the Pettifers. The redoubtableAunt Margaret had spoilt her sleep for a week. It was for the Pettifersshe dressed, careful to choose neither white nor black, lest they shouldfind something symbolic in the colour of her gown and make of it anoffence. She put on a frock of pale blue satin trimmed with some whitelace which had belonged to her mother, and she wore not so much as a thingold chain about her neck. But she did not need jewels that night. Themonths of quiet had restored her to her beauty, the excitement of thisevening had given life and colour to her face, the queer little droop atthe corners of her lips which had betrayed so much misery and bitternessof spirit had vanished altogether. Yet when she was quite dressed andher mirror bade her take courage she sat down and wrote a note of apologypleading a sudden indisposition. But she did not send it. Even in thewriting her cowardice came home to her and she tore it up before she hadsigned her name. The wheels of the cab which was to take her to the bighouse rattled down the lane under her windows, and slipping her cloakover her shoulders she ran downstairs. 

The party began with a little constraint. Mr. Hazlewood received hisguests in his drawing-room and it had the chill and the ceremony of aroom which is seldom used. But the constraint wore off at the table. Mostof those present were striving to set Stella Ballantyne at her ease, andshe was at a comfortable distance from Mrs. Pettifer, with Mr. Hazlewoodat her side. She was conscious that she was kept under observation andfrom time to time the knowledge made her uncomfortable. 

"I am being watched, " she said to her host. 

"You mustn't mind, " replied Mr. Hazlewood, and the smile came back to herlips as she glanced round the table. 

"Oh, I don't, I don't, " she said in a low voice, "for I havefriends here. "

"And friends who will not fail you, Stella, " said the old man. "To-nightbegins the great change. You'll see. "

Robert Pettifer puzzled her indeed more than his wife. She was plain toread. She was frigidly polite, her enemy. Once or twice, however, Stellaturned her head to find Robert Pettifer's eyes resting upon her with aquiet scrutiny which betrayed nothing of his thoughts. As a matter offact he liked her manner. She was neither defiant nor servile, neitherloud nor over-silent. She had been through fire; that was evident. But itwas evident only because of a queer haunting look which came and went inher dark eyes. The fire had not withered her. Indeed Pettifer wassurprised. He had not formulated his expectations at all, but he had notexpected what he saw. The clear eyes and the fresh delicate colour, herfirm white shoulders and her depth of bosom, forced him to think of heras wholesome. He began to turn over in his mind his recollections of hercase, recollections which he had been studious not to revive. 

Halfway through the dinner Stella lost her uneasiness. The lights, theripple of talk, the company of men and women, the bright dresses hadtheir effect on her. It was as though after a deep plunge into darkwaters she had come to the surface and flung out her arms to the sun. Sheceased to notice the scrutiny of the Pettifers. She looked across thetable to Dick and their eyes met; and such a look of tendernesstransfigured her face as made Mrs. Pettifer turn pale. 

"That woman's in love, " she said to herself and she was horrified. Itwasn't Dick's social position then or the shelter of his character thatStella Ballantyne coveted. She was in love. Mrs. Pettifer was honestenough to acknowledge it. But she knew now that the danger which she hadfeared was infinitely less than the danger which actually was. 

"I must have it out with Harold to-night, " she said, and later on, whenthe men came from the dining-room, she looked out for her husband. But atfirst she did not see him. She was in the drawing-room and the widedouble doors which led to the big library stood open. It was throughthose doors that the men had come. Some of the party were gathered there. She could hear the click of the billiard balls and the voices of womenmingling with those of the men. She went through the doors and saw herhusband standing by Harold Hazlewood's desk, and engrossed apparently insome little paper-covered book which he held in his hand. She crossed tohim at once. 

"Robert, " she said, "don't be in a hurry to go to-night. I must have aword with Harold. "

"All right, " said Pettifer, but he said it in so absent a voice that hiswife doubted whether he had understood her words. She was about to repeatthem when Harold Hazlewood himself approached. 

"You are looking at my new pamphlet, Pettifer, _The Prison Walls mustCast no Shadow_. I am hoping that it will have a great influence. "

"No, " replied Pettifer. "I wasn't. I was looking at this, " and he heldup the little book. 

"Oh, that?" said Hazlewood, turning away with disappointment. 

"Yes, that, " said Pettifer with a strange and thoughtful look at hisbrother-in-law. "And I am not sure, " he added slowly, "that in a shorttime you will not find it the more important publication of the two. "

He laid the book down and in his turn he moved away towards thebilliard-table. Margaret Pettifer remained. She had been struck by thecurious deliberate words her husband had used. Was this the hint forwhich she was looking out? She took up the little book. It was a copy of_Notes and Queries_. She opened it. 

It was a small periodical magazine made up of printed questions whichcontributors sent in search of information and answers to those questionsfrom the pens of other contributors. Mrs. Pettifer glanced through theleaves, hoping to light upon the page which her husband had beenstudying. But he had closed the book when he laid it down and she foundnothing to justify his remark. Yet he had not spoken without intention. Of that she was convinced, and her conviction was strengthened the nextmoment, for as she turned again towards the drawing-room Robert Pettiferlooked once sharply towards her and as sharply away. Mrs. Pettiferunderstood that glance. He was wondering whether she had noticed what inthat magazine had interested him. But she did not pursue him withquestions. She merely made up her mind to examine the copy of _Notes andQueries_ at a time when she could bring more leisure to the task. 

She waited impatiently for the party to break up but eleven o'clock hadstruck before any one proposed to go. Then all took their leave at once. Robert Pettifer and his wife went out into the hall with the rest, lestothers seeing them remain should stay behind too; and whilst they stood alittle apart from the general bustle of departure Margaret Pettifer sawStella Ballantyne come lightly down the stairs, and a savage furysuddenly whirled in her head and turned her dizzy. She thought of all thetrouble and harm this young woman was bringing into their ordered familyand she would not have it that she was innocent. She saw Stella with hercloak open upon her shoulders radiant and glistening and slender againstthe dark panels of the staircase, youth in her face, enjoyment sparklingin her eyes, and her fingers itched to strip her of her bright frock, hergloves, her slim satin slippers, the delicate white lace which nestledagainst her bosom. She clothed her in the heavy shapeless garments, thecoarse shoes and stockings of the convict; she saw her workingdesperately against time upon an ignoble task with black and brokenfinger-nails. If longing could have worked the miracle, thus at this hourwould Stella Ballantyne have sat and worked, all the colour of her fadedto a hideous drab, all the grace of her withered. Mrs. Pettifer turnedaway with so abrupt a movement and so disordered a face that Robert askedher if she was ill. 

"No, it's nothing, " she said and against her will her eyes were drawnback to the staircase. But Stella Ballantyne had disappeared and MargaretPettifer drew her breath in relief. She felt that there had been dangerin her moment of passion, danger and shame; and already enough of thosetwo evils waited about them. 

Stella, meanwhile, with a glance towards Dick Hazlewood, had slipped backinto the big room. Then she waited for a moment until the door opened andDick came in. 

"I had not said good-night to you, " she exclaimed, coming towards him andgiving him her hands, "and I wanted to say it to you here, when we werealone. For I must thank you for to-night, you and your father. Oh, I haveno words. "

The tears were very near to her eyes and they were audible in her lowvoice. Dick Hazlewood was quick to answer her. 

"Good! For there's need of none. Will you ride to-morrow?"

Stella took her hands from his and moved across the room towards thegreat bay window with its glass doors. 

"I should love to, " she said. 

"Eight. Is that too early after to-night?"

"No, that's the good time, " she returned with a smile. "We have the dayat its best and the world to ourselves. "

"I'll bring the same horse round. He knows you now, doesn't he?"

"Thank you, " said Stella. She unlatched the glass door and opened it. "You'll lock it after me, won't you?"

"No, " said Dick. "I'll see you to your door. "

But Stella refused his company. She stood in the doorway. 

"There's no need! See what a night it is!" and the beauty of it creptinto her soul and stilled her voice. The moon rode in a blue sky, a discof glowing white, the great cedar-trees flung their shadows wide over thebright lawns and not a branch stirred. 

"Listen, " said Stella in a whisper and the river rippling against itsbanks with now a deep sob and now a fairy's laugh sang to them in notesmost musical and clear. That liquid melody and the flutter of a bird'swings in the bough of a tree were the only sounds. They stood side byside, she looking out over the garden to the dim and pearly hills, hegazing at her uplifted face and the pure column of her throat. Theystood in a most dangerous silence. The air came cool and fresh to theirnostrils. Stella drew it in with a smile. 

"Good-night!" She laid her hand for a second on his arm. "Don'tcome with me!"

"Why not?"

And the answer came in a clear whisper:

"I am afraid. "

Stella seemed to feel the man at her side suddenly grow very still. "It's only a step, " she went on quickly and she passed out of the windowon to the pathway. Dick Hazlewood followed but she turned to him andraised her hand. 

"Don't, " she pleaded; the voice was troubled but her eyes were steady. "If you come with me I shall tell you. "

"What?" he interrupted, and the quickness of the interruption broke thespell which the night had laid upon her. 

"I shall tell you again how much I thank you, " she said lightly. "I shallcross the meadow by the garden gate. That brings me to my door. "

She gathered her skirt in her hand and crossed the pathway to the edge ofthe grass. 

"You can't do that, " exclaimed Dick and he was at her side. He stoopedand felt the turf. "Even the lawn's drenched. Crossing the meadow you'llbe ankle-deep in dew. You must promise never to go home across themeadow when you dine with us. "

He spoke, chiding her as if she had been a mutinous child, and with somuch anxiety that she laughed. 

"You see, you have become rather precious to me, " he added. 

Though the month was July she that night was all April, half tears, halflaughter. The smile passed from her lips and she raised her hands to herface with the swiftness of one who has been struck. 

"What's the matter?" he asked, and she drew her hand away. 

"Don't you understand?" she asked, and answered the question herself. "No, why should you?" She turned to him suddenly, her bosom heaving, herhands clenched. "Do you know what place I fill here, in my own county?Years ago, when I was a child, there was supposed to be a pig-faced womanin Great Beeding. She lived in a small yellow cottage in the Square. Itwas pointed out to strangers as one of the sights of the town. Sometimesthey were shown her shadow after dusk between the lamp and the blind. Sometimes you might have even caught a glimpse of her slinking late atnight along the dark alleys. Well, the pig-faced woman has gone and Ihave taken her place. "

"No, " cried Dick. "That's not true. "

"It is, " she answered passionately. "I am the curiosity. I am the freak. The townspeople take a pride in me, yes, just the same pride they took inher, and I find that pride more difficult to bear than all the aversionof the Pettifers. I too slink out early in the morning or late afternight has fallen. And you"--the passion of bitterness died out of hervoice, her hands opened and hung at her sides, a smile of tendernessshone on her face--"you come with me. You ride with me early. With you Ilearn to take no heed. You welcome me to your house. You speak to me asyou spoke just now. " Her voice broke and a cry of gladness escaped fromher which went to Dick Hazlewood's heart. "Oh, you shall see me to mydoor. I'll not cross the meadow. I'll go round by the road. " She stoppedand drew a breath. 

"I'll tell you something. "

"What?"

"It's rather good to be looked after. I know. It has never happened to mebefore. Yes, it's very good, " and she drew out the words with a low laughof happiness. 

"Stella!" he said, and at the mention of her name she caught her hands upto her heart. "Oh, thank you!"

The hall-door was closed and all but one car had driven away when theyturned the corner of the house and came out in the broad drive. Theywalked in the moonlight with a perfume of flowers in the air and the bigyellow cups of the evening primroses gleaming on either side. They walkedslowly. Stella knew that she should quicken her feet but she could notbring herself to do more than know it. She sought to take into her heartevery tiniest detail of that walk so that in memory she might, yearsafter, walk it again and so never be quite alone. They passed out throughthe great iron gates and turned into the lane. Here great elms overhungand now they walked in darkness, and now again were bathed in light. Atwig snapped beneath her foot; even so small a thing she would remember. 

"We must hurry, " she said. 

"We are doing all that we can, " replied Dick. "It's a longway--this walk. "

"You feel it so?" said Stella, tempting him--oh, unwisely! But the spellof the hour and the place was upon her. 

"Yes, " he answered her. "It's a long way in a man's life, " and he drewclose to her side. 

"No!" she cried with a sudden violence. But she was awake too late. "No, Dick, no, " she repeated, but his arms were about her. 

"Stella, I want you. Oh, life's dull for a man without a woman; I cantell you, " he exclaimed passionately. 

"There are others--plenty, " she said, and tried to thrust him away. 

"Not for me, " he rejoined, and he would not let her go. Her strugglesceased, she buried her face in his coat, her hands caught his shoulders, she stood trembling and shivering against him. 

"Stella, " he whispered. "Stella!"

He raised her face and bent to it. Then he straightened himself. 

"Not here!" he said. 

They were standing in the darkness of a tree. He put his arms about herwaist and lifted her into an open space where the moonlight shone brightand clear and there were no shadows. 

"Here, " he said, and he kissed her on the lips. She thrust her head back, her face uplifted to the skies, her eyes closed. 

"Oh, Dick, " she murmured, "I meant that this should never be. Evennow--you shall forget it. "

"No--I couldn't. "

"So one says. But--oh, it would be your ruin. " She started away from him. 

"Listen!"

"Yes, " he answered. 

She stood confronting him desperately a yard or so away, her bosomheaving, her face wet with her tears. Dick Hazlewood did not stir. Stella's lips moved as though she were speaking but no words wereaudible, and it seemed that her strength left her. She came suddenlyforward, groping with her hands like a blind person. 

"Oh, my dear, " she said as he caught them. They went on again together. She spoke of his father, of the talk of the countryside. But he had anargument for each of hers. 

"Be brave for just a little, Stella. Once we are married there will be notrouble, " and with his arms about her she was eager to believe. 

Stella Ballantyne sat late that night in the armchair in her bedroom, hereyes fixed upon the empty grate, in a turmoil of emotion. She grew coldand shivered. A loud noise of birds suddenly burst through the openwindow. She went to it. The morning had come. She looked across themeadow to the silent house of Little Beeding in the grey broadeninglight. All the blinds were down. Were they all asleep or did one watchlike her? She came back to the fireplace. In the grate some tornfragments of a letter caught her eyes. She stooped and picked them up. They were fragments of the letter of regret which she had written earlierthat evening. 

"I should have sent it, " she whispered. "I should not have gone. I shouldhave sent the letter. "

But the regret was vain. She had gone. Her maid found her in the morninglying upon her bed in a deep sleep and still wearing the dress in whichshe had gone out. 

CHAPTER XVII

TROUBLE FOR MR. HAZLEWOOD

When Dick and Stella walked along the drive to the lane Harold Hazlewood, who was radiant at the success of his dinner-party, turned to RobertPettifer in the hall. 

"Have a whisky-and-soda, Robert, before you go, " he said. He led the wayback into the library. Behind him walked the Pettifers, Robertill-at-ease and wishing himself a hundred miles away, Margaret Pettiferboiling for battle. Hazlewood himself dropped into an arm-chair. 

"I am very glad that you came to-night, Margaret, " he said boldly. "Youhave seen for yourself. "

"Yes, I have, " she replied. "Harold, there have been moments this eveningwhen I could have screamed. "

Robert Pettifer hurriedly turned towards the table in the far cornerof the room where the tray with the decanters and the syphons hadbeen placed. 

"Margaret, I pass my life in a scream at the injustice of the world, "said Harold Hazlewood, and Robert Pettifer chuckled as he cut off the endof a cigar. "It is strange that an act of reparation should move you inthe same way. "

"Reparation!" cried Margaret Pettifer indignantly. Then she noticed thatthe window was open. She looked around the room. She drew up a chair infront of her brother. 

"Harold, if you have no consideration for us, none for your ownposition, none for the neighbourhood, if you will at all costs forcethis woman upon us, don't you think that you might still spare a thoughtfor your son?"

Robert Pettifer had kept his eyes open that evening as well as his wife. He took a step down into the room. He was anxious to take no part in thedispute; he desired to be just; he was favourably inclined towards StellaBallantyne; looking at her he had been even a little moved. But Dick wasthe first consideration. He had no children of his own, he cared for Dickas he would have cared for his son, and when he went up each morning bythe train to his office in London there lay at the back of his mind thethought that one day the fortune he was amassing would add a splendour toDick's career. Harold Hazlewood alone of the three seemed to have hiseyes sealed. 

"Why, what on earth do you mean, Margaret?"

Margaret Pettifer sat down in her chair. 

"Where was Dick yesterday afternoon?"

"Margaret, I don't know. "

"I do. I saw him. He was with Stella Ballantyne on the river--in thedusk--in a Canadian canoe. " She uttered each fresh detail in a moreindignant tone, as though it aggravated the crime. Yet even so she hadnot done. There was, it seemed, a culminating offence. "She was wearing awhite lace frock with a big hat. "

"Well, " said Mr. Hazlewood mildly, "I don't think I have anything againstbig hats. "

"She was trailing her hand in the water--that he might notice itsslenderness of course. Outrageous I call it!"

Mr. Hazlewood nodded his head at his indignant sister. 

"I know that frame of mind very well, Margaret, " he remarked. "She cannotdo right. If she had been wearing a small hat she would have beenFrenchified. "

But Mrs. Pettifer was not in a mood for argument. 

"Can't you see what it all means?" she cried in exasperation. 

"I can. I do, " Mr. Hazlewood retorted and he smiled proudly upon hissister. "The boy's better nature is awakening. "

Margaret Pettifer lifted up her hands. 

"The boy!" she exclaimed. "He's thirty-four if he's a day. "

She leaned forward in her chair and pointing up to the bay asked: "Why isthat window open, Harold?"

Harold Hazlewood showed his first sign of discomfort. He shifted inhis chair. 

"It's a hot night, Margaret. "

"That is not the reason, " Mrs. Pettifer retorted implacably. "Where is Dick?"

"I expect that he is seeing Mrs. Ballantyne home. "

"Exactly, " said Mrs. Pettifer with a world of significance in her voice. Mr. Hazlewood sat up and looked at his sister. 

"Margaret, you want to make me uncomfortable, " he exclaimed pettishly. "But you shan't. No, my dear, you shan't. " He let himself sink back againand joining the tips of his fingers contemplated the ceiling. ButMargaret was in the mind to try. She shot out her words at him like somany explosive bullets. 

"Being friends is one thing, Harold. Marrying is another. "

"Very true, Margaret, very true. "

"They are in love with one another. "

"Rubbish, Margaret, rubbish. "

"I watched them at the dinner-table and afterwards. They are man andwoman, Harold. That's what you don't understand. They are notillustrations of your theories. Ask Robert. "

"No, " exclaimed Robert Pettifer. He hurriedly lit a cigar. "Any inferenceI should make must be purely hypothetical. "

"Yes, we'll ask Robert. Come, Pettifer!" cried Mr. Hazlewood. "Let ushave your opinion. "

Robert Pettifer came reluctantly down from his corner. 

"Well, if you insist, I think they were very friendly. "

"Ah!" cried Hazlewood in triumph. "Being friends is one thing, Margaret. Marrying is another. "

Mrs. Pettifer shook her head over her brother with a mostaggravating pity. 

"Dick said a shrewd thing the other day to me, Harold. "

Mr. Hazlewood looked doubtfully at his sister. 

"I am sure of it, " he answered, but he was careful not to ask for anyrepetition of the shrewd remark. Margaret, however, was not in the mindto let him off. 

"He said that sentimental philosophers sooner or later break their headsagainst their own theories. Mark those words, Harold! I hope they won'tcome true of you. I hope so very much indeed. "

But it was abundantly clear that she had not a shadow of doubt that theywould come true. Mr. Hazlewood was stung by the slighting phrase. 

"I am not a sentimental philosopher, " he said hotly. "Sentiment Ialtogether abhor. I hold strong views, I admit. "

"You do indeed, " his sister interrupted with an ironical laugh. "Oh, Ihave read your pamphlet, Harold. The prison walls must cast no shadow andconvicts, once they are released, have as much right to sit down at ourdinner-tables as they had before. Well, you carry your principles intopractice, that I will say. We had an illustration to-night. "

"You are unjust, Margaret, " and Mr. Hazlewood rose from his chair withsome dignity. "You speak of Mrs. Ballantyne, not for the first time, asif she had been tried and condemned. In fact she was tried andacquitted, " and in his turn he appealed to Pettifer. 

"Ask Robert!" he said. 

But Pettifer was slow to answer, and when he did it was withoutassurance. 

"Ye-es, " he replied with something of a drawl. "Undoubtedly Mrs. Ballantyne was tried and acquitted"; and he left the impression on thetwo who heard him that with acquittal quite the last word had not beensaid. Mrs. Pettifer looked at him eagerly. She drew clear at once ofthe dispute. She left the questions now to Harold Hazlewood, andPettifer had spoken with so much hesitation that Harold Hazlewood couldnot but ask them. 

"You are making reservations, Robert?"

Pettifer shrugged his shoulders. 

"I think we have a right to know them, " Hazlewood insisted. "You are asolicitor with a great business and consequently a wide experience. "

"Not of criminal cases, Hazlewood. I bring no more authority to judgethem than any other man. "

"Still you have formed an opinion. Please let me have it, " and Mr. Hazlewood sat down again and crossed his knees. But a little impatiencewas now audible in his voice. 

"An opinion is too strong a word, " replied Pettifer guardedly. "Thetrial took place nearly eighteen months ago. I read the accounts of itcertainly day by day as I travelled in the train to London. But they weresummaries. "

"Full summaries, Robert, " said Hazlewood. 

"No doubt. The trial made a great deal of noise in the world. But theywere not full enough for me. Even if my memory of those newspaper reportswere clear I should still hesitate to sit in judgment. But my memoryisn't clear. Let us see what I do remember. "

Pettifer took a chair and sat for a few moments with his foreheadwrinkled in a frown. Was he really trying to remember? His wife askedherself that question as she watched him. Or had he something to tellthem which he meant to let fall in his own cautiously careless way? Mrs. Pettifer listened alertly. 

"The--well--let us call it the catastrophe--took place in a tent in somestate of Rajputana. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Hazlewood. 

"It took place at night. Mrs. Ballantyne was asleep in her bed. The manBallantyne was found outside the tent in the doorway. "

"Yes. "

Pettifer paused. "So many law cases have engaged my attention since, "he said in apology for his hesitation. He seemed quite at a loss. Thenhe went on:

"Wait a moment! A man had been dining with them at night--oh yes, Ibegin to remember. "

Harold Hazlewood made a tiny movement and would have spoken, but Margaretheld out a hand towards him swiftly. 

"Yes, a man called Thresk, " said Pettifer, and again he was silent. 

"Well, " asked Hazlewood. 

"Well--that's all I remember, " replied Pettifer briskly. He rose and puthis chair back. "Except--" he added slowly. 

"Yes?"

"Except that there was left upon my mind when the verdict was published avague feeling of doubt. "

"There!" cried Mrs. Pettifer triumphantly. "You hear him, Harold. "

But Hazelwood paid no attention to her. He was gazing at hisbrother-in-law with a good deal of uneasiness. 

"Why?" he asked. "Why were you in doubt, Robert?"

But Pettifer had said all that he had any mind to say. 

"Oh, I can't remember why, " he exclaimed. "I am very likely quite wrong. Come, Margaret, it's time that we were getting home. "

He crossed over to Hazlewood and held out his hand. Hazlewood, however, did not rise. 

"I don't think that's quite fair of you, Robert, " he said. "You don'tdisturb my confidence, of course--I have gone into the casethoroughly--but I think you ought to give me a chance of satisfying youthat your doubts have no justification. "

"No really, " exclaimed Pettifer. "I absolutely refuse to mix myself up inthe affair at all. " A step sounded upon the gravel path outside thewindow. Pettifer raised a warning finger. "It's midnight, Margaret, " hesaid. "We must go"; and as he spoke Dick Hazlewood walked in through theopen window. 

He smiled at the group of his relations with a grim amusement. Theycertainly wore a guilty look. He was surprised to remark someembarrassment even upon his father's face. 

"You will see your aunt off, Richard, " said Mr. Hazlewood. 

"Of course. "

The Pettifers and Dick went out into the hall, leaving the old man in hischair, a little absent, perhaps a little troubled. 

"Aunt Margaret, you have been upsetting my father, " said Dick. 

"Nonsense, Dick, " she replied, and her face flushed. She stepped into thecarriage quickly to avoid questions, and as she stepped in Dick noticedthat she was carrying a little paper-covered book. Pettifer followed. "Good-night, Dick, " he said, and he shook hands with his nephew verywarmly. In spite of his cordiality, however, Dick's face grew hard as hewatched the carriage drive away. Stella was right. The Pettifers were theenemy. Well, he had always known there would be a fight, and now thesooner it came the better. He went back to the library and as he openedthe door he heard his father's voice. The old man was sitting sunk in hischair and repeating to himself:

"I won't believe it. I won't believe it. "

He stopped at once when Dick came in. Dick looked at him with concern. 

"You are tired, father, " he said. 

"Yes, I think I am a little. I'll go to bed. "

Hazlewood watched Dick walk over to the corner table where the candlesstood beside the tray, and his face cleared. For the first time in hislife the tidy well-groomed conventional look of his son was a realpleasure to him. Richard was of those to whom the good-will of the worldmeant much. He would never throw it lightly away. Hazlewood got up andtook one of the candles from his son. He patted him on the shoulder. Hebecame quite at ease as he looked into his face. 

"Good-night, my boy, " he said. 

"Good-night, sir, " replied Dick cheerfully. "There's nothing like actingup to one's theories, is there?"

"Nothing, " said the old man heartily. "Look at my life!"

"Yes, " replied Dick. "And now look at mine. I am going to marry StellaBallantyne. "

For a moment Mr. Hazlewood stood perfectly still. Then he murmuredlamely:

"Oh, are you? Are you, Richard?" and he shuffled quickly out of the room. 

CHAPTER XVIII

MR. HAZLEWOOD SEEKS ADVICE

As Dick was getting out of bed at half-past seven a troubled little notewas brought to him written hurriedly and almost incoherent. 

"Dick, I can't ride with you this morning. I am too tired ... And I don'tthink we should meet again. You must forget last night. I shall be veryproud always to remember it, but I won't ruin you, Dick. You mustn'tthink I shall suffer so very much ... " Dick read it all through with asmile of tenderness upon his face. He wrote a line in reply. "I will comeand see you at eleven, Stella. Meanwhile sleep, my dear, " and sent itacross to the cottage. Then he rolled back into bed again and took hisown advice. It was late when he came down into the dining-room and hetook his breakfast alone. 

"Where's my father?" he asked of Hubbard the butler. 

"Mr. Hazlewood breakfasted half an hour ago, sir. He's at work now. "

"Capital, " said Dick. "Give me some sausages. Hubbard, what would you sayif I told you that I was going to be married?"

Hubbard placed a plate in front of him. 

"I should keep my head, sir, " he answered in his gentle voice. "Will youtake tea?"

"Thank you. "

Dick looked out of the window. It was a morning of clear skies andsunlight, a very proper morning for this the first of all the remarkabledays which one after the other were going especially to belong to him. Hewas of the gods now. The world was his property, or rather he held it intrust for Stella. It was behaving well; Dick Hazlewood was contented. Heate a large breakfast and strolling into the library lit his pipe. Therewas his father bending over his papers at his writing-table before thewindow, busy as a bee no doubt at some new enthusiasm which was destinedto infuriate his neighbours. Let him go on! Dick smiled benignly at theold man's back. Then he frowned. It was curious that his father had notwished him a good-morning, curious and unusual. 

"I hope, sir, that you slept well, " he said. 

"I did not, Richard, " and still the back was turned to him. "I lay awakeconsidering with some care what you told me last night about--aboutStella Ballantyne. "

Of late she had been simply Stella to Harold Hazlewood. The addition ofBallantyne was significant. It replaced friendliness with formality. 

"Yes, we agreed to champion her cause, didn't we?" said Dick cheerily. "You took one good step forward last night, I took another. "

"You took a long stride, Richard, and I think you might have consultedme first. "

Dick walked over to the table at which his father sat. 

"Do you know, that's just what Stella said, " he remarked, and he seemedto find the suggestion rather unintelligible. Mr. Hazlewood snatched atany support which was offered to him. 

"Ah!" he exclaimed, and for the first time that morning he looked his sonin the face. "There now, Richard, you see!"

"Yes, " Richard returned imperturbably. "But I was able to remove allher fears. I was able to tell her that you would welcome our marriagewith all your heart, for you would look upon it as a triumph for yourprinciples and a sure sign that my better nature was at lastthoroughly awake. "

Dick walked away from the table. The old man's face lengthened. If he wasa philosopher at all, he was a philosopher in a piteous position, for hewas having his theories tested upon himself, he was to be the experimentby which they should be proved or disproved. 

"No doubt, " he said in a lamentable voice. "Quite so, Richard. Yes, " andhe caught at vague hopes of delay. "There's no hurry of course. For onething I don't want to lose you... And then you have your career to thinkof, haven't you?" Mr. Hazlewood found himself here upon ground more solidand leaned his weight on it. "Yes, there's your career. "

Dick returned to his father, amazement upon his face. He spoke as one whocannot believe the evidence of his ears. 

"But it's in the army, father! Do you realise what you are saying? Youwant me to think of my career in the British Army?"

Consistency however had no charms for Mr. Hazlewood at this moment. 

"Exactly, " he cried. "We don't want to prejudice that--do we? No, no, Richard! Oh, I hear the finest things about you. And they push the youngmen along nowadays. You don't have to wait for grey hairs before you'remade a General, Richard, so we must keep an eye on our prospects, eh? Andfor that reason it would be advisable perhaps"--and the old man's eyesfell from Dick's face to his papers--"yes, it would certainly beadvisable to let your engagement remain for a while just a private matterbetween the three of us. "

He took up his pen as though the matter was decided and discussion at anend. But Dick did not move from his side. He was the stronger of the twoand in a little while the old man's eyes wandered up to his face again. There was a look there which Margaret Pettifer had seen a week ago. Dickspoke and the voice he used was strange and formidable to his father. 

"There must be no secrecy, father. I remember what you said: foruncharitable slander an English village is impossible to beat. Our secretwould be known within a week and by attempting to keep it we invitesuspicion. Nothing could be more damaging to Stella than secrecy. Consequently nothing could be more damaging to me. I don't deny thatthings are going to be a little difficult. But of this I am sure"--andhis voice, though it still was quiet, rang deep with confidence--"our onechance is to hold our heads high. No secrecy, father! My hope is to makea life which has been very troubled know some comfort and a littlehappiness. "

Mr. Hazlewood had no more to say. He must renounce his gods or hold histongue. And renounce his gods--no, that he could not do. He heard inimagination the whole neighbourhood laughing--he saw it a sea of laughteroverwhelming him. He shivered as he thought of it. He, Harold Hazlewood, the man emancipated from the fictions of society, caught like a sillystruggling fish in the net of his own theories! No, that must never be. He flung himself at his work. He was revising the catalogue of hisminiatures and in a minute he began to fumble and search about hisover-loaded desk. 

"Everybody is trying to thwart me this morning, " he cried angrily. 

"What's the matter, father?" asked Dick, laying down the _Times_. "Can I help?"

"I wrote a question to _Notes and Queries_ about the Marie Antoinetteminiature which I bought at Lord Mirliton's sale and there was an answerin the last number, a very complete answer. But I can't find it. I can'tfind it anywhere"; and he tossed his papers about as though he werepunishing them. 

Dick helped in the search, but beyond a stray copy or two of _The PrisonWalls must Cast no Shadow_, there was no publication to be found at all. 

"Wait a bit, father, " said Dick suddenly. "What is _Notes and Queries_like? The only notes and queries I read are contained in a pink paper. They are very amusing but they do not deal with miniatures. "

Mr. Hazlewood described the appearance of the little magazine. 

"Well, that's very extraordinary, " said Dick, "for Aunt Margaret took itaway last night. "

Mr. Hazlewood looked at his son in blank astonishment. 

"Are you sure, Richard?"

"I saw it in her hand as she stepped into her carriage. "

Mr. Hazlewood banged his fist upon the table. 

"It's extremely annoying of Margaret, " he exclaimed. "She takes nointerest in such matters. She is not, if I may use the word, a virtuoso. She did it solely to annoy me. "

"Well, I wonder, " said Dick. He looked at his watch. It was eleveno'clock. He went out into the hall, picked up a straw hat and walkedacross the meadow to the thatched cottage on the river-bank. But while hewent he was still wondering why in the world Margaret had taken away thatharmless little magazine from his father's writing-table. "Pettifer's atthe bottom of it, " he concluded. "There's a foxy fellow for you. I'llkeep my eye on Uncle Robert. " He was near to the cottage. Only a railseparated its garden from the meadow. Beyond the garden a window stoodopen and within the room he saw the flutter of a lilac dress. 

From the window of the library Mr. Hazlewood watched his son open thegarden gate. Then he unlocked a drawer of his writing-table and took outa large sealed envelope. He broke the seal and drew from the envelope asheaf of press cuttings. They were the verbatim reports of StellaBallantyne's trial, which had been printed day by day in the _Times ofIndia_. He had sent for them months ago when he had blithely taken uponhimself the defence of Stella Ballantyne. He had read them with a growingardour. So harshly had she lived; so shadowless was her innocence. Heturned to them now in a different spirit. Pettifer had been left by theEnglish summaries of the trial with a vague feeling of doubt. Mr. Hazlewood respected Robert Pettifer. The lawyer was cautious, deliberate, unemotional--qualities with which Hazlewood had instinctively littlesympathy. But on the other hand he was not bound hand and foot inprejudice. He could be liberal in his judgments. He had a mind clearenough to divide what reason had to say and the presumptions ofconvention. Suppose that Pettifer was after all right! The old man'sheart sank within him. Then indeed this marriage must be prevented--andthe truth must be made known--yes, widely known. He himself had beendeceived--like many another man before him. It was not ridiculous to havebeen deceived. He remained at all events consistent to his principles. There was his pamphlet to be sure, _The Prison Walls must Cast noShadow_ that gave him an uncomfortable twinge. But he reassured himself. 

"There I argue that, once the offence has been expiated, all theprivileges should be restored. But if Pettifer is right there has been noexpiation. "

That saving clause let him out. He did not thus phrase the position evento himself. He clothed it in other and high-sounding words. It was afterall a sort of convention to accept acquittal as the proof of innocence. But at the back of his mind from first to last there was an immense fearof the figure which he himself would cut if he refused his consent tothe marriage on any ground except that of Stella Ballantyne's guilt. ForStella herself, the woman, he had no kindness to spare that morning. Yesterday he had overflowed with it. For yesterday she had been one moreproof to the world how high he soared above it. 

"Since Pettifer's in doubt, " he said to himself, "there must be someflaw in this trial which I overlooked in the heat of my sympathy"; andto discover that flaw he read again every printed detail of it from themorning when Stella first appeared before the stipendiary magistrate tothat other morning a month later when the verdict was given. And hefound no flaw. Stella's acquittal was inevitable on the evidence. Therewas much to show what provocation she had suffered, but there was noproof that she had yielded to it. On the contrary she had endured solong, the presumption must be that she would go on enduring to the end. And there was other evidence--positive evidence given by Thresk whichcould not be gainsaid. 

Mr. Hazlewood replaced his cuttings in the drawer; and he was utterlydiscontented. He had hoped for another result. There was only one pointwhich puzzled him and that had nothing really to do with the trial, butit puzzled him so much that it slipped out at luncheon. 

"Richard, " he said, "I cannot understand why the name of Thresk is sofamiliar to me. "

Dick glanced quickly at his father. 

"You have been reading over again the accounts of the trial. "

Mr. Hazlewood looked confused. 

"And a very natural proceeding, Richard, " he declared. "But while readingover the trial I found the name Thresk familiar to me in anotherconnection, but I cannot remember what the connection is. "

Dick could not help him, nor was he at that time concerned by the failureof his father's memory. He was engaged in realising that here was anotherenemy for Stella. Knowing his father, he was not greatly surprised, buthe thought it prudent to attack without delay. 

"Stella will be coming over to tea this afternoon, " he said. 

"Will she, Richard?" the father replied, twisting uncomfortably in hischair. "Very well--of course. "

"Hubbard knows of my engagement, by the way, " Dick continued implacably. 

"Hubbard! God bless my soul!" cried the old man. "It'll be all over thevillage already. "

"I shouldn't wonder, " replied Dick cheerfully. "I told him before I sawyou this morning, whilst I was having breakfast. "

Mr. Hazlewood remained silent for a while. Then he burst out petulantly:

"Richard, there's something I must speak to you seriously about: thelateness of your hours in the morning. I have noticed it with greatregret. It is not considerate to the servants and it cannot be healthyfor you. Such indolence too must be enervating to your mind. "

Dick forbore to remind his father that he was usually out of the housebefore seven. 

"Father, " he said, at once a very model of humility, "I will endeavourto reform. "

Mr. Hazlewood concealed his embarrassment at teatime under a show ofover-work. He had a great deal to do--just a moment for a cup of tea--nomore. There was to be a meeting of the County Council the next morningwhen a most important question of small holdings was to come up fordiscussion. Mr. Hazlewood held the strongest views. He was engaged inshaping them in the smallest possible number of words. To be brief, to bevivid--there was the whole art of public speaking. Mr. Hazlewoodchattered feverishly for five minutes; he had come in chattering, he wentout chattering. 

"That's all right, Stella, you see, " said Dick cheerfully when theywere left alone. Stella nodded her head. Mr. Hazlewood had not said oneword in recognition of her engagement but she had made her little fightthat morning. She had yielded and she could not renew it. She had spentthree miserable hours framing reasonable arguments why last nightshould be forgotten. But the sight of her lover coming across themeadow had set her heart so leaping that she could only stammer out afew tags and phrases. 

"Oh, I wish you hadn't come!" she had repeated and repeated and all thewhile her blood was leaping in her body for joy that he had. She hadpromised in the end to stand firm, to stand by his side and brave--what, after all, but the clamour of a week? So he put it and so she was eagerto believe. 

Mr. Hazelwood, busy though he made himself out to be, found time thatevening to drive in his motor-car into Great Beeding, and when the Londontrain pulled up at the station he was on the platform. He lookedanxiously at the passengers who descended until he saw Robert Pettifer. He went up to him at once. 

"What in the world are you doing here?" asked the lawyer. 

"I came on purpose to catch you, Robert. I want to speak to you inprivate. My car is here. If you will get into it with me we can driveslowly towards your house. "

Pettifer's face changed, but he could not refuse. Hazlewood was agitatedand nervous; of his ordinary complacency there was no longer a trace. Pettifer got into the car and as it moved away from the station he asked:

"Now what's the matter?"

"I have been thinking over what you said last night, Robert. You had avague feeling of doubt. Well, I have the verbatim reports of the trial inBombay here in this envelope and I want you to read them carefullythrough and give me your opinion. " He held out the envelope as he spoke, but Pettifer thrust his hands into his pockets. 

"I won't touch it, " he declared. "I refuse to mix myself up in the affairat all. I said more than I meant to last night. "

"But you did say it, Robert. "

"Then I withdraw it now. "

"But you can't, Robert. You must go further. Something has happenedto-day, something very serious. "

"Oh?" said Pettifer. 

"Yes, " replied Mr. Hazlewood. "Margaret really has more insight than Icredited her with. They propose to get married. "

Pettifer sat upright in the car. 

"You mean Dick and Stella Ballantyne?"

"Yes. "

And for a little while there was silence in the car. Then Mr. Hazlewoodcontinued to bleat. 

"I never suspected anything of the kind. It places me, Robert, in a verydifficult position. "

"I can quite see that, " answered Pettifer with a grim smile. "It's reallythe only consoling element in the whole business. You can't refuse yourconsent without looking a fool and you can't give it while you are in anydoubt as to Mrs. Ballantyne's innocence. "

Mr. Hazlewood was not, however, quite prepared to accept that definitionof his position. 

"You don't exhaust the possibilities, Robert, " he said. "I can quitewell refuse my consent and publicly refuse it if there are reasonablegrounds for believing that there was in that trial a grave miscarriageof justice. "

Mr. Pettifer looked sharply at his companion. The voice no less than thewords fixed his attention. This was not the Mr. Hazlewood of yesterday. The champion had dwindled into a figure of meanness. Harold Hazlewoodwould be glad to discover those reasonable grounds; and he would be verymuch obliged if Robert Pettifer would take upon himself theresponsibility of discovering them. 

"Yes, I see, " said Pettifer slowly. He was half inclined to leave HaroldHazlewood to find his way out of his trouble by himself. It was all hismaking after all. But other and wider considerations began to press uponPettifer. He forced himself to omit altogether the subject of Hazlewood'svanities and entanglements. 

"Very well. Give the cuttings to me! I will read them through and I willlet you know my opinion. Their intention to marry may altereverything--my point of view as much as yours. "

Mr. Pettifer took the envelope in his hand and got out of the car assoon as Hazlewood had stopped it. 

"You have raised no objections to the engagement?" he asked. 

"A word to Richard this morning. Of not much effect I am afraid. "

Mr. Pettifer nodded. 

"Right. I should say nothing to anybody. You can't take a decided lineagainst it at present and to snarl would be the worst policy imaginable. To-day's Thursday. We'll meet on Saturday. Good-night, " and RobertPettifer walked away to his own house. 

He walked slowly, wondering at the eternal mystery by which thisparticular man and that individual woman select each other out of thethrong. He owed the greater part of his fortune to the mystery like manyanother lawyer. But to-night he would willingly have yielded a goodportion of it up if that process of selection could be ordered in a morereasonable way. Love? The attraction of Sex? Yes, no doubt. But why thesetwo specimens of Sex? Why Dick and Stella Ballantyne?

When he reached his house his wife hurried forward to meet him. Alreadyshe had the news. There was an excitement in her face not to bemisunderstood. The futile time-honoured phrase of triumph so ready on thelips of those who have prophesied evil was trembling upon hers. 

"Don't say it, Margaret, " said Pettifer very seriously. "We have come toa pass where light words will lead us astray. Hazlewood has been with me. I have the reports of the trial here. "

Margaret Pettifer put a check upon her tongue and they dined togetheralmost in complete silence. Pettifer was methodically getting his ownpoint of view quite clearly established in his mind, so that whatever hedid or advised he might be certain not to swerve from it afterwards. Heweighed his inclinations and his hopes, and when the servants had leftthe dining-room and he had lit his cigar he put his case before his wife. 

"Listen, Margaret! You know your brother. He is always in extremes. Heswings from one to the other. He is terrified now lest this marriageshould take place. "

"No wonder, " interposed Mrs. Pettifer. 

Pettifer made no comment upon the remark. 

"Therefore, " he continued, "he is anxious that I should discover in thesereports some solid reason for believing that the verdict which acquittedStella Ballantyne was a grave miscarriage of justice. For any such reasonmust have weight. "

"Of course, " said Mrs. Pettifer. 

"And will justify him--this is his chief consideration--in withholdingpublicly his consent. "

"I see. "

Only a week ago Dick himself had observed that sentimentalphilosophers had a knack of breaking their heads against their owntheories. The words had been justified sooner than she had expected. Mrs. Pettifer was not surprised at Harold Hazlewood's swift change anymore than her husband had been. Harold, to her thinking, was asentimentalist and sentimentality was like a fir-tree--a thing of nodeep roots and easily torn up. 

"But I do not take that view, Margaret, " continued her husband, and shelooked at him with consternation. Was he now to turn champion, he whoonly yesterday had doubted? "And I want you to consider whether you canagree with me. There is to begin with the woman herself, StellaBallantyne. I saw her for the first time yesterday, and to be quitehonest I liked her, Margaret. Yes. It seemed to me that there was nothingwhatever of the adventuress about her. And I was impressed--I will gofurther, I was moved--dry-as-dust old lawyer as I am, by something--Howshall I express it without being ridiculous?" He paused and searched inhis vocabulary and gave up the search. "No, the epithet which occurred tome yesterday at the dinner-table and immediately, still seems to me theonly true one--I was moved by something in this woman of tragicexperiences which was strangely virginal. "

One quick movement was made by Margaret Pettifer. The truth of herhusband's description was a revelation, so exact it was. Therein layStella Ballantyne's charm, and her power to create champions and friends. Her history was known to you, the miseries of her marriage, the suspicionof crime. You expected a woman of adventures and lo! there stood beforeyou one with "something virginal" in her appearance and her manner, whichmade its soft and irresistible appeal. 

"I recognise that feeling of mine, " Pettifer resumed, "and I try to putit aside. And putting it aside I ask myself and you, Margaret, this:Here's a woman who has been through a pretty bad time, who has beenunhappy, who has stood in the dock, who has been acquitted. Is it quitefair that when at last she has floated into a haven of peace two privatepeople like Hazlewood and myself should take it upon ourselves to reviewthe verdict and perhaps reverse it?"

"But there's Dick, Robert, " cried Mrs. Pettifer. "There's Dick. Surelyhe's our first thought. "

"Yes, there's Dick, " Mr. Pettifer repeated. "And Dick's my second point. You are all worrying about Dick from the social point of view--theexternal point of view. Well, we have got to take that into ourconsideration. But we are bound to look at him, the man, as well. Don'tforget that, Margaret! Well, I find the two points of view identical. Butour neighbours won't. Will you?"

Mrs. Pettifer was baffled. 

"I don't understand, " she said. 

"I'll explain. From the social standpoint what's really important asregards Dick? That he should go out to dinner? No. That he should havechildren? Yes!"

And here Mrs. Pettifer interposed again. 

"But they must be the right children, " she exclaimed. "Better that heshould have none than that he should have children--"

"With an hereditary taint, " Pettifer agreed. "Admitted, Margaret. If wecome to the conclusion that Stella Ballantyne did what she was accused ofdoing we, in spite of all the verdicts in the world, are bound to resistthis marriage. I grant it. Because of that conviction I dismiss the pleathat we are unfair to the woman in reviewing the trial. There are wider, greater considerations. "

These were the first words of comfort which Mrs. Pettifer had heard sinceher husband began to expound. She received them with enthusiasm. 

"I am so glad to hear that. "

"Yes, Margaret, " Pettifer retorted drily. "But please ask yourselfthis question: (it is where, to my thinking, the social and thepersonal elements join) if this marriage is broken off, is Dick likelyto marry at all?"

"Why not?" asked Margaret. 

"He is thirty-four. He has had, no doubt, many opportunities ofmarriage. He must have had. He is good-looking, well off and a goodfellow. This is the first time he has wanted to marry. If he isdisappointed here will he try again?"

Mrs. Pettifer laughed, moved by the remarkable depreciation of her ownsex which women of her type so often have. It was for man to throw thehandkerchief. Not a doubt but there would be a rush to pick it up!

"Widowers who have been devoted to their wives marry again, " she argued. 

"A point for me, Margaret!" returned Pettifer. "Widowers--yes. They missso much--the habit of a house with a woman its mistress, thecompanionship, the order, oh, a thousand small but important things. Buta man who has remained a bachelor until he's thirty-four--that's adifferent case. If he sets his heart at that age, seriously, for thefirst time on a woman and does not get her, that's the kind of man who, my experience suggests to me--I put it plainly, Margaret--will take oneor more mistresses to himself but no wife. "

Mrs. Pettifer deferred to the worldly knowledge of her husband but sheclung to her one clear argument. 

"Nothing could be worse, " she said frankly, "than that he should marry aguilty woman. "

"Granted, Margaret, " replied Mr. Pettifer imperturbably. "Only supposethat she's not guilty. There are you and I, rich people, and no one toleave our money to--no one to carry on your name--no one we care a rapabout to benefit by my work and your brother's fortune--no one of thefamily to hand over Little Beeding to. "

Both of them were silent after he had spoken. He had touched upon theirone great sorrow. Margaret herself had her roots deep in the soil ofLittle Beeding. It was hateful to her that the treasured house shouldever pass to strangers, as it would do if this the last branch of thefamily failed. 

"But Stella Ballantyne was married for seven years, " she said at last, "and there were no children. "

"No, that's true, " replied Pettifer. "But it does not follow that with asecond marriage there will be none. It's a chance, I know, but--" andhe got up from his chair. "I do honestly believe that it's the onlychance you and I will have, Margaret, of dying with the knowledge thatour lives have not been altogether vain. We've lighted our little torch. Yes, and it burns merrily enough, but what's the use unless at theappointed mile-stone there's another of us to take it and carry it on?"

He stood looking down at his wife with a wistful and serious lookupon his face. 

"Dick's past the age of calf-love. We can't expect him to tumble from onepassion to another; and he's not easily moved. Therefore I hope verysincerely that these reports which I am now going to read will enable meto go boldly to Harold Hazlewood and say: 'Stella Ballantyne is asguiltless of this crime as you or I. '"

Mr. Pettifer took up the big envelope which he had placed on the tablebeside him and carried it away to his study. 

CHAPTER XIX

PETTIFER'S PLAN

On the Saturday morning Mr. Hazlewood drove over early to Great Beeding. His impatience had so grown during the last few days that his very sleepwas broken at night and in the daytime he could not keep still. The newsof Dick's engagement to Stella Ballantyne was now known throughout thecountryside and the blame for it was laid upon Harold Hazlewood'sshoulders. For blame was the general note, blame and chagrin. A few boldand kindly spirits went at once to see Stella; a good many more seriouslyand at great length debated over their tea-tables whether they shouldcall after the marriage. But on the whole the verdict was an indignantNo. Disgrace was being brought upon the neighbourhood. Little Beedingwould be impossible. Dick Hazlewood only laughed at the constraint of hisacquaintances, and when three of them crossed the road hurriedly in GreatBeeding to avoid Stella and himself he said good-humouredly:

"They are like an ill-trained company of bad soldiers. Let one of thembreak from the ranks and they'll all stream away so as not to be leftbehind. You'll see, Stella. One of them will come and the rest willtumble over one another to get into your drawing-room. "

How much he believed of what he said Stella did not inquire. She had agift of silence. She just walked a little nearer to him and smiled, lestany should think she had noticed the slight. The one man, in a word, whoshowed signs of wear and tear was Mr. Hazlewood himself. So keen was hisdistress that he had no fear of his sister's sarcasms. 

"I--think of it!" he exclaimed in a piteous bewilderment, "actually Ihave become sensitive to public opinion, " and Mrs. Pettifer forbore fromthe comments which she very much longed to make. She was in the studywhen Harold Hazlewood was shown in, and Pettifer had bidden her to stay. 

"Margaret knows that I have been reading these reports, " he said. "Sitdown, Hazlewood, and I'll tell you what I think. "

Mr. Hazlewood took a seat facing the garden with its old red brick wall, on which a purple clematis was growing. 

"You have formed an opinion then, Robert?"

"One. "

"What is it?" he asked eagerly. 

Robert Pettifer clapped the palm of his hand down upon the cuttings fromthe newspapers which lay before him on his desk. 

"This--no other verdict could possibly have been given by the jury. Onthe evidence produced at the trial in Bombay Mrs. Ballantyne was properlyand inevitably acquitted. "

"Robert!" exclaimed his wife. She too had been hoping for the contraryopinion. As for Hazlewood himself the sunlight seemed to die off thatgarden. He drew his hand across his forehead. He half rose to go whenagain Robert Pettifer spoke. 

"And yet, " he said slowly, "I am not satisfied. "

Harold Hazlewood sat down again. Mrs. Pettifer drew a breath of relief. 

"The chief witness for the defence, the witness whose evidence made theacquittal certain, was a man I know--a barrister called Thresk. "

"Yes, " interrupted Hazlewood. "I have been puzzled about that man eversince you mentioned him before. His name I am somehow familiar with. "

"I'll explain that to you in a minute, " said Pettifer, and his wifeleaned forward suddenly in her chair. She did not interrupt but she satwith a look of keen expectancy upon her face. She did not know whitherPettifer was leading them but she was now sure that it was to somecarefully pondered goal. 

"I have more than once briefed Thresk myself. He's a man of the highestreputation at the Bar, straightforward, honest; he enjoys a greatpractice, he is in Parliament with a great future in Parliament. In aword he is a man with everything to lose if he lied as a witness in atrial. And yet--I am not satisfied. "

Mr. Pettifer's voice sank to a low murmur. He sat at his desk staring outin front of him through the window. 

"Why?" asked Hazlewood. But Pettifer did not answer him. He seemed not tohear the question. He went on in the low quiet voice he had used before, rather like one talking to himself than to a companion. 

"I should very much like to put a question or two to Mr. Thresk. "

"Then why don't you?" exclaimed Mrs. Pettifer. "You know him. "

"Yes. " Mr. Hazlewood eagerly seconded his sister. "Since you know him youare the very man. "

Pettifer shook his head. 

"It would be an impertinence. For although I look upon Dick as a son I amnot his father. You are, Hazlewood, you are. He wouldn't answer me. "

"Would he answer me?" asked Hazlewood. "I don't know him at all. I can'tgo to him and ask if he told the truth. "

"No, no, you can't do that, " Pettifer answered, "nor do I mean you to. Iwant to put my questions myself in my own way and I thought that youmight get him down to Little Beeding. "

"But I have no excuse, " cried Hazlewood, and Mrs. Pettifer at lastunderstood the plan which was in her husband's mind, which hadbeen growing to completion since the night when he had dined atLittle Beeding. 

"Yes, you have an excuse, " she cried, and Pettifer explained what it was. 

"You collect miniatures. Some time ago you bought one of Marie Antoinetteat Lord Mirliton's sale. You asked a question as to its authenticity in_Notes and Queries_. It was answered--"

Mr. Hazlewood broke in excitedly:

"By a man called Thresk. That is why the name was familiar to me. But Icould not remember. " He turned upon his sister. "It is your fault, Margaret. You took my copy of _Notes and Queries_ away with you. Dicknoticed it and told me. "

"Dick!" Pettifer exclaimed in alarm. But the alarm passed. "He cannothave guessed why. "

Mrs. Pettifer was clear upon the point. 

"No. I took the magazine because of a remark which Robert made to you. Dick did not hear it. No, he cannot have guessed why. "

"For it's important he should have no suspicion whatever of what Ipropose that you should do, Hazlewood, " Pettifer said gravely. "I proposethat we should take a lesson from the legal processes of another country. It may work, it may not, but to my mind it is our only chance. "

"Let me hear!" said Hazlewood. 

"Thresk is an authority on old silver and miniatures. He has a valuablecollection himself. His advice is sought by people in the trade. You knowwhat collectors are. Get him down to see your collection. It wouldn't bethe first time that you have invited a stranger to pass a night in yourhouse for that purpose, would it?"

"No. "

"And the invitation has often been accepted?"

"Well--sometimes. "

"We must hope that it will be this time. Get Thresk down to LittleBeeding upon that excuse. Then confront him unexpectedly with Mrs. Ballantyne. And let me be there. "

Such was the plan which Pettifer suggested. A period of silence followedupon his words. Even Mr. Hazlewood, in the extremity of his distress, recoiled from it. 

"It would look like a trap. "

Mr. Pettifer thumped his table impatiently. 

"Let's be frank, for Heaven's sake. It wouldn't merely look like a trap, it would be one. It wouldn't be at all a pretty thing to do, but there'sthis marriage!"

"No, I couldn't do it, " said Hazlewood. 

"Very well. There's no more to be said. "

Pettifer himself had no liking for the plan. It had been his intentionoriginally to let Hazlewood know that if he wished to get intocommunication with Thresk there was a means by which he could do it. Butthe fact of Dick's engagement had carried him still further, and nowthat he had read the evidence of the trial carefully there was a realanxiety in his mind. Pettifer sealed up the cuttings in a fresh envelopeand gave them to Hazlewood and went out with him to the door. 

"Of course, " said the old man, "if your legal experience, Robert, leadsyou to think that we should be justified--"

"But it doesn't, " Pettifer was quick to interpose. He recognised hisbrother-in-law's intention to throw the discredit of the trick upon hisshoulders but he would have none of it. "No, Hazlewood, " he saidcheerfully: "it's not a plan which a high-class lawyer would be likely tocommend to a client. "

"Then I am afraid that I couldn't do it. "

"All right, " said Pettifer with his hand upon the latch of the frontdoor. "Thresk's chambers are in King's Bench Walk. " He added the number. 

"I simply couldn't think of it, " Hazlewood repeated as he crossed thepavement to his car. 

"Perhaps not, " said Pettifer. "You have the envelope? Yes. Choose anevening towards the end of the week, a Friday will be your best chance ofgetting him. "

"I will do nothing of the kind, Pettifer. "

"And let me know when he is coming. Goodbye. "

The car carried Mr. Hazlewood away still protesting that he reallycouldn't think of it for an instant. But he thought a good deal of itduring the next week and his temper did not improve. "Pettifer has rubbedoff the finer edges of his nature, " he said to himself. "It is a pity--agreat pity. But thirty years of life in a lawyer's office must no doubthave that effect. I regret very much that Pettifer should have imaginedthat I would condescend to such a scheme. "

CHAPTER XX

ON THE DOWNS

They went up by the steep chalk road which skirts the park wall to thetop of the conical hill above the race-course. An escarpment of grassbanks guards a hollow like a shallow crater on the very summit. They roderound it upon the rim, now facing the black slope of Charlton Forestacross the valley to the north, now looking out over the plain andChichester. Thirty miles away above the sea the chalk cliffs of the Isleof Wight gleamed under their thatch of dark turf. It was not yet nine inthe morning. Later the day would climb dustily to noon; now it had thewonder and the stillness of great beginnings. A faint haze like a veil atthe edges of the sky and a freshness of the air made the world magical tothese two who rode high above weald and sea. Stella looked downwards tothe silver flash of the broad water west of Chichester spire. 

"That way they came, perhaps on a day like this, " she said slowly, "thoseold centurions. "

"Your thoughts go back, " said Dick Hazlewood with a laugh. 

"Not so far as you think, " cried Stella, and suddenly her cheekstook fire and a smile dimpled them. "Oh, I dare to think of manythings to-day. "

She rode down the steep grass slope towards the race-course with Dick ather side. It was the first morning they had ridden together since thenight of the dinner-party at Little Beeding. Mr. Hazlewood was at thismoment ordering his car so that he might drive in to the town and learnwhat Pettifer had discovered in the cuttings from the newspapers. Butthey were quite unaware of the plot which was being hatched against them. They went forward under the high beech-trees watching for the great rootswhich stretched across their path, and talking little. An open waybetween wooden posts led them now on to turf and gave them the freedom ofthe downs. They saw no one. With the larks and the field-fares they hadthe world to themselves; and in the shade beneath the hedges the dewstill sparkled on the grass. They left the long arm of Halnaker Down upontheir right, its old mill standing up on the edge like some lighthouse ona bluff of the sea, and crossing the high road from Up-Waltham rode alonga narrow glade amongst beeches and nut-trees and small oaks and bushes ofwild roses. Open spaces came again; below them were the woods and thegreen country of Slindon and the deep grass of Dale Park. And so theydrew near to Gumber Corner where Stane Street climbs over Bignor Hill. Here Dick Hazlewood halted. 

"I suppose we turn. "

"Not to-day, " said Stella, and Dick turned to her with surprise. Alwaysbefore they had stopped at this point and always by Stella's wish. Eithershe was tired or was needed at home or had letters to write--alwaysthere had been some excuse and no reason. Dick Hazlewood had come tobelieve that she would not pass this point, that the down land beyond wasa sort of Tom Tiddler's ground on which she would not trespass. He hadwondered why, but his instinct had warned him from questions. He hadalways turned at this spot immediately, as if he believed the excusewhich she had ready. 

Stella noticed the surprise upon his face; and the blushes rose again inher cheeks. 

"You knew that I would not go beyond, " she said. 

"Yes. "

"But you did not know why?" There was a note of urgency in her voice. 

"I guessed, " he said. "I mean I played with guesses--oh not seriously, "and he laughed. "There runs Stane Street from Chichester to London andthrough London to the great North Wall. Up that road the Romans marchedand back by that road they returned to their galleys in the water thereby Chichester. I pictured you living in those days, a Boadicea of theWeald who had set her heart, against her will, on some dashing captainof old Rome camped here on the top of Bignor Hill. You crept from yourown people at night to meet him in the lane at the bottom. Then cameweek after week when the street rang with the tramp of soldiersreturning from London and Lichfield and the North to embark in theirboats for Gaul and Rome. "

"They took my captain with them?" cried Stella, laughing with him atthe conceit. 

"Yes, so my fable ran. He pined for the circus and the theatre and thepainted ladies, so he went willingly. "

"The brute, " cried Stella. "And so I broke my heart over a decadentphilanderer in a suit of bright brass clothes and remember it thirteenhundred years afterwards in another life! Thank you, Captain Hazlewood!"

"No, you don't actually remember it, Stella, but you have a feeling thatround about Stane Street you once suffered great humiliation andunhappiness. " And suddenly Stella rode swiftly past him, but in a momentshe waited for him and showed him a face of smiles. 

"You see I have crossed Stane Street to-day, Dick, " she said. "We'll rideon to Arundel. "

"Yes, " answered Dick, "my story won't do, " and he remembered a sentenceof hers spoken an hour and a half ago: "My thoughts do not go back as faras you think. "

At all events she was emancipated to-day, for they rode on until at theend of a long gentle slope the great arch of the gate into Arundel Parkgleamed white in a line of tall dark trees. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE LETTER IS WRITTEN

But Stella's confidence did not live long. Mr. Hazlewood was a child atdeceptions; and day by day his anxieties increased. His friends arguedwith him--his folly and weakness were the themes--and he must needs repelthe argument though his thoughts echoed every word they used. Never was aman brought to such a piteous depth of misery by the practice of his owntheories. He sat by the hour at his desk, burying his face amongst hispapers if Dick came into the room, with a great show of occupation. Hecould hardly bear to contemplate the marriage of his son, yet day andnight he must think of it and search for expedients which might put anend to the trouble and let him walk free again with his head raised high. But there were only the two expedients. He must speak out his fears thatjustice had miscarried, and that device his vanity forbade; or he mustadopt Pettifer's suggestion, and from that he shrank almost as much. Hebegan to resent the presence of Stella Ballantyne and he showed it. Sometimes a friendliness, so excessive that it was almost hysterical, betrayed him; more usually a discomfort and constraint. He avoided herif by any means he could; if he could not quite avoid her an excuse ofbusiness was always on his lips. 

"Your father hates me, Dick, " she said. "He was my friend until I touchedhis own life. Then I was in the black books in a second. "

Dick would not hear of it. 

"You were never in the black books at all, Stella, " he said, comfortingher as well as he could. "We knew that there would be a little struggle, didn't we? But the worst of that's over. You make friends daily. "

"Not with your father, Dick. I go back with him. Ever since thatnight--it's three weeks ago now--when you took me home from LittleBeeding. "

"No, " cried Dick, but Stella nodded her head gloomily. 

"Mr. Pettifer dined here that night. He's an enemy of mine. "

"Stella, " young Hazlewood remonstrated, "you see enemies everywhere, " andupon that Stella broke out with a quivering troubled face. 

"Is it wonderful? Oh, Dick, I couldn't lose you! A month ago--before thatnight--yes. Nothing had been said. But now! I couldn't, I couldn't! Ihave often thought it would be better for me to go right away and neversee you again. And--and I have tried to tell you something, Dick, ever somany times. "

"Yes?" said Dick. He slipped his arm through hers and held her close tohim, as though to give her courage and security. "Yes, Stella?" and hestood very still. 

"I mean, " she said, looking down upon the ground, "that I have tried totell you that I wouldn't suffer so very much if we did part, but I nevercould do it. My lips shook so, I never could speak the words. " Then hervoice ran up into a laugh. "To think of your living in a house withsomebody else! Oh no!"

"You need have no fear of that, Stella. "

They were in the garden of Little Beeding and they walked across themeadow towards her cottage, talking very earnestly. Mr. Hazlewood waswatching them secretly from the window of the library. He saw that Dickwas pleading and she hanging in doubt; and a great wave of anger surgedover him that Dick should have to plead to her at all, he who was givingeverything--even his own future. 

"King's Bench Walk, " he muttered to himself, taking from the drawer ofhis writing-table a slip of paper on which he had written the addresslest he should forget it. "Yes, that's the address, " and he looked at itfor a long time very doubtfully. Suppose that his suspicions werecorrect! His heart sank at the supposition. Surely he would be justifiedin setting any trap. But he shut the drawer violently and turned awayfrom his writing-table. Even his pamphlets had become trivial in hiseyes. He was brought face to face with real passions and real facts, hehad been fetched out from his cloister and was blinking miserably in afull measure of daylight. How long could he endure it, he wondered?

The question was settled for him that very evening. He and his son weretaking their coffee on a paved terrace by the lawn after dinner. It was adark quiet night, with a clear sky of golden stars. Across the meadow thelights shone in the windows of Stella's cottage. 

"Father, " said Dick, after they had sat in a constrained silence for alittle while, "why don't you like Stella any longer?"

The old man blustered in reply:

"A lawyer's question, Richard. I object to it very strongly. You assumethat I have ceased to like her. "

"It's extremely evident, " said Dick drily. "Stella has noticed it. "

"And complained to you of course, " cried Mr. Hazlewood resentfully. 

"Stella doesn't complain, " and then Dick leaned over and spoke in thefull quiet voice which his father had grown to dread. There rang in it somuch of true feeling and resolution. 

"There can be no backing down now. We are both agreed upon that, aren'twe? Imagine for an instant that I were first to blazon my trust in awoman whom others suspected by becoming engaged to her and thenendorsed their suspicions by breaking off the engagement! Suppose thatI were to do that!"

Mr. Hazlewood allowed his longings to lead him astray. For amoment he hoped. 

"Well?" he asked eagerly. 

"You wouldn't think very much of me, would you? Not you nor any man. Acur--that would be the word, the only word, wouldn't it?"

But Mr. Hazlewood refused to answer that question. He looked behind himto make sure that none of the servants were within hearing. Then helowered his voice to a whisper. 

"What if Stella has deceived you, Dick?"

It was too dark for him to see the smile upon his son's face, but heheard the reply, and the confidence of it stung him to exasperation. 

"She hasn't done that, " said Dick. "If you are sure of nothing else, sir, you may be quite certain of what I am telling you now. She hasn'tdone that. "

He remained silent for a few moments waiting for any rejoinder, andgetting none he continued:

"There's something else I wanted to speak to you about. "

"Yes?"

"The date of our marriage. "

The old man moved sharply in his chair. 

"There's no hurry, Richard. You must find out how it will affect yourcareer. You have been so long at Little Beeding where we hear verylittle from the outer world. You must consult your Colonel. "

Dick Hazlewood would not listen to the argument. 

"My marriage is my affair, sir, not my Colonel's. I cannot take advice, for we both of us know what it would be. And we both of us value it atits proper price, don't we?"

Mr. Hazlewood could not reply. How often had he inveighed againstthe opinions of the sleek worldly people who would add up advantagesin a column and leave out of their consideration the merits of thehigher life. 

"It would not be fair to Stella were we to ask her to wait, " Dickresumed. "Any delay--think what will be made of it! A month or six weeksfrom now, that gives us time enough. "

The old man rose abruptly from his chair with a vague word that he wouldthink of it and went into the house. He saw again the lovers as he hadseen them this afternoon walking side by side slowly towards StellaBallantyne's cottage; and the picture even in the retrospect wasintolerable. The marriage must not take place--yet it was so near. Amonth or six weeks! Mr. Hazlewood took up his pen and wrote the letter toHenry Thresk at last, as Robert Pettifer had always been sure that hewould do. It was the simplest kind of letter and took but a minute in thewriting. It mentioned only his miniatures and invited Henry Thresk toLittle Beeding to see them, as more than one stranger had been askedbefore. The answers which Thresk had given to the questions in _Notes andQueries_ were pleaded as an introduction and Thresk was invited to choosehis own day and remain at Little Beeding for the night. The reply came byreturn of post. Thresk would come to Little Beeding on the Fridayafternoon of the next week. He was in town, for Parliament was sittinglate that year. He would reach Little Beeding soon after five so that hemight have an opportunity of seeing the miniatures by daylight. Mr. Hazlewood hurried over with the news to Robert Pettifer. His spirits hadrisen at a bound. Already he saw the neighbourhood freed from thedisturbing presence of Stella Ballantyne and himself cheerfully resuminghis multifarious occupations. 

Robert Pettifer, however, spoke in quite another strain. 

"I am not so sure as you, Hazlewood. The points which trouble me are verypossibly capable of quite simple explanations. I hope for my part thatthey will be so explained. "

"You hope it?" cried Mr. Hazlewood. 

"Yes. I want Dick to marry, " said Robert Pettifer. 

Mr. Hazlewood was not, however, to be discouraged. He drove back to hishouse counting the days which must pass before Thresk's arrival andwondering how he should manage to conceal his elation from the keeneyes of his son. But he found that there was no need for him totrouble himself on that point, for this very morning at luncheon Dicksaid to him:

"I think that I'll run up to town this afternoon, father. I might bethere for a day or two. "

Mr. Hazlewood was delighted. No other proposal could have fitted in sowell with his scheme. The mere fact that Dick was away would start peopleat the pleasant business of conjecturing mishaps and quarrels. Perhapsindeed the lovers _had_ quarrelled. Perhaps Richard had taken his adviceand was off to consult his superiors. Mr. Hazlewood scanned his son'sface eagerly but learnt nothing from it; and he was too wary to ask anyquestions. 

"By all means, Richard, " he said carelessly, "go to London! You will beback by next Friday, I suppose. "

"Oh yes, before that. I shall stay at my own rooms, so if you want me youcan send me a telegram. "

Dick Hazlewood had a small flat of his own in some Mansions atWestminster which had seen very little of him that summer. 

"Thank you, Richard, " said the old man. "But I shall get on very well, and a few days change will no doubt do you good. "

Dick grinned at his father and went off that afternoon without a word offarewell to Stella Ballantyne. Mr. Hazlewood stood in the hall and sawhim go with a great relief at his heart. Everything at last seemed to beworking out to advantage. He could not but remember how so very fewweeks ago he had been urgent that Richard should spend his summer atLittle Beeding and lend a hand in the noble work of defending StellaBallantyne against ignorance and unreason. But the twinge only lasted amoment. He had made a mistake, as all men occasionally do--yes, evensagacious and thoughtful people like himself. And the mistake was alreadybeing repaired. He looked across the meadow that night at the lightedblinds of Stella's windows and anticipated an evening when those windowswould be dark and the cottage without an inhabitant. 

"Very soon, " he murmured to himself, "very soon. " He had not one singlethrob of pity for her now, not a single speculation whither she would goor what she would make of her life. His own defence of her had now becomea fault of hers. He wished her no harm, he argued, but in a week's timethere must be no light shining behind those blinds. 

CHAPTER XXII

A WAY OUT OF THE TRAP

Mr. Hazlewood was very glad that Richard was away in London during thisweek. Excitement kept him feverish and the fever grew as the number ofdays before Thresk was to come diminished. He would never have been ableto keep his secret had every meal placed him under his son's eyes. He wasfree too from Stella herself. He met her but once on the Monday and thenit was in the deep lane leading towards the town. It was about fiveo'clock in the evening and she was driving homewards in an open fly. Mr. Hazlewood stopped it and went to the side. 

"Richard is away, Stella, until Wednesday, as no doubt you knew, " hesaid. "But I want you to come over to tea when he comes back. Will Fridaysuit you?"

She had looked a little frightened when Mr. Hazlewood had called to thedriver and stopped the carriage; but at his words the blood rushed intoher cheeks and her eyes shone and she pushed out her hand impulsively. 

"Oh, thank you, " she cried. "Of course I will come. "

Not for a long time had he spoken to her with so kind a voice and a faceso unclouded. She rejoiced at the change in him and showed him suchgratitude as is given only to those who render great service, so intensewas her longing not to estrange Dick from his father. 

But she had become a shrewd observer under the stress of her evildestiny; and the moment of rejoicing once past she began to wonder whathad brought about the change. She judged Mr. Hazlewood to be one of thoseweak and effervescing characters who can grow more obstinate inresentment than any others if their pride and self-esteem receive aninjury. She had followed of late the windings of his thoughts. She putthe result frankly to herself. 

"He hates me. He holds me in horror. "

Why then the sudden change? She was in the mood to start at shadows andwhen a little note was brought over to her on the Friday morning in Mr. Hazlewood's handwriting reminding her of her engagement she was filledwith a vague apprehension. The note was kindly in its terms yet to her ithad a menacing and sinister look. Had some stroke been planned againsther? Was it to be delivered this afternoon?

Dick came at half-past four from a village cricket match to fetch her. 

"You are ready, Stella? Right! For we can't spare very much time. I havea surprise for you. "

Stella asked him what it was and he answered:

"There's a house for sale in Great Beeding. I think that youwould like it. "

Stella's face softened with a smile. 

"Anywhere, Dick, " she said, "anywhere on earth. "

"But here best of all, " he answered. "Not to run away--that's our policy. We'll make our home in our own south country. I arranged to take you overthe house between half-past five and six this evening. "

They walked across to Little Beeding and were made welcome by Mr. Hazlewood. He came out to meet them in the garden and nervousness madehim kittenish and arch. 

"How are you, Stella?" he inquired. "But there's no need to ask. You lookcharming and upon my word you grow younger every day. What a pretty hat!Yes, yes! Will you make tea while I telephone to the Pettifers? They seemto be late. "

He skipped off with an alacrity which was rather ridiculous. But Stellawatched him go without any amusement. 

"I am taken again into favour, " she said doubtfully. 

"That shouldn't distress you, Stella, " replied Dick. 

"Yet it does, for I ask myself why. And I don't understand thistea-party. Mr. Hazlewood was so urgent that I should not forget it. Perhaps, however, I am inventing trouble. "

She shook herself free from her apprehensions and followed Dick into thedrawing-room, where the kettle was boiling and the tea-service spreadout. Stella went to the table and opened the little mahogany caddy. 

"How many are coming, Dick?" she asked. 

"The Pettifers. "

"My enemies, " said Stella, laughing lightly. 

"And you and my father and myself. "

"Five altogether, " said Stella. She began to measure out the tea into thetea-pot but stopped suddenly in the middle of her work. 

"But there are six cups, " she said. She counted them again to make sure, and at once her fears were reawakened. She turned to Dick, her face quitepale and her big eyes dark with forebodings. So little now was needed todisquiet her. "Who is the sixth?"

Dick came closer to her and put his arm about her waist. 

"I don't know, " he said gently; "but what can it matter to us, Stella?Think, my dear!"

"No, of course, " she replied, "it can't make any difference, " and shedipped her teaspoon once more into the caddy. "But it's a littlecurious, isn't it?--that your father didn't mention to you that therewas another guest?"

"Oh, wait a moment, " said Dick. "He did tell me there would be somevisitor here to-day but I forgot all about it. He told me at luncheon. There's a man from London coming down to have a look at his miniatures. "

"His miniatures?" Stella was pouring the hot water into the tea-pot. Shereplaced the kettle on its stand and shut the tea-caddy. "And Mr. Hazlewood didn't tell you the man's name, " she said. 

"I didn't ask him, " answered Dick. "He often has collectors down. "

"I see. " Her head was bent over the tea-table; she was busy with her brewof tea. "And I was specially asked to come this afternoon. I had a notethis morning to remind me. " She looked at the clock. "Dick, if we are tosee that house this afternoon you had better change now before thevisitors come. "

"That's true. I will. "

Dick started towards the door, and he heard Stella come swiftly afterhim. He turned. There was so much trouble in her face. He caught herin his arms. 

"Dick, " she whispered, "look at me. Kiss me! Yes, I am sure of you, " andshe clung to him. Dick Hazlewood laughed. 

"I think we ought to be fairly happy in that house, " and she let himgo with a smile, repeating her own words, "Anywhere, Dick, anywhereon earth. "

She waited, watching him tenderly until the door was closed. Then shecovered her face with her hands and a sob burst from her lips. But thenext moment she tore her hands away and looked wildly about the room. Sheran to the writing-table and scribbled a note; she thrust it into anenvelope and gummed the flap securely down. Then she rang the bell andwaited impatiently with a leaping heart until Hubbard came to the door. 

"Did you ring, madam?" he asked. 

"Yes. Has Mr. Thresk arrived yet?"

She tried to control her face, to speak in a careless and indifferentvoice, but she was giddy and the room whirled before her eyes. 

"Yes, madam, " the butler answered; and it seemed to Stella Ballantynethat once more she stood in the dock and heard the verdict spoken. Onlythis time it had gone against her. That queer old shuffling butler becamea figure of doom, his thin and piping voice uttered her condemnation. Forhere without her knowledge was Henry Thresk and she was bidden to meethim with the Pettifers for witnesses. But it was Henry Thresk who hadsaved her before. She clung to that fact now. 

"Mr. Thresk arrived a few minutes ago. "

Just before old Hazlewood had come forward out of the house to welcomeher! No wonder he was in such high spirits! Very likely all that greatshow of kindliness and welcome was made only to keep her in the gardenfor a few necessary moments. 

"Where is Mr. Thresk now?" she asked. 

"In his room, madam. "

"You are quite sure?"

"Quite. "

"Will you take this note to him, Hubbard?" and she held it out tothe butler. 

"Certainly, madam. "

"Will you take it at once? Give it into his hands, please. "

Hubbard took the note and went out of the room. Never had he seemed toher so dilatory and slow. She stared at the door as though her sightcould pierce the panels. She imagined him climbing the stairs with feetwhich loitered more at each fresh step. Some one would surely stop himand ask for whom the letter was intended. She went to the door which ledinto the hall, opened it and listened. No one was descending thestaircase and she heard no voices. Then above her Hubbard knocked upon adoor, a latch clicked as the door was opened, a hollow jarring soundfollowed as the door was sharply closed. Stella went back into the room. The letter had been delivered; at this moment Henry Thresk was readingit; and with a sinking heart she began to speculate in what spirit hewould receive its message. Henry Thresk! The unhappy woman bestirredherself to remember him. He had grown dim to her of late. How much didshe know of him? she asked herself. Once years ago there had been a monthduring which she had met him daily. She had given her heart to him, yetshe had learned little or nothing of the man within the man's frame. Shehad not even made his acquaintance. That had been proved to her onememorable morning upon the top of Bignor Hill, when humiliation had sodeeply seared her soul that only during this last month had it beenhealed. In the great extremities of her life Henry Thresk had decided, not she, and he was a stranger to her. She beat her poor wings in vainagainst that ironic fact. Never had he done what she had expected. OnBignor Hill, in the Law Court at Bombay, he had equally surprised her. Now once more he held her destinies in his hand. What would he decide?What had he decided?

"Yes, he will have decided now, " said Stella to herself; and a certaincalm fell upon her troubled soul. Whatever was to be was now determined. She went back to the tea-table and waited. 

Henry Thresk had not much of the romantic in his character. He was a busyman making the best and the most of the rewards which the years broughtto him, and slamming the door each day upon the day which had gonebefore. He made his life in the intellectual exercise of his professionand his membership of the House of Commons. Upon the deeps of theemotions he had closed a lid. Yet he had set out with a vague reluctanceto Little Beeding; and once his motor-car had passed Hindhead and dippedto the weald of Sussex the reluctance had grown to a definite regret thathe should once more have come into this country. His recollections wereof a dim far-off time, so dim that he could hardly believe that he hadany very close relation with the young struggling man who had spent hisfirst real holiday there. But the young man had been himself and he hadmissed his opportunity high up on the downs by Arundel. Words which JaneRepton had spoken to him in Bombay came back to him on this summerafternoon like a refrain to the steady hum of his car. "You can get whatyou want, so long as you want it enough, but you cannot control the priceyou will have to pay. "

He had reached Little Beeding only a few moments before Dick and Stellahad crossed into the garden. He had been led by Hubbard into the library, where Mr. Hazlewood was sitting. From the windows he had even seen thethatched cottage where Stella Ballantyne dwelt and its tiny garden brightwith flowers. 

"It is most kind of you to come, " Mr. Hazlewood had said. "Ever since wehad our little correspondence I have been anxious to take your opinion onmy collection. Though how in the world you manage to find time to have anopinion at all upon the subject is most perplexing. I never open the_Times_ but I see your name figuring in some important case. "

"And I, Mr. Hazlewood, " Thresk replied with a smile, "never open my mailwithout receiving a pamphlet from you. I am not the only active man inthe world. "

Even at that moment Mr. Hazlewood flushed with pleasure at the flattery. 

"Little reflections, " he cried with a modest deprecation, "worked outmore or less to completeness--may I say that?--in the quiet of a rurallife, sparks from the tiny flame of my midnight oil. " He picked up onepamphlet from a stack by his writing-table. "You might perhaps care tolook at _The Prison Walls_. "

Thresk drew back. 

"I have got mine, Mr. Hazlewood, " he said firmly. "Every man in Englandshould have one. No man in England has a right to two. "

Mr. Hazlewood fairly twittered with satisfaction. Here was a notable manfrom the outside world of affairs who knew his work and held it inesteem. Obviously then he was right to take these few disagreeabletwists and turns which would ensure to him a mind free to pursue hislabours. He looked down at the pamphlet however, and his satisfactionwas a trifle impaired. 

"I am not sure that this is quite my best work, " he said timidly--"alittle hazardous perhaps. "

"Would you say that?" asked Thresk. 

"Yes, indeed I should. " Mr. Hazlewood had the air of one making aconsiderable concession. "The very title is inaccurate. _The Prison Wallsmust Cast no Shadow_. " He repeated the sentence with a certain unction. "The rhythm is perhaps not amiss but the metaphor is untrue. My sonpointed it out to me. As he says, all walls cast shadows. "

"Yes, " said Thresk. "The trouble is to know where and on whom the shadowis going to fall. "

Mr. Hazlewood was startled by the careless words. He came to earthheavily. All was not as yet quite ready for the little trick which hadbeen devised. The Pettifers had not arrived. 

"Perhaps you would like to see your room, Mr. Thresk, " he said. "Your baghas been taken up, no doubt. We will look at my miniatures after tea. "

"I shall be delighted, " said Thresk as he followed Hazlewood to the door. "But you must not expect too much knowledge from me. "

"Oh!" cried his host with a laugh. "Pettifer tells me that you are agreat authority. "

"Then Pettifer's wrong, " said Thresk and so stopped. "Pettifer? Pettifer?Isn't he a solicitor?"

"Yes, he told me that he knew you. He married my sister. They are bothcoming to tea. "

With that he led Thresk to his room and left him there. The room was overthe porch of the house and looked down the short level drive to the irongates and the lane. It was all familiar ground to Thresk or rather tothat other man with whom Thresk's only connection was a dull throb at hisheart, a queer uneasiness and discomfort. He leaned out of the window. Hecould hear the river singing between the grass banks at the bottom of thegarden behind him. He would hear it through the night. Then came aknocking upon his door, and he did not notice it at once. It was repeatedand he turned and said:

"Come in!"

Hubbard advanced with a note upon a salver. 

"Mrs. Ballantyne asked me to give you this at once, sir. "

Thresk stared at the butler. The name was so apposite to his thoughtsthat he could not believe it had been uttered. But the salver was heldout to him and the handwriting upon the envelope removed his doubts. Hetook it up, said "Thank you" in an absent voice and waited until the doorwas closed again and he was alone. The last time he had seen that writingwas eighteen months ago. A little note of thanks, blurred with tears andscribbled hastily and marked with no address, had been handed to him inBombay. Stella Ballantyne had disappeared then. She was here now atLittle Beeding and his relationship with the young struggling barristerof ten years back suddenly became actual and near. He tore open theenvelope and read. 

"Be prepared to see me. Be prepared to hear news of me. I will have atalk with you afterwards if you like. This is a trap. Be kind. "

He stood for a while with the letter in his hand, speculating upon itsmeaning, until the wheels of a car grated on the gravel beneath hiswindow. The Pettifers had come. But Thresk was in no hurry to descend. Heread the note through many times before he hid it away in his letter-caseand went down the stairs. 

CHAPTER XXIII

METHODS FROM FRANCE

Meanwhile Stella Ballantyne waited below. She heard Mr. Hazlewood in thehall greeting the Pettifers with the false joviality which sat so illupon him; she imagined the shy nods and glances which told them that thetrap was properly set. Mr. Hazlewood led them into the room. 

"Is tea ready, Stella? We won't wait for Dick, " he said, and Stella tookher place at the table. She had her back to the door by which Threskwould enter. She had not a doubt that thus her chair had beendeliberately placed. He would be in the room and near to the table beforehe saw her. He would not have a moment to prepare himself against thesurprise of her presence. Stella listened for the sound of his footstepsin the hall; she could not think of a single topic to talk about exceptthe presence of that extra sixth cup; and that she must not mention ifthe tables were really to be turned upon her antagonists. Surprise mustbe visible upon her side when Thresk did come in. But she was not alonein finding conversation difficult. Embarrassment and expectancy weigheddown the whole party, so that they began suddenly to speak at once andsimultaneously to stop. Robert Pettifer however asked if Dick was playingcricket, and so gave Harold Hazlewood an opportunity. 

"No, the match was over early, " said the old man, and he settledhimself in his arm-chair. "I have given some study to the subject ofcricket, " he said. 

"You?" asked Stella with a smile of surprise. Was he merely playing fortime, she wondered? But he had the air of contentment with which heusually embarked upon his disquisitions. 

"Yes. I do not consider our national pastime beneath a philosopher'sattention. I have formed two theories about the game. "

"I am sure you have, " Robert Pettifer interposed. 

"And I have invented two improvements, though I admit at once that theywill have to wait until a more enlightened age than ours adopts them. Inthe first place"--and Mr. Hazlewood flourished a forefinger in theair--"the game ought to be played with a soft ball. There is at present asuggestion of violence about it which the use of a soft ball wouldentirely remove. "

"Entirely, " Mr. Pettifer agreed and his wife exclaimed impatiently:

"Rubbish, Harold, rubbish!"

Stella broke nervously into the conversation. 

"Violence? Why even women play cricket, Mr. Hazlewood. "

"I cannot, Stella, " he returned, "accept the view that whatever women domust necessarily be right. There are instances to the contrary. "

"Yes. I come across a few of them in my office, " Robert Pettifer saidgrimly; and once more embarrassment threatened to descend upon the party. But Mr. Hazlewood was off upon a favourite theme. His eyes glistened andthe object of the gathering vanished for the moment from his thoughts. 

"And in the second place, " he resumed, "the losers should be accounted tohave won the game. "

"Yes, that must be right, " said Pettifer. "Upon my word you are in form, Hazlewood. "

"But why?" asked Mrs. Pettifer. 

Harold Hazlewood smiled upon her as upon a child and explained:

"Because by adopting that system you would do something to eradicate thespirit of rivalry, the desire to win, the ambition to beat somebody elsewhich is at the bottom of half our national troubles. "

"And all our national success, " said Pettifer. 

Hazlewood patted his brother-in-law upon the shoulder. He looked at himindulgently. "You are a Tory, Robert, " he said, and implied that argumentwith such an one was mere futility. 

He had still his hand upon Pettifer's shoulder when the door opened. Stella saw by the change in his face that it was Thresk who was entering. But she did not move. 

"Ah, " said Mr. Hazlewood. "Come over here and take a cup of tea. "

Thresk came forward to the table. He seemed altogether unconscious thatthe eyes of the two men were upon him. 

"Thank you. I should like one, " he said, and at the sound of his voiceStella Ballantyne turned around in her chair. 

"You!" she cried and the cry was pitched in a tone of pleasure andwelcome. 

"Of course you know Mrs. Ballantyne, " said Hazlewood. He saw Stella risefrom her chair and hold out her hand to Thresk with the colour aflame inher cheeks. 

"You are surprised to see me again, " she said. 

Thresk took her hand cordially. "I am delighted to see you again, "he replied. 

"And I to see you, " said Stella, "for I have never yet had a chance ofthanking you"; and she spoke with so much frankness that even Pettiferwas shaken in his suspicions. She turned upon Mr. Hazlewood with amimicry of indignation. "Do you know, Mr. Hazlewood, that you have done avery cruel thing?"

Mr. Hazlewood was utterly discomfited by the failure of his plot, andwhen Stella attacked him so directly he had not a doubt but that she haddivined his treachery. 

"I?" he gasped. "Cruel? How?"

"In not telling me beforehand that I was to meet so good a friend ofmine. " Her face relaxed to a smile as she added: "I would have put on mybest frock in his honour. "

Undoubtedly Stella carried off the honour of that encounter. She had atonce driven the battle with spirit onto Hazlewood's own ground and lefthim worsted and confused. But the end was not yet. Mr. Hazlewood waitedfor his son Richard, and when Richard appeared he exclaimed:

"Ah, here's my son. Let me present him to you, Mr. Thresk. And there'sthe family. "

He leaned back, with a smile in his eyes, watching Henry Thresk. RobertPettifer watched too. 

"The family?" Thresk asked. "Is Mrs. Ballantyne a relation then?"

"She is going to be, " said Dick. 

"Yes, " Mr. Hazlewood explained, still beaming and still watchful. "Richard and Stella are going to be married. "

A pause followed which was just perceptible before Thresk spoke again. But he had his face under control. He took the stroke without flinching. He turned to Dick with a smile. 

"Some men have all the luck, " he said, and Dick, who had been looking athim in bewilderment, cried:

"Mr. Thresk? Not the Mr. Thresk to whom I owe so much?"

"The very man, " said Thresk, and Dick held out his hand to him gravely. 

"Thank you, " he said. "When I think of the horrible net of doubt andassumption in which Stella was coiled, I tell you I feel cold down myspine even now. If you hadn't come forward with your facts--"

"Yes, " Thresk interposed. "If I hadn't come forward with my facts. But Icouldn't well keep them to myself, could I?" A few more words were saidand then Dick rose from his chair. 

"Time's up, Stella, " and he explained to Henry Thresk: "We have to lookover a house this afternoon. "

"A house? Yes, I see, " said Thresk, but he spoke slowly and there wasjust audible a little inflection of doubt in his voice. Stella waslistening for it; she heard it when her two antagonists noticed nothing. 

"But, Dick, " she said quickly, "we can put the inspection off. "

"Not on my account, " Thresk returned. "There's no need for that. " He wasnot looking at Stella whilst he spoke and she longed to see his face. Shemust know exactly how she stood with him, what he thought of her. Sheturned impulsively to Mr. Hazlewood. 

"I haven't been asked, but may I come to dinner? You see I owe a gooddeal to Mr. Thresk. "

Mr. Hazlewood was for the moment at a loss. He had not lost hope thatbetween now and dinner-time explanations would be given which wouldbanish Stella Ballantyne altogether from Little Beeding. But he had noexcuse ready and he stammered out:

"Of course, my dear. Didn't I ask you? I must have forgotten. I certainlyexpect you to dine with us to-night. Margaret will no doubt be here. "

Margaret Pettifer had taken little part in the conversation about thetea-table. She sat in frigid hostility, speaking only when politenesscommanded. She accepted her brother's invitation with a monosyllable. 

"Thank you, " said Stella, and she faced Henry Thresk, looking himstraight in the eyes but not daring to lay any special stress upon thewords: "Then I shall see you to-night. "

Thresk read in her face a prayer that he should hold his hand until shehad a chance to speak with him. She turned away and went from the roomwith Dick Hazlewood. 

The old man rose as soon as the door was closed. 

"Now we might have a look at the miniatures, Mr. Thresk. You will excuseus, Margaret, won't you?"

"Of course, " she answered upon a nod from her husband. The two men passedthrough the doors into the great library whilst Thresk took a moreceremonious leave of Mrs. Pettifer; and as Hazlewood opened the drawersof his cabinets Robert Pettifer said in a whisper:

"That was a pretty good failure, I must say. And it was my idea too. "

"Yes, " replied Hazlewood in a voice as low. "What do you think?"

"That they share no secret. "

"You are satisfied then?"

"I didn't say that"; and Thresk himself appeared in the doorway and wentacross to the writing-table upon which Hazlewood had just laid a drawerin which miniatures were ranged. 

"I haven't met you, " said Pettifer, "since you led for us in the greatBirmingham will-suit. "

"No, " answered Thresk as he took his seat at the table. "It wasn't quitesuch a tough fight as I expected. You see there wasn't one reallyreliable witness for the defence. "

"No, " said Pettifer grimly. "If there had been we should have beenbeaten. "

Mr. Hazlewood began to point out this and that miniature of hiscollection, bending over Thresk as he did so. It seemed that the twocollectors were quite lost in their common hobby until Robert Pettifergave the signal. 

Then Mr. Hazlewood began:

"I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Thresk, for reasons quite outside theseminiatures of mine. "

He spoke with a noticeable awkwardness, yet Henry Thresk disregarded italtogether. 

"Oh?" he said carelessly. 

"Yes. Being Richard's father I am naturally concerned in everythingwhich affects him nearly--the trial of Stella Ballantyne for instance. "

Thresk bent his head down over the tray. 

"Quite so, " he said. He pointed to a miniature. "I saw that at Christie'sand coveted it myself. "

"Did you?" Mr. Hazlewood asked and he almost offered it as a bribe. "Nowyou gave evidence, Mr. Thresk. "

Thresk never lifted his head. 

"You have no doubt read the evidence I gave, " he said, peering from thisdelicate jewel of the painter's art to that. 

"To be sure. "

"And since your son is engaged to Mrs. Ballantyne, I suppose that youwere satisfied with it"--and he paused to give a trifle of significanceto his next words--"as the jury was. "

"Yes, of course, " Mr. Hazlewood stammered, "but a witness, I think, onlyanswers the questions put to him. "

"That is so, " said Thresk, "if he is a wise witness. " He took one of theminiatures out of the drawer and held it to the light. But Mr. Hazlewoodwas not to be deterred. 

"And subsequent reflection, " he continued obstinately, "might suggestthat all the questions which could throw light upon the trial had notbeen put. "

Thresk replaced the miniature in the drawer in front of him and leanedback in his chair. He looked now straight at Mr. Hazlewood. 

"It was not, I take it, in order to put those questions to me that youwere kind enough, Mr. Hazlewood, to ask me to give my opinion on yourminiatures. For that would have been setting a trap for me, wouldn't it?"

Hazlewood stared at Thresk with the bland innocence of a child. "Oh no, no, " he declared, and then an insinuating smile beamed upon his longthin face. "Only since you _are_ here and since so much is at stake forme--my son's happiness--I hoped that you might perhaps give us an answeror two which would disperse the doubts of some suspicious people. "

"Who are they?" asked Thresk. 

"Neighbours of ours, " replied Hazlewood, and thereupon Robert Pettiferstepped forward. He had remained aloof and silent until this moment. Nowhe spoke shortly, but he spoke to the point:

"I for one. "

Thresk turned with a smile upon Pettifer. 

"I thought so. I recognised Mr. Pettifer's hand in all this. But he oughtto know that the sudden confrontation of a suspected person withunexpected witnesses takes place, in those countries where the method ispractised, before the trial; not, as you so ingeniously arranged it thisafternoon, two years after the verdict has been given. "

Robert Pettifer turned red. Then he looked whimsically across the tableat his brother-in-law. 

"We had better make a clean breast of it, Hazlewood. "

"I think so, " said Thresk gently. 

Pettifer came a step nearer. "We are in the wrong, " he said bluntly. "Butwe have an excuse. Our trouble is very great. Here's my brother-in-law tobegin with, whose whole creed of life has been to deride the authority ofconventional man--to tilt against established opinion. Mrs. Ballantynecomes back from her trial in Bombay to make her home again at LittleBeeding. Hazlewood champions her--not for her sake, but for the sake ofhis theories. It pleases his vanity. Now he can prove that he is not asothers are. "

Mr. Hazlewood did not relish this merciless analysis of his character. Hetwisted in his chair, he uttered a murmur of protest. But Robert Pettiferwaved him down and continued:

"So he brings her to his house. He canvasses for her. He throws his sonin her way. She has beauty--she has something more than beauty--shestands apart as a woman who has walked through fire. She has sufferedvery much. Look at it how one will, she has suffered beyond her deserts. She has pretty deferential ways which make their inevitable appeal towomen as to men. In a word, Hazlewood sets the ball rolling and it getsbeyond his reach. "

Thresk nodded. 

"Yes, I understand that. "

"Finally, Hazlewood's son falls in love with her--not a boy mind, but aman claiming a man's right to marry where he loves. And at once inHazlewood conventional man awakes. "

"Dear me, no, " interposed Harold Hazlewood. 

"But I say yes, " Pettifer continued imperturbably. "Conventional manawakes in him and cries loudly against the marriage. Then there's myself. I am fond of Dick. I have no child. He will be my heir and I am not poor. He is doing well in his profession. To be an Instructor of the StaffCorps at his age means hard work, keenness, ability. I look forward to agreat career. I am very fond of him. And--understand me, Mr. Thresk"--hechecked his speech and weighed his words very carefully--"I wouldn't saythat he shouldn't marry Stella Ballantyne just because Stella Ballantynehas lain under a grave charge of which she has been acquitted. No, I maybe as formal as my brother-in-law thinks, but I hold a wider faith thanthat. But I am not satisfied. That is the truth, Mr. Thresk. I am notsure of what happened in that tent in far-away Chitipur after you hadridden away to catch the night mail to Bombay. "

Robert Pettifer had made his confession simply and with some dignity. Thresk looked at him for a few moments. Was he wondering whether hecould answer the questions? Was he hesitating through anger at thetrick which had been played upon him? Pettifer could not tell. He waitedin suspense. Thresk pushed his chair back suddenly and came forward frombehind the table. 

"Ask your questions, " he said. 

"You consent to answer them?" Mr. Hazlewood cried joyously, and Threskreplied with coldness:

"I must. For if I don't consent your suspicions at once are double whatthey were. But I am not pleased. "

"Oh, we practised a little diplomacy, " said Hazlewood, making light ofhis offence. 

"Diplomacy!" For the first time a gleam of anger shone in Thresk's eyes. "You have got me to your house by a trick. You have abused your positionas my host. And but that I should injure a woman whom life has donenothing but injure I should go out of your door this instant. "

He turned his back upon Harold Hazlewood and sat down in a chair oppositeto Robert Pettifer. A little round table separated them. Pettifer, seatedupon a couch, took from his pocket the envelope with the press-cuttingsand spread them on the table in front of him. Thresk lolled back in hischair. It was plain that he was in no terror of Pettifer's examination. 

"I am at your service, " he said. 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE WITNESS

The afternoon sunlight poured into the room golden and clear. Outside theopen windows the garden was noisy with birds and the river babbledbetween its banks. Henry Thresk shut his ears against the music. For allhis appearance of ease he dreaded the encounter which was now begun. Pettifer he knew to be a shrewd man. He watched him methodicallyarranging his press-cuttings in front of him. Pettifer might well findsome weak point in his story which he himself had not discovered; andwhatever course he was minded afterwards to take, here and now he wasdetermined once more to fight Stella's battle. 

"I need not go back on the facts of the trial, " said Pettifer. "They arefresh enough in your memory, no doubt. Your theory as I understand it ranas follows: While you were mounting your camel on the edge of the camp toreturn to the station and Ballantyne was at your side, the thief whosearm you had both seen under the tent wall, not knowing that now you hadthe photograph of Bahadur Salak which he wished to steal, slipped intothe tent unperceived, took up the rook-rifle--"

"Which was standing by Mrs. Ballantyne's writing-table, " Threskinterposed. 

"Loaded it, --"

"The cartridges were lying open in a drawer. "

"And shot Ballantyne on his return. "

"Yes, " Thresk agreed. "In addition you must remember that when CaptainBallantyne was found an hour or so later Mrs. Ballantyne was in bedand asleep. "

"Quite so, " said Pettifer. "In brief, Mr. Thresk, you supplied areasonable motive for the crime and some evidence of a criminal. And Iadmit that on your testimony the jury returned the only verdict which itwas possible to give. "

"What troubles you then?" Henry Thresk asked, and Pettifer replied drily:

"Various points. Here's one--a minor one. If Captain Ballantyne was shotby a thief detected in the act of thieving why should that thief riskcapture and death by dragging Captain Ballantyne's body out into theopen? It seems to me the last thing which he would naturally do. "

Thresk shrugged his shoulders. 

"I can't explain that. It is perhaps possible that not finding thephotograph he fell into a blind rage and satisfied it by violence towardsthe dead man. "

"Dead or dying, " Mr. Pettifer corrected. "There seems to have been somelittle doubt upon that point. But your theory's a little weak, isn't it?To get away unseen would be that thief's first preoccupation, surely?"

"Reasoning as you and I are doing here quietly, at our ease, in thisroom, no doubt you are right, Mr. Pettifer. But criminals are caughtbecause they don't reason quietly when they have just committed a crime. The behaviour of a man whose mind is influenced by that condition cannotbe explained always by any laws of psychology. He may be in a wild panic. He may act as madmen act, or like a child in a rage. And if myexplanation is weak it's no weaker than the only other hypothesis: thatMrs. Ballantyne herself dragged him into the open. "

Mr. Pettifer shook his head. 

"I am not so sure. I can conceive a condition of horror in the wife, horror at what she had done, which would make that act not merelypossible but almost inevitable. I make no claims to being an imaginativeman, Mr. Thresk, but I try to put myself into the position of the wife";and he described with a vividness for which Thresk was not prepared thescene as he saw it. 

"She goes to bed, she undresses and goes to bed--she must do that ifshe is to escape--she puts out her light, she lies in the dark awake, and under the same roof, close to her, in the dark too, is lying the manshe has killed. Just a short passage separates her from him. There areno doors--mind that, Mr. Thresk--no doors to lock and bolt, merely agrass screen which you could lift with your forefinger. Wouldn't any andevery one of the little cracks and sounds and breathings, of which thequietest and stillest night is full, sound to her like the approach ofthe dead man? The faintest breath of air would seem a draught made bythe swinging of the grass-curtain as it was stealthily lifted--lifted bythe dead man. No, Mr. Thresk. The wife is just the one person I couldimagine who would do that needless barbarous violence of dragging thebody into the open--and she would do it, not out of cruelty, but becauseshe must or go mad. "

Thresk listened without a movement until Robert Pettifer had finished. Then he said:

"You know Mrs. Ballantyne. Has she the strength which she must have hadto drag a heavy man across the carpet of a tent and fling him outside?"

"Not now, not before. But just at the moment? You argued, Mr. Thresk, that it is impossible to foresee what people will do under the immediateknowledge that they have committed a capital crime. I agree. But I go alittle further. I say that they will also exhibit a physical strengthwith which it would be otherwise impossible to credit them. Fear lendsit to them. "

"Yes, " Thresk interrupted quickly, "but don't you see, Mr. Pettifer, thatyou are implying the existence of an emotion in Mrs. Ballantyne which thefacts prove her to have been without--fear, panic? She was found quietlyasleep in her bed by the ayah when she came to call her in the morning. There's no doubt of that. The ayah was never for a moment shaken uponthat point. The pyschology of crime is a curious and surprising study, Mr. Pettifer, but I know of no case where terror has acted as asleeping-draught. "

Mr. Pettifer smiled and turned altogether away from the question. 

"It is, as I said, a minor point, and perhaps one from which anysort of inference would be unsafe. It interested me. I lay no greatstress upon it. "

He dismissed the point carelessly, to the momentary amusement of HenryThresk. The art of slipping away from defeat had been practised withgreater skill. Thresk lost some part of his apprehension but none of hiswatchfulness. 

"Now, however, we come to something very different, " said Pettifer, hitching himself a little closer to his table and fixing his eyes uponThresk. "The case for the prosecution ran like this: Stephen Ballantynewas, though a man of great ability, a secret drunkard who humiliated hiswife in public and beat her in private. She went in terror of him. Shebore on more than one occasion the marks of his violence; and upon thatnight in Chitipur, perhaps in a panic and very likely under extremeprovocation, she snatched up her rook-rifle and put an end to the wholebad business. "

"Yes, " Thresk agreed, "that was the case for the Crown. "

"Yes, and throughout the sitting at the Stipendiary's inquiry before youcame upon the scene that theory was clearly developed. "

"Yes. "

Thresk's confidence vanished as quickly as it had come. He realisedwhither Pettifer's questions were leading. There was a definitely weaklink in his story and Pettifer had noticed it and was testing it. 

"Now, " the solicitor continued--"and this is the important point--whatwas the answer to that charge foreshadowed by the defence during thosedays before you appeared?"

Thresk answered the question quickly, if answer it could be called. 

"The defence had not formulated any answer. I came forward before thecase for the Crown finished. "

"Quite so. But Mrs. Ballantyne's counsel did cross-examine the witnessesfor the prosecution--we must not forget that, Mr. Thresk--and from thecross-examination it is quite clear what answer he was going to make. Hewas going--not to deny that Mrs. Ballantyne shot her husband--but toplead that she shot him in self-defence. "

"Oh?" said Thresk, "and where do you find that?"

He had no doubt himself in what portion of the report of the trial aproof of Pettifer's statement was to be discovered, but he made acreditable show of surprise that any one should hold that opinion at all. 

Pettifer selected a column of newspaper from his cuttings. 

"Listen, " he said. "Mr. Repton, a friend of Mrs. Ballantyne, was calledupon a subpoena by the Crown and he testified that while he was aCollector at Agra he went up with his wife from the plains to thehill-station of Moussourie during a hot weather. The Ballantynes went upat the same time and occupied a bungalow next to Repton's. One nightRepton's house was broken into. He went across to Ballantyne the nextmorning and advised him in the presence of his wife to sleep with arevolver under his pillow. "

"Yes, I remember that, " said Thresk. He had indeed cause to remember itvery well, for it was just this evidence given by Repton with its clearimplication of the line which the defence meant to take that had sent himin a hurry to Mrs. Ballantyne's solicitor. Pettifer continued by readingRepton's words slowly and with emphasis. 

"'Mrs. Ballantyne then turned very pale, and running after me down thegarden like a distracted woman cried: "Why did you tell him to do that?It will some night mean my death. "' This statement, Mr. Thresk, waselicited in cross-examination by Mrs. Ballantyne's counsel, and it couldonly mean that he intended to set up a plea of self-defence. I find it alittle difficult to reconcile that intention with the story yousubsequently told. "

Henry Thresk for his part knew that it was not merely difficult, it was, in fact, impossible. Mr. Pettifer had read the evidence with an accuratediscrimination. The plea of self-defence was here foreshadowed and it wasjust the certainty that the defence was going to rely upon it for averdict which had brought Henry Thresk himself into the witness-box atBombay. Given all that was known of Stephen Ballantyne and of the life hehad led his unhappy wife, the defence would have been a good one, but fora single fact--the discovery of Ballantyne's body outside the tent. Noplea of self-defence could safely be left to cover that. Thresk himselfwondered at it. It struck at public sympathy, it seemed the act of aperson insensate and vindictive. Therefore he had come forward with hisstory. But Mr. Pettifer was not to know it. 

"There are three things for you to remember, " said Thresk. "In the firstplace it is too early to assume that self-defence was going to be theplea. Assumptions in a case of this kind are very dangerous, Mr. Pettifer. They may lead to an irreparable injustice. We must keep to thefact that no plea of self-defence was ever formulated. In the secondplace Mrs. Ballantyne was brought down to Bombay in a state of completecollapse. Her married life had been a torture to her. She broke down atthe end of it. She was indifferent to anything that might happen. "

Pettifer nodded. "Yes, I can understand that. "

"It followed that her advisers had to act upon their own initiative. "

"And the third point?" Pettifer asked. 

"Well, it's not so much a point as an opinion of mine. But I hold itstrongly. Her counsel mishandled the case. "

Pettifer pursed up his lips and grunted. He tapped a finger once or twiceon the table in front of him. He looked towards Thresk as if all was notquite said. Harold Hazlewood, to whom the position of a neglectedlistener was rare and unpalatable, saw an opportunity for intervention. 

"The three points are perhaps not very conclusive, " he said. 

Thresk turned towards him coldly:

"I promised to answer such questions as Mr. Pettifer put to me. I amdoing that. I did not undertake to discuss the value of my answersafterwards. "

"No, no, quite so, " murmured Mr. Hazlewood. "We are very grateful, I amsure, " and he left once more the argument to Pettifer. 

"Then I come to the next question, Mr. Thresk. At some moment in thisinquiry you of your own account put yourself into communication with Mrs. Ballantyne's advisers and volunteered your evidence?"

"Yes. "

"Isn't it strange that the defence did not at the very outset get intocommunication with you?"

"No, " replied Thresk. Here he was at his ease. He had laid his plans wellin Bombay. Mr. Pettifer might go on asking questions until midnight uponthis point. Thresk could meet him. "It was not at all strange. It was notknown that I could throw any light upon the affair at all. All thatpassed between Ballantyne and myself passed when we were alone; andBallantyne was now dead. "

"Yes, but you had dined with the Ballantynes on that night. Surely it'sstrange that since you were in Bombay Mrs. Ballantyne's advisers did notseek you out. "

"Yes, yes, " added Mr. Hazlewood, "very strange indeed, Mr. Thresk--since you were in Bombay"; and he looked up at the ceiling andjoined the tips of his fingers, his whole attitude a confidentquestion: "Answer that if you can. "

Thresk turned patiently round. 

"Hasn't it occurred to you, Mr. Hazlewood, that it is still more strangethat the prosecution did not at once approach me?"

"Yes, " said Pettifer suddenly. "That question too has troubled me"; andThresk turned back again. 

"You see, " he explained, "I was not known to be in Bombay at all. On thecontrary I was supposed to be somewhere in the Red Sea or theMediterranean on my way back to England. "

Mr. Pettifer looked up in surprise. The statement was news to him and iftrue provided a natural explanation of some of his chief perplexities. "Let me understand that!" and there was a change in his voice whichThresk was quick to detect. There was less hostility. 

"Certainly, " Thresk answered. "I left the tent just before eleven tocatch the Bombay mail. I was returning direct to England. The reasonwhy Ballantyne asked me to take the photograph of Bahadur Salak wasthat since I was going on board straight from the train it could be nodanger to me. "

"Then why didn't you go straight on board?" asked Pettifer. 

"I'll tell you, " Thresk replied. "I thought the matter over on thejourney down to Bombay, and I came to the conclusion that since thephotograph might be wanted at Salak's trial I had better take it to theGovernor's house at Bombay. But Government House is out at Malabar Point, four miles from the quays. I took the photograph out myself and so Imissed the boat. But there was an announcement in the papers that I hadsailed, and in fact the consul at Marseilles came on board at that portto inquire for me on instructions from the Indian Government. "

Mr. Pettifer leaned back. 

"Yes, I see, " he said thoughtfully. "That makes a difference--a bigdifference. " Then he sat upright again and said sharply:

"You were in Bombay then when Mrs. Ballantyne was brought down fromChitipur?"

"Yes. "

"And when the case for the Crown was started?"

"Yes. "

"And when the Crown's witnesses were cross-examined?"

"Yes. "

"Why did you wait then all that time before you came forward?" Pettiferput the question with an air of triumph. "Why, Mr. Thresk, did you waittill the very moment when Mrs. Ballantyne was going to be definitelycommitted to a particular line of defence before you announced that youcould clear up the mystery? Doesn't it rather look as if you had remainedhidden on the chance of the prosecution breaking down, and had only comeforward when you realised that to-morrow self-defence would be pleaded, the firing of that rook-rifle admitted and a terrible risk of a verdictof guilty run?"

Thresk agreed without a moment's hesitation. 

"But that's the truth, Mr. Pettifer, " he said, and Mr. Pettifersprang up. 

"What?"

"Consider my position"--Thresk drew up his chair close to the table--"abarrister who was beginning to have one of the large practices, theCourts opening in London, briefs awaiting me, cases on which I hadalready advised coming on. I had already lost a fortnight. That was badenough, but if I came forward with my story I must wait in Bombay notmerely for a fortnight but until the whole trial was completed, as in theend I had to do. Of course I hoped that the prosecution would break down. Of course I didn't intervene until it was absolutely necessary in theinterests of justice that I should. "

He spoke so calmly, there was so much reason in what he said, thatPettifer could not but be convinced. 

"I see, " he said. "I see. Yes. That's not to be disputed. " He remainedsilent for a few moments. Then he shuffled his papers together andreplaced them in the envelope. It seemed that his examination was over. Thresk rose from his chair. 

"You have no more questions to ask me?" he inquired. 

"One more. "

Pettifer came round the table and stood in front of Henry Thresk. 

"Did you know Mrs. Ballantyne before you went to Chitipur?"

"Yes, " Thresk replied. 

"Had you seen her lately?"

"No. "

"When had you last seen her?"

"Eight years before, in this neighbourhood. I spent a holiday closeby. Her father and mother were then alive. I had not seen her since. Idid not even know that she was in India and married until I was told soin Bombay. "

Thresk was prepared for that question. He had the truth ready and hespoke it frankly. Mr. Pettifer turned away to Hazlewood, who was watchinghim expectantly. 

"We have nothing more to do, Hazlewood, but to thank Mr. Thresk foranswering our questions and to apologise to him for having put them. "

Mr. Hazlewood was utterly disconcerted. After all, then, the marriagemust take place; the plot had ignominiously failed, the great questionswhich were to banish Stella Ballantyne from Little Beeding had been putand answered. He sat like a man stricken by calamity. He stammered outreluctantly a few words to which Thresk paid little heed. 

"You are satisfied then?" he asked of Pettifer; and Pettifer showed himunexpectedly a cordial and good-humoured face. 

"Yes. Let me say to you, Mr. Thresk, that ever since I began to studythis case I have wished less and less to bear hardly upon Mrs. Ballantyne. As I read those columns of evidence the heavy figure ofStephen Ballantyne took life again, but a very sinister life; and when Ilook at Stella and think of what she went through during the years ofher married life while we were comfortably here at home I cannot but feela shiver of discomfort. Yes, I am satisfied and I am glad that I amsatisfied"; and with a smile which suddenly illumined his dry parchedface he held out his hand to Henry Thresk. 

It was perhaps as well that the questions were over, for even whilePettifer was speaking Stella's voice was heard in the hall. Pettifer hadjust time to thrust away the envelope with the cuttings into a drawerbefore she came into the room with Dick. She had been forced to leave thethree men together, but she had dreaded it. During that one hour ofabsence she had lived through a lifetime of terror and anxiety. Whatwould Thresk tell them? What was he now telling them? She was like onewaiting downstairs while a surgical operation is being performed in thetheatre above. She had hurried Dick back to Little Deeding, and when shecame into the room her eyes roamed round in suspense from Thresk toHazlewood, from Hazlewood to Pettifer. She saw the tray of miniaturesupon the table. 

"You admire the collection?" she said to Thresk. 

"Very much, " he answered, and Pettifer took her by the arm and in a voiceof kindness which she had never heard him use before he said:

"Now tell me about your house. That's much more interesting. "

CHAPTER XXV

IN THE LIBRARY

Henry Thresk took Mrs. Pettifer in to dinner that night and she found himpoor company. He tried indeed by fits and starts to entertain her, buthis thoughts were elsewhere. He was in a great pother and trouble aboutStella Ballantyne, who sat over against him on the other side of thetable. She wore no traces of the consternation which his words had causedher a couple of hours before. She had come dressed in a slim gown ofshimmering blue with her small head erect, a smile upon her lips and abright colour in her cheeks. Thresk hardly knew her, he had to tellhimself again and again that this was the Stella Ballantyne whom he hadknown here and in India. She was not the girl who had ridden with himupon the downs and made one month of his life very memorable and one daya shameful recollection. Nor was she the stricken creature of the tent inChitipur. She was a woman sure of her resources, radiant in her beauty, confident that what she wore was her colour and gave her her value. Yether trouble was greater than Thresk's, and many a time during the courseof that dinner, when she felt his eyes resting upon her, her heart sankin fear. She sought his company after dinner, but she had no chance of aprivate word with him. Old Mr. Hazlewood took care of that. One momentStella must sing; at another she must play a rubber of bridge. He at allevents had not laid aside his enmity and suspected some understandingbetween her and his guest. At eleven Mrs. Pettifer took her leave. Shecame across the room to Henry Thresk. 

"Are you staying over to-morrow?" she asked, and Thresk with alaugh answered:

"I wish that I could. But I have to catch an early train to London. Even to-night my day's work's not over. I must sit up for an hour ortwo over a brief. "

Stella rose at the same time as Mrs. Pettifer. 

"I was hoping that you would be able to come across and see mylittle cottage to-morrow morning, " she said. Thresk hesitated as hetook her hand. 

"I should very much like to see it, " he said. He was in a very greatdifficulty, and was not sure that a letter was not the better if the morecowardly way out of it. "If I could find the time. "

"Try, " said she. She could say no more for Mr. Hazlewood was at her elbowand Dick was waiting to take her home. 

It was a dark clear night; a sky of stars overarched the earth, butthere was no moon, and though lights shone brightly even at a greatdistance there was no glimmer from the road beneath their feet. Dickheld her close in his arms at the door of her cottage. She was verystill and passive. 

"You are tired?" he asked. 

"I think so. "

"Well, to-night has seen the last of our troubles, Stella. "

She did not answer him at once. Her hands clung about his shoulders andwith her face smothered in his coat she whispered:

"Dick, I couldn't go on without you now. I couldn't. I wouldn't. "

There was a note of passionate despair in her voice which made her wordssuddenly terrible to him. He took her and held her a little away fromhim, peering into her face. 

"What are you saying, Stella?" he asked sternly. "You know that nothingcan come between us. You break my heart when you talk like that. " He drewher again into his arms. "Is your maid waiting up for you?"

"No. "

"Call her then, while I wait here. Let me see the light in her room. Iwant her to sleep with you to-night. "

"There's no need, Dick, " she answered. "I am unstrung to-night. I saidmore than I meant. I swear to you there's no need. "

He raised her head and kissed her on the lips. 

"I trust you, Stella, " he said gently; and she answered him in a lowtrembling voice of so much tenderness and love that he was reassured. "Oh, you may, my dear, you may. "

She went up to her room and turned on the light, and sat down in herchair just as she had done after her first dinner at Little Beeding. Shehad foreseen then all the troubles which had since beset her, but she hadseemed to have passed through them--until this afternoon. Over there inthe library of the big house was Henry Thresk--the stranger. Very likelyhe was at this moment writing to her. If he had only consented to comeover in the morning and give her the chance of pleading with him! Shewent to the window and, drawing up the blind, leaned her head out andlooked across the meadow. In the library one of the long windows stoodopen and the curtain was not drawn. The room was full of light. HenryThresk was there. He had befriended her this afternoon as he hadbefriended her at Bombay, for the second time he had won the victory forher; but the very next moment he had warned her that the end was not yet. He would send her a letter, she had not a doubt of it. She had not adoubt either of the message which the letter would bring. 

A sound rose to her ears from the gravel path below her window--the soundof a slight involuntary movement. Stella drew sharply back. Then sheleaned out again and called softly:

"Dick. "

He was standing a little to the left of the window out of reach of thelight which streamed out upon the darkness from the room behind her. Hemoved forward now. 

"Oh, Dick, why are you waiting?"

"I wanted to be sure that all was right, Stella. "

"I gave you my word, Dick, " she whispered and she wished himgood-night again and waited till the sound of his footsteps hadaltogether died away. He went back to the house and found Thresk stillat work in the library. 

"I don't want to interrupt you, " he said, "but I must thank you again. Ican't tell you what I owe you. She's pretty wonderful, isn't she? I feelcoarse beside her, I tell you. I couldn't talk like this to any one else, but you're so sympathetic. "

Henry Thresk had responded with nothing more than a grunt. He satslashing at his brief with a blue pencil, all the while that DickHazlewood was speaking, and wishing that he would go to bed. Dick howeverwas unabashed. 

"Did you ever see a woman look so well in a blue frock? Or in a black oneeither? There's a sort of painted thing she wears sometimes too. Well, perhaps I had better go to bed. "

"I think it would be wise, " said Thresk. 

Young Hazlewood went over to the table in the corner and lit his candle. 

"You'll shut that window before you go to bed, won't you?"

"Yes. "

Hazlewood filled for himself a glass of barley-water and drank it, contemplating Henry Thresk over the rim. Then he went back to him, carrying his candle in his hand. 

"Why don't you get married, Mr. Thresk?" he asked. "You ought to, youknow. Men run to seed so if they don't. "

"Thank you, " said Thresk. 

The tone was not cordial, but mere words were an invitation to DickHazlewood at this moment. He sat down and placed his lighted candle onthe table between Thresk and himself. 

"I am thirty-four years old, " he said, and Thresk interposed withoutglancing up from his foolscap:

"From your style of conversation I find that very difficult to believe, Captain Hazlewood. "

"I have wasted thirty-four complete years of twelve months each, "continued the ecstatic Captain, who appeared to think that on the veryday of his birth he would have recognised his soul's mate. "Just joggingalong with the world, a miracle about one and not half an eye to perceiveit. You know. "

"No, I don't, " Thresk observed. He lifted the candle and held it out toDick. Dick got up and took it. 

"Thank you, " he said. "That was very kind of you. I told you--didn'tI?--how sympathetic I thought you. "

Thresk was not proof against his companion's pertinacity. He broke into alaugh. "Are you going to bed?" he pleaded, and Dick Hazlewood replied, "Yes I am. " Suddenly his tone changed. 

"Stella had a very good friend in you, Mr. Thresk. I am sure she stillhas one, " and without waiting for any answer he went upstairs. Hisbedroom was near to the front in the side of the house. It commanded aview of the meadow and the cottage and he rejoiced to see that allStella's windows were dark. The library was out of sight round the cornerat the back, but a glare of light from the open door spread out over thelawn. Hazlewood looked at his watch. It was just midnight. He went to bedand slept. 

In the library Thresk strove to concentrate his thoughts upon his brief. But he could not, and he threw it aside at last. There was a letter to bewritten, and until it was written and done with his thoughts would not befree. He went over to the writing-table and wrote it. But it took a longwhile in the composition and the clock upon the top of the stable wasstriking one when at last he had finished and sealed it up. 

"I'll post it in the morning at the station, " he resolved, and he wentto the window to close it. But as he touched it a slight figure wrappedin a dark cloak came out of the darkness at the side and stepped past himinto the room. He swung round and saw Stella Ballantyne. 

"You!" he exclaimed. "You must be mad. "

"I had to come, " she said, standing well away from the window in thecentre of the room as though she thought he would drive her out. "I heardyou say you would be sitting late here. "

"How long have you been waiting out there?"

"A little while... I don't know... Not very long. I wasn't sure that youwere alone. "

Thresk closed the window and drew the curtain across it. Then he crossedthe room and locked the doors leading into the dining-room and hall. 

"There was no need for you to come, " he said in a low voice. "I havewritten to you. "

"Yes. " She nodded her head. "That's why I had to come. This afternoon youspoke of leaving your pipe behind. I understood, " and as he drew theletter from his pocket she recoiled from it. "No, it has never beenwritten. I came in time to prevent its being written. You only had anidea of writing. Say that! You are my friend. " She took the letter fromhim now and tore it across and again across. "See! It has never beenwritten at all. "

But Thresk only shook his head. "I am very sorry. I see to-night thestricken woman of the tent in Chitipur. I am very sorry, " and Stellacaught at the commiseration in his voice. She dropped the cloak from hershoulders; she was dressed as she had been at the dinner some hoursbefore, but all her radiance had gone, her cheeks trembled, her eyespleaded desperately. 

"Sorry! I knew you would be. You are not hard. You couldn't be. You mustcome close day by day in your life to so much that is pitiful. One cantalk to you and you'll understand. This is my first chance, the firstreal chance I have ever had, Henry, the very first. "

Thresk looked backwards over the years of Stella Ballantyne's unhappylife. It came upon him with a shock that what she said was the baretruth; and remorse followed hard upon the heels of the shock. This washer first real chance and he himself was to blame that it had come noearlier. The first chance of a life worth the living--it had been in hishands to give her and he had refused to give it years ago on Bignor Hill. 

"It's quite true, " he admitted. "But I don't ask you to give it up, Stella. " She looked at him eagerly. "No! You would have understood thatif you had read my letter instead of tearing it up. I only ask you totell your lover the truth. "

"He knows it, " she said sullenly. 

"No!"

"He does! He does!" she protested, her voice rising to a low cry. 

"Hush! You'll be heard, " said Thresk, and she listened for a momentanxiously. But there was no sound of any one stirring in the house. 

"We are safe here, " she said. "No one sleeps above us. Henry, he knowsthe truth. "

"Would you be here now if he did?"

"I came because this afternoon you seemed to be threatening me. I didn'tunderstand. I couldn't sleep. I saw the light in this room. I came to askyou what you meant--that's all. "

"I'll tell you what I meant, " said Thresk, and Stella with her eyesfixed upon him sank down upon a chair. "I left my pipe behind me in thetent on the night I dined with you. Your lover, Stella, doesn't knowthat. I came back to fetch it. He doesn't know that. You were standingby the table--" and Stella Ballantyne broke in upon him to silence thewords upon his lips. 

"There was no reason why he should know, " she exclaimed. "It had nothingto do with what happened. We know what happened. There was a thief"--andThresk turned to her then with such a look of sheer amazement upon hisface that she faltered and her voice died to a murmur of words--"a leanbrown arm--a hand delicate as a woman's. "

"There was no thief, " he said quietly. "There was a man delirious withdrink who imagined one. There was you with the bruises on your throat andthe unutterable misery in your eyes and a little rifle in your hands. There was no one else. "

She ceased to argue; she sat looking straight in front of her with astubborn face and a resolution to cling at all costs to her chance ofhappiness. 

"Come, Stella, " Thresk pleaded. "I don't say tell every one. I do saytell him. For unless you do I must. "

Stella stared at him. 

"You?" she said. "You would tell him that you came back into the tentand saw me?"

"Oh, much more--that I lied at the trial, that the story which securedyour acquittal was false, that I made it up to save you. That I told itagain this afternoon to give you a chance of slipping out from animpossible position. "

She looked at Thresk for a moment in terror. Then her expression changed. A wave of relief swept over her; she laughed in Thresk's face. 

"You are trying to frighten me, " she said. "Only I know you. Do yourealise what it would mean to you if it were ever really known that youhad lied at the trial?"

"Yes. "

"Your ruin. Your absolute ruin. "

"Worse than that. "

"Prison!"

"Perhaps. Yes. "

Stella laughed again. 

"And you would run the risk of the truth becoming known by telling it toso much as one person. No, no! Another, perhaps--not you! You have hadone dream all your life--to rise out of obscurity, to get on in theworld, to hold the high positions. Everything and every one has beensacrificed to its fulfilment. Oh, who should know better than I?" and shestruck her hands together sharply as she uttered that bitter cry. "Youhave lain down late and risen early, and you have got on. Well, are youthe man to throw away all this work and success now that they touchfulfilment? You are in the chariot. Will you step down and run tied tothe wheels? Will you stand up and say, 'There was a trial. I perjuredmyself'? No. Another, perhaps. Not you, Henry. "

Thresk had no answer to that indictment. All of it was true exceptits inference, and it was no news to him. He made no effort todefend himself. 

"You are not very generous, Stella, " he replied gently. "For if I lied, Isaved you by the lie. "

Stella was softened by the words. Her voice lost its hardness, shereached out her hand in an apology and laid it on his arm. 

"Oh, I know. I sent you a little word of thanks when you gave me myfreedom. But it won't be of much value to me if I lose--what I amfighting for now. "

"So you use every weapon?"

"Yes. "

"But this one breaks in your hand, " he said firmly. "The thing you thinkit incredible that I should do I shall do none the less. "

Stella looked at him in despair. She could no longer doubt that he reallymeant his words. He was really resolved to make this sacrifice of himselfand her. And why? Why should he interfere?

"You save me one day to destroy me the next, " she said. 

"No, " he replied. "I don't think I shall do that, Stella, " and heexplained to her what drove him on. "I had no idea why Hazlewood asked mehere. Had I suspected it I say frankly that I should have refused tocome. But I am here. The trouble's once more at my door but in a newshape. There's this man, young Hazlewood. I can't forget him. You will bemarrying him by the help of a lie I told. "

"He loves me, " she cried. 

"Then he can bear the truth, " answered Thresk. He pulled up a chairopposite to that in which Stella sat. "I want you to understand me, ifyou will. I don't want you to think me harsh or cruel. I told a lie uponmy oath in the witness-box. I violated my traditions, I struck at mybelief in the value of my own profession, and such beliefs mean a gooddeal to any man. " Stella stirred impatiently. What words were these?Traditions! The value of a profession!

"I am not laying stress upon them, Stella, but they count, " Threskcontinued. "And I am telling you that they count because I am going toadd that I should tell that lie again to-morrow, were the trial to-morrowand you a prisoner. I should tell it again to save you again. Yes, tosave you. But when you go and--let me put it very plainly--use that lieto your advantage, why then I am bound to cry 'stop. ' Don't you see that?You are using the lie to marry a man and keep him in ignorance of thetruth. You can't do that, Stella! You would be miserable yourself if youdid all your life. You would never feel safe for a moment. You would behaunted by a fear that some day he would learn the truth and not fromyou. Oh, I am sure of it. " He caught her hands and pressed themearnestly. "Tell him, Stella, tell him!"

Stella Ballantyne rose to her feet with a strange look upon her face. Hereyes half closed as though to shut out a vision of past horrors. Sheturned to Thresk with a white face and her hands tightly clenched. 

"You don't know what happened on that night, after you rode away to catchyour train?"

"No. "

"I think you ought to know--before you sit in judgment"; and so at lastin that quiet library under the Sussex Downs the tragic story of thatnight was told. For Thresk as he listened and watched, its terrors livedagain in the eyes and the hushed voice of Stella Ballantyne, the darkwalls seemed to fall back and dissolve. The moonlit plain of far-awayChitipur stretched away in front of him to the dim hill where the oldsilent palaces crumbled; and midway between them and the greensignal-lights of the railway the encampment blazed like the clusteredlights of a small town. But Thresk learnt more than the facts. Thesprings of conduct were disclosed to him; the woman revealed herself, dark places were made light; and he bowed himself beneath a new burdenof remorse. 

CHAPTER XXVI

TWO STRANGERS

"You came back to the tent, " she began, "and ever since then you havemisunderstood what you saw. For this is the truth: I was going tokill myself. "

Thresk was startled as he had not expected to be; and a great wave ofrelief swept over him and uplifted his soul. Here was the simplestexplanation, yet it had never occurred to him. Always he had beenbesieged by the vision of Stella standing quietly by the table, deliberately preparing her rifle for use, always he had linked up thatvision with the death of Stephen Ballantyne in a dreadful connection. Hedid not doubt that she spoke the truth now. Looking at her and noticingthe anguish of her face, he could not doubt it. So definite apremeditation as he had imagined there had not been, and relief carriedhim to pity. 

"So it had come to that?" he said. 

"Yes, " replied Stella. "And you had your share in bringing it tothat--you who sit in judgment. "

"I!" Thresk exclaimed. 

"Yes, you who sit in judgment. I am not alone. No, I am not alone. Acrime was committed? Then you must shoulder your portion of the blame. "

Thresk asked himself in vain what was his share. He had done a cowardlything years ago a few miles from this spot. He had never ceased toreproach himself for the cowardice. But that it had lived and worked likesome secret malady until in the end it had made him an all-unconsciousaccomplice in that midnight tragedy, a sharer in its guilt, if guiltthere were--here again was news for him. But the knowledge which herfirst words had given to him, that all these years he had never got thetruth of her, kept him humble now. He ceased to be judge. He became pupiland as pupil he answered her. 

"I am ready to shoulder it. "

He was seated on a cushioned bench which stood behind the writing-tableand Stella sat down at his side. 

"When we parted--that morning--it was in the drawing-room over there inmy cottage. We parted, you to your work of getting on, Henry, I to thinkof you getting on without me at your side. There was a letter lying onthe table, a letter from India. Jane Repton had written it and she askedme to go out to her for the cold weather. I went. I was a young girl, lonely and very unhappy, and as young girls often do who are lonely andvery unhappy I drifted into marriage. "

"I see, " said Thresk in a hushed voice. The terrible conviction grew uponhim now, lurid as the breaking of a day of storm, that the cowardice hehad shown on Bignor Hill ruined her altogether and hurt him not at all. "Yes, I see. There my share begins. "

"Oh no. Not yet, " she answered. "Then I spoke when I should have keptsilence. I let my heart go out when I should have guarded it. No, Icannot blame you. "

"You have the right none the less. "

But Stella would not excuse herself now and to him by any subtletyor artifice. 

"No: I married. That was my affair. I wasbeaten--despised--ridiculed--terrified by a husband who drank secretlyand kept all his drunkenness for me. That, too, was my affair. But Imight have gone on. For seven years it had lasted. I was settling into adull habit of misery. I might have gone on being bullied and tortured hadnot one little thing happened to push me over the precipice. "

"And what was that?" asked Thresk. 

"Your visit to me at Chitipur, " she replied, and the words took hisbreath away. Why, he had travelled to Chitipur merely to save her. Heleaned forward eagerly but she anticipated him. She smiled at him with anindulgent forgiveness. "Oh, why did you come? But I know. "

"Do you?" Thresk asked. Here at all events she was wrong. 

"Yes. You came because of that one weak soft spot of sentimentalism thereis in all of you, the strongest, the hardest. You are strong for years. You live alone for years. Then comes the sentimental moment and it's wewho suffer, not you. "

And deep in Thresk's mind was the terror of the mistakes people make inignorance of each other, and of the mortal hurt the mistakes inflict. Hehad misread Stella. Here was she misreading him and misreading him insome strange way to her peril and ruin. 

"You are sure of that?" he asked. She had no doubt--no more doubt than hehad had of the reason why she stood preparing her rifle. 

"Quite, " she answered. "You had heard of me in Bombay and it came overyou that you would like to see how the woman you had loved looked afterall these years: whether she retained her pretty way, whether she missedyou--ah, above all, whether she missed you. You wanted to fan up into amild harmless flame the ashes of an old romance, warm your hands at itfor half an hour, recapture a savour of dim and pleasant memories andthen go back to your own place and your own work, untouched and unhurt. "

Thresk laughed aloud with bitterness at the mistake she had made. Yet hecould not blame her. There was a certain shrewd insight which though ithad led her astray in this case might well have been true in any othercase, might well have been true of him. He remembered her disbelief inall that he had said to her in that tent at Chitipur; and he was appalledby the irony of things and the blind and feeble helplessness of men tocombat it. 

"So that's why I came to Chitipur?" he cried. 

"Yes, " Stella answered without a second of hesitation. "But I couldn't beleft untouched and unhurt. You came and all that I had lost came withyou, came in a vivid rush of bright intolerable memories. " She claspedher hands over her eyes and Thresk lived over again that evening in thetent upon the desert, but with a new understanding. His mind wasillumined. He saw the world as a prison in which each living being isshut off from his neighbour by the impenetrable wall of an inability tounderstand. 

"Memories of summers here, " she resumed, "of women friends, of dainty andcomfortable things, and days of great happiness when it was good--oh sovery good!--to be alive and young. And you were going back to it all, straight by the night-mail to Bombay, straight from the station on boardyour ship. Oh, how it hurt to hear you speak of it, with a casualpleasant word about exile and next-door neighbours!" She clasped herhands together in front of her, her fingers worked and twisted. "No, Icouldn't endure it, " she whispered. "The blows, the ridicule, thecontempt, I determined, should come to an end that night, and when yousaw me with the rifle in my hand I was going to end it. "

"Yes?"

"And then the stupidest thing happened. I couldn't find the little boxof cartridges. "

Stella described to him how she had run hither and thither about thetent, opening drawers, looking into bags and growing more nervous andmore flurried with every second that passed. She had so little time. Ballantyne was not going as far as the station with Thresk. He merelyintended to see his visitor off beyond the edge of the camp. And it mustall be over and done with before he came back. She heard Ballantyne callto Thresk to sit firm while the camel rose; and still she had not foundthem. She heard Thresk's voice saying good-night. 

"The last words, Henry, I wanted to hear in the world. I thought that Iwould wait for them and the moment they had died away--then. But I hadn'tfound the cartridges and so the search began again. "

Thresk, watching her as she lived through again those desperate minutes, was carried back to Chitipur and seemed to be looking into that tent. Hehad a dreadful picture before his eyes of a hunted woman rushing wildlyfrom table to table, with a white, quivering face and lips which babbledincoherently and feverish hands which darted out nervously, over-settingbooks and ornaments--in a vain search for a box of cartridges wherewithto kill herself. She found them at last behind the whisky bottle, andclutched at them with a great sigh of relief. She carried them over tothe table on which she had laid her rifle, and as she pushed one intothe breech, Stephen Ballantyne stood in the doorway of the tent. 

"He swore at me, " Stella continued. "I had taken the necklace off. I hadshown you the bruises on my throat. He cursed me for it, and he asked meroughly why I didn't shoot myself and rid him of a fool. I stood withoutanswering him. That always maddened him. I didn't do it on purpose. I hadbecome dull and slow. I just stood and looked at him stupidly, and in afury he ran at me with his fist raised. I recoiled, he frightened me, andthen before he reached me--yes. " Her voice died away in a whisper. Threskdid not interrupt. There was more for her to tell and one dreadfulincident to explain. Stella went on in a moment, looking straight infront of her and with all the passion of fear gone from her voice. 

"I remember that he stood and stared at me foolishly for a little while. I had time to believe that nothing had happened, and to be glad thatnothing had happened and to be terrified of what he would do to me. Andthen he fell and lay quite still. "

It seemed that she had no more to say, that she meant to leaveunexplained the inexplicable thing; and even Thresk put it out ofhis thoughts. 

"It was an accident then, " he cried. "After all, Stella, it was anaccident. "

But Stella sat mutely at his side. Some struggle was taking place in herand was reflected in her countenance. Thresk's eager joy was damped. 

"No, my friend, " she said at length, slowly and very deliberately. "Itwas not an accident. "

"But you fired in fear. " Thresk caught now at that alternative. "You shotin self-defence. Stella, I blundered at Bombay. " He moved away from herin his agitation. "I am sorry. Oh, I am very sorry. I should never havecome forward at all. I should have lain quiet and let your counseldevelop his case, as he was doing, on the line of self-defence. You wouldhave been acquitted--and rightly acquitted. You would have had thesympathy of every one. But I didn't know your story. I was afraid thatthe discovery of Ballantyne outside the tent would ruin you. I knew thatmy story could not fail to save you. So I told it. But I was wrong, Stella. I blundered. I did you a great harm. "

He was standing before her now and so poignant an anguish rang in hisvoice that Stella was moved by it to discard her plans. Thus she hadmeant to tell the story if ever she was driven to it. Thus she had toldit. But now she put out a timid hand and took him by the arm. 

"I said I would tell you the truth. But I have not told it all. It's sohard not to keep one little last thing back. Listen to me"; and with abowed head and her hand still clinging desperately to his arm she madethe final revelation. 

"It's true I was crazy with fear. But there was just one little momentwhen I knew what I was going to do, when it came upon me that the way Ihad chosen before was the wrong one, and this new way the right one. No, no, " she cried as Thresk moved. "Even that's not all. That moment--youcould hardly measure it in time, yet to me it was distinct enough and ismarked distinctly in my memories, for during it _he_ drew back. "

"What?" cried Thresk. "Don't say it, Stella!"

"Yes, " she answered. "During it he drew back, knowing what I was going todo just as I suddenly knew it. It was a moment when he seemed to me tobleat--yes, that's the word--to bleat for mercy. "

She had told the truth now and she dropped her hand from his sleeve. 

"And you? What did you do?" asked Thresk. 

"I? Oh, I went mad, I think. When I saw him lying there I lost my head. The tent was flecked with great spots of fire which whirled in front ofmy eyes and hurt. A strength far greater than mine possessed me. I wascrazy. I dragged him out of the tent for no reason--that's the truth--forno reason at all. Can you believe that?"

"Yes, " replied Thresk readily enough. "I can well believe that. "

"Then something broke, " she resumed. "I felt weak and numbed. I draggedmyself to my room. I went to bed. Does that sound very horrible to you?I had one clear thought only. It was over. It was all over. I slept. "She leaned back in her chair, her hands dropped to her side, her eyesclosed. "Yes I did actually sleep. "

A clock ticking upon the mantelshelf seemed to grow louder and louder inthe silence of the library. The sound of it forced itself upon Thresk. Itroused Stella. She opened her eyes. In front of her Thresk was standing, his face grave and very pitiful. 

"Now answer me truly, " said Stella, and leaning forward she fixed hereyes upon him. "If you still loved me, would you, knowing this story, refuse to marry me?"

Thresk looked back across the years of her unhappy life and saw her asthe sport of a malicious destiny. 

"No, " he said, "I should not. "

"Then why shouldn't Dick marry me?"

"Because he doesn't know this story. "

Stella nodded her head. 

"Yes. There's the flaw in my appeal to you, I know. You are quite right. I should have told him. I should tell him now, " and suddenly she droppedon her knees before Thresk, the tears burst from her eyes, and in a voicebroken with passion she cried:

"But I daren't--not yet. I have tried to--oh, more than once. Believethat, Henry! You must believe it! But I couldn't. I hadn't the courage. You will give me a little time, won't you? Oh, not long. I will tell himof my own free will--very soon, Henry. But not now--not now. "

The sound of her sobbing and the sight of her distress wrung Thresk'sheart. He lifted her from the ground and held her. 

"There's another way, Stella, " he said gently. 

"Oh, I know, " she answered. She was thinking of the little bottle withthe tablets of veronal which stood by her bed, not for the first timethat night. She did not stop to consider whether Thresk, too, had thatway in his mind. It came to her so naturally; it was so easy, so simple away. She never thought that she misunderstood. She had come to the end ofthe struggle; the battle had gone against her; she recognised it; andnow, without complaint, she bowed her head for the final blow. Theinherited habit of submission taught her that the moment had come forcompliance and gave her the dignity of patience. "Yes, I suppose that Imust take that way, " she said, and she walked towards the chair overwhich she had thrown her wrap. "Good-night, Henry. "

But before she had thrown the cloak about her shoulders Thresk stoodbetween her and the window. He took the cloak from her hands. 

"There have been too many mistakes, Stella, between you and me. Theremust be no more. Here are we--until to-night strangers, and because wewere strangers, and never knew it, spoiling each other's lives. "

Stella looked at him in bewilderment. She had taught Thresk that nightunimagined truths about herself. She was now to learn something of theinner secret man which the outward trappings of success concealed. He ledher to a sofa and placed her at his side. 

"You have said a good many hard things to me, Stella, " he said with asmile--"most of them true, but some untrue. And the untrue things youwouldn't have said if you had ever chanced to ask yourself one question:why I really missed my steamer at Bombay. "

Stella Ballantyne was startled. She made a guess but faltered in theutterance of it, so ill it fitted with her estimate of him. 

"You missed it on purpose?"

"Yes. I didn't come to Chitipur on any sentimental journey"; and he toldhow he had seen her portrait in Jane Repton's drawing-room and learnt ofthe misery of her marriage. 

"I came to fetch you away. "

And again Stella stared at him. 

"You? You pitied me so much? Oh, Henry!"

"No. I wanted you so much. It's quite true that I sacrificed everythingfor success. I don't deny that it is well worth having. But Jane Reptonsaid something to me in Bombay so true--you can get whatever you want ifyou want it enough, but you cannot control the price you will have topay. I know, my dear, that I paid too big a price. I trampled downsomething better worth having. "

Stella rose suddenly to her feet. 

"Oh, if I had known that on the night in Chitipur! What a difference itwould have made!" She turned swiftly to him. "Couldn't you have told me?"

"I hadn't a chance. I hadn't five minutes with you alone. And youwouldn't have believed me if I had had the chance. I left my pipe behindme in order to come back and tell you. I had only the time then to tellyou that I would write. "

"Yes, yes, " she answered, and again the cry burst from her: "What adifference it would have made! Merely to have known that you reallywanted me!"

She would never have taken that rifle from the corner and searched forthe cartridges, that she might kill herself! Whether she had consented ornot to go away and ruin Thresk's future she would have had a little faithwherewith to go on and face the world. If she had only known! But up onthe top of Bignor Hill a blow had been struck under which her faith hadreeled and it had never had a chance of recovery. She laughed harshly. The heart of her tragedy was now revealed to her. She saw herself thesport of gods who sat about like cruel louts torturing a helpless animaland laughing stupidly at its sufferings. She turned again to Thresk andheld out her hand. 

"Thank you. You would have ruined yourself for me. "

"Ruin's a large word, " he answered, and still holding her hand he drewher down again. She yielded reluctantly. She might misread his character, but when the feelings and emotions were aroused she had the unerringinsight of her sex. She was warned by it now. She looked at Thresk withstartled eyes. 

"Why have you told me all this?" she asked in suspense, ready for flight. 

"I want to prepare you. There's a way out of the trouble--the honest wayfor both of us: to make a clean breast of it together and together takewhat follows. "

She was on her feet and away from him in a second. 

"No, no, " she cried in alarm, and Thresk mistook the cause of the alarm. 

"You can't be tried again, Stella. That's over. You have been acquitted. "

She temporised. 

"But you?"

"I?" and he shrugged his shoulders. "I take the consequences. I doubt ifthey would be so very heavy. There would be some sympathy. Andafterwards--it would be as though you had slipped down from Chitipur toBombay and joined me as I had planned. We can make the best of our livestogether. "

There was so much sincerity in his manner, so much simplicity she couldnot doubt him; and the immensity of the sacrifice he was prepared to makeoverwhelmed her. It was not merely scandal and the Divorce Court which hewas ready to brave now. He had gone beyond the plan contemplated atBombay. He was willing to go hand in hand with her into the outerdarkness, laying down all that he had laboured for unsparingly. 

"You would do that for me?" she said. "Oh, you put me to shame!" and shecovered her face with her hands. 

"You give up your struggle for a footing in the world--that's what youwant, isn't it?" He pleaded, and she drew her hands away from her face. He believed that? He imagined that she was fighting just for a name, aposition in the world? She stared at him in amazement, and forced herselfto understand. Since he himself had cared for her enough to remainunmarried, since the knowledge of the mistake which he had made had grownmore bitter with each year, he had fallen easily into that other errorthat she had never ceased to care too. 

"We'll make something of our lives, never fear, " he was saying. "But tomarry this man for his position, and he not knowing--oh, my dear, I knowhow you are driven--but it won't do! It won't do!"

She stood in silence for a little while. One by one he had torn herdefences down. She could hardly bear the gentleness upon his face andshe turned away from him and sat down upon a chair a little way off. 

"Stand there, Henry, " she said. A strange composure had succeeded heragitation. "I must tell you something more which I had meant to hidefrom you--the last thing which I have kept back. It will hurt you, Iam afraid. "

There came a change upon Thresk's face. He was steeling himself tomeet a blow. 

"Go on. "

"It isn't because of his position that I cling to Dick. I want him tokeep that--yes--for his sake. I don't want him to lose more by marryingme than he needs must"; and comprehension burst upon Henry Thresk. 

"You care for him then! You really care for him?"

"So much, " she answered, "that if I lost him now I should lose all theworld. You and I can't go back to where we stood nine years ago. You hadyour chance then, Henry, if you had wished to take it. But you didn'twish it, and that sort of chance doesn't often come again. Others likeit--yes. But not quite the same one. I am sorry. But you must believe me. If I lost Dick I should lose all the world. "

So far she had spoken very deliberately, but now her voice faltered. 

"That is my one poor excuse. "

The unexpected word roused Thresk to inquiry. 

"Excuse?" he asked, and with her eyes fixed in fear upon him shecontinued:

"Yes. I meant Dick to marry me publicly. But I saw that his father shrankfrom the marriage. I grew afraid. I told Dick of my fears. He banishedthem. I let him banish them. "

"What do you mean?" Thresk asked. 

"We were married privately in London five days ago. "

Thresk uttered a low cry and in a moment Stella was at his side, all hercomposure gone. 

"Oh, I know that it was wrong. But I was being hunted. They were all likea pack of wolves after me. Mr. Hazlewood had joined them. I was driveninto a corner. I loved Dick. They meant to tear him from me without anypity. I clung. Yes, I clung. "

But Thresk thrust her aside. 

"You tricked him, " he cried. 

"I didn't dare to tell him, " Stella pleaded, wringing her hands. "Ididn't dare to lose him. "

"You tricked him, " Thresk repeated; and at the note of anger in his voiceStella found herself again. 

"You accuse and condemn me?" she asked quietly. 

"Yes. A thousand times, yes, " he exclaimed hotly, and she answered withanother question winged on a note of irony:

"Because I tricked him? Or because I--married him?"

Thresk was silenced. He recognised the truth implied in the distinction, he turned to her with a smile. 

"Yes, " he answered. "You are right, Stella. It's because youmarried him. "

He stood for a moment in thought. Then with a gesture of helplessness hepicked up her cloak. She watched his action and as he came towards hershe cried:

"But I'll tell him now, Henry. " In a way she owed it to this man whocared for her so much, who was so prepared for sacrifice, if sacrificecould help. That morning on the downs was swept from her memory now. "Yes, I'll tell him now, " she said eagerly. Since Henry Thresk setsuch store upon that confession, why so very likely would Dick, herhusband, too. 

But Thresk shook his head. 

"What's the use now? You give him no chance. You can't set him free"; andStella was as one turned to stone. All argument seemed sooner or later toturn to that one dread alternative which had already twice that nightforced itself on her acceptance. 

"Yes, I can, Henry, and I will, I promise you, if he wishes to be free. Ican do it quite easily, quite naturally. Any woman could. So many of ustake things to make us sleep. "

There was no boastfulness in her voice or manner, but rather a despairingrecognition of facts. 

"Good God, you mustn't think of it!" said Thresk eagerly. "That's toobig a price to pay. "

Stella shook her head wistfully. 

"You hear it said, Henry, " she answered with an indescribablewistfulness, "that women will do anything to keep the men they love. They'll do a great deal--I am an example--but not always everything. Sometimes love runs just a little stronger. And then it craves that theloved one shall get all he wants to have. If Dick wants his freedom Itoo, then, shall want him to have it. "

And while Thresk stood with no words to answer her there came a knockingupon the door. It was gentle, almost furtive, but it startled them bothlike a clap of thunder. For a moment they stood rigid. Then Thresksilently handed Stella her cloak and pointed towards the window. Hebegan to speak aloud. A word or two revealed his plan to StellaBallantyne. He was rehearsing a speech which he was to make in theCourts before a jury. But the handle of the door rattled and now old Mr. Hazlewood's voice was heard. 

"Thresk! Are you there?"

Once more Thresk pointed to the window. But Stella did not move. 

"Let him in, " she said quietly, and with a glance at her heunlocked the door. 

Mr. Hazlewood stood outside. He had not gone to bed that night. He hadtaken off his coat and now wore a smoking-jacket. 

"I knew that I should not sleep to-night, so I sat up, " he began, "and Ithought that I heard voices here. "

Over Thresk's shoulder he saw Stella Ballantyne standing erect in themiddle of the room, her shining gown the one bright patch of colour. "Youhere?" he cried to her, and Thresk made way for him to enter. He advancedto her with a look of triumph in his eyes. 

"You here--at this house--with Thresk? You were persuading him tocontinue to hold his tongue. "

Stella met his gaze steadily. 

"No, " she replied. "He was persuading me to the truth, and he hassucceeded. "

Mr. Hazlewood smiled and nodded. There was no magnanimity in his triumph. A schoolboy would have shown more chivalry to the opponent who was down. 

"You confess then? Good! Richard must be told. "

"Yes, " answered Stella. "I claim the right to tell him. "

But Mr. Hazlewood scoffed at the proposal. 

"Oh dear no!" he cried. "I refuse the claim. I shall go straight toRichard now. "

He had actually taken a couple of steps towards the door before Stella'svoice rang out suddenly loud and imperative. 

"Take care, Mr. Hazlewood. After you have told him he will come to me. Take care!"

Hazlewood stopped. Certainly that was true. 

"I'll tell Dick to-morrow, here, in your presence, " she said. "And if hewishes it I'll set him free and never trouble either of you again. "

Hazlewood looked at Thresk and was persuaded to consent. Reflectionshowed him that it was the better plan. He himself would be present whenStella spoke. He would see that the truth was told without embroidery. 

"Very well, to-morrow, " he said. 

Stella flung the cloak over her shoulders and went up to the window. Thresk opened it for her. 

"I'll see you to your door, " he said. 

The moon had risen now. It hung low with the branches of a tree like alattice across its face; and on the garden and the meadow lay thatunearthly light which falls when a moonlit night begins to drown in theonrush of the dawn. 

"No, " she said. "I would rather go alone. But do something for me, willyou? Stay to-morrow. Be here when I tell him. " She choked down a sob. "Oh, I shall want a friend and you are so kind. "

"So kind!" he repeated with a note of bitterness. Could there be praisefrom a woman's lips more deadly? You are kind; you are put in your placein the ruck of men; you are extinguished. 

"Oh yes, I'll stay. "

She stood for a moment on the stone flags outside the window. 

"Will he forgive?" she asked. "You would. And he is not so very young, ishe? It's the young who don't forgive. Good-night. "

She went along the path and across the meadow. Thresk watched her go andsaw the light spring up in her room. Then he closed the window and drewthe curtain. Mr. Hazlewood had gone. Thresk wondered what the morrowwould bring. After all, Stella was right. Youth was a graceful thing ofhigh-sounding words and impetuous thoughts, but like many other gracefulthings it could be hard and cruel. Its generosity did not come from anywide outlook on a world where there is a good deal to be said foreverything. It was rather a matter of physical health than judgment. Yes, he was glad Dick Hazlewood was half his way through the thirties. Forhimself--well, he knew his business. It was to be kind. He turned off thelights and went to bed. 

CHAPTER XXVII

THE VERDICT

"Six, seven, eight, " said Mr. Hazlewood, counting the letters which hehad already written since breakfast and placing them on the salver whichHubbard was holding out to him. He was a very different man this morningfrom the Mr. Hazlewood of yesterday. He shone, complacent and serene. Heleaned back in his chair and gazed mildly at the butler. "There must bean answer to the problem which I put to you, Hubbard. "

Hubbard wrinkled his brows in thought and succeeded only in looking ahundred and ten years old. He had the melancholy look of a moulting bird. He shook his head and drooped. 

"No doubt, sir, " he said. 

"But as far as you are concerned, " Mr. Hazlewood continued briskly, "youcan throw no light upon it?"

"Not a glimmer, sir. "

Mr. Hazlewood was disappointed and with him disappointment was petulance. 

"That is unlike you, Hubbard, " he said, "for sometimes after I have beendeliberating for days over some curious and perplexing conundrum, youhave solved it the moment it has been put to you. "

Hubbard drooped still lower. He began the droop as a bow ofacknowledgment but forgot to raise his head again. 

"It is very good of you, sir, " he said. He seemed oppressed by thegoodness of Mr. Hazlewood. 

"Yet you are not clever, Hubbard! Not at all clever. "

"No, sir. I know my place, " returned the butler, and Mr. Hazlewoodcontinued with a little envy. 

"You must have some wonderful gift of insight which guides you straightto the inner meaning of things. "

"It's just common-sense, sir, " said Hubbard. 

"But I haven't got it, " cried Mr. Hazlewood. "How's that?"

"You don't need it, sir. You are a gentleman, " Hubbard replied, andcarried the letters to the door. There, however, he stopped. "I beg yourpardon, sir, " he said, "but a new parcel of _The Prison Walls_ hasarrived this morning. Shall I unpack it?"

Mr. Hazlewood frowned and scratched his ear. 

"Well--er--no, Hubbard--no, " he said with a trifle of discomfort. "I amnot sure indeed that _The Prison Walls_ is not almost one of my mistakes. We all make mistakes, Hubbard. I think you shall burn that parcel, Hubbard--somewhere where it won't be noticed. "

"Certainly, sir, " said Hubbard. "I'll burn it under the shadow of thesouth wall. "

Mr. Hazlewood looked up with a start. Was it possible that Hubbard waspoking fun at him? The mere notion was incredible and indeed Hubbardshuffled with so much meekness from the room that Mr. Hazlewood dismissedit. He went across the hall to the dining-room, where he found HenryThresk trifling with his breakfast. No embarrassment weighed upon Mr. Hazlewood this morning. He effervesced with good-humour. 

"I do not blame you, Mr. Thresk, " he said, "for the side you tookyesterday afternoon. You were a stranger to us in this house. Iunderstand your position. "

"I am not quite so sure, Mr. Hazlewood, " said Thresk drily, "that Iunderstand yours. For my part I have not closed my eyes all night. You, on the other hand, seem to have slept well. "

"I did indeed, " said Hazlewood. "I was relieved from a strain ofsuspense under which I have been labouring for a month past. To haverefused my consent to Richard's marriage with Stella Ballantyne on noother grounds than that social prejudice forbade it would have seemeda complete, a stupendous reversal of my whole theory and conduct oflife. I should have become an object of ridicule. People would havelaughed at the philosopher of Little Beeding. I have heard theirlaughter all this month. Now, however, once the truth is known no onewill be able to say--"

Henry Thresk looked up from his plate aghast. 

"Do you mean to say, Mr. Hazlewood, that after Mrs. Ballantyne has toldher story you mean to make that story public?"

Mr. Hazlewood stared in amazement at Henry Thresk. 

"But of course, " he said. 

"Oh, you can't be thinking of it!"

"But I am. I must do it. There is so much at stake, " replied Hazlewood. 

"What?"

"The whole consistency of my life. I must make it clear that I am notacting upon prejudice or suspicion or fear of what the world will say orfor any of the conventional reasons which might guide other men. "

To Thresk this point of view was horrible; and there was no arguingagainst it. It was inspired by the dreadful vanity of a narrow, shallownature, and Thresk's experience had never shown him anything moredifficult to combat and overcome. 

"So for the sake of your reputation for consistency you will make a veryunhappy woman bear shame and obloquy which she might easily be spared?You could find a thousand excuses for breaking off the marriage. "

"You put the case very harshly, Mr. Thresk, " said Hazlewood. "Butyou have not considered my position, " and he went indignantly backto the library. 

Thresk shrugged his shoulders. After all if Dick Hazlewood turned hisback upon Stella she would not hear the abuse or suffer the shame. Thatshe would take the dark journey as she declared he could not doubt. Andno one could prevent her--not even he himself, though his heart mightbreak at her taking it. All depended upon Dick. 

He appeared a few minutes afterwards fresh from his ride, glowing withgood-humour and contentment. But the sight of Thresk surprised him. 

"Hulloa, " he cried. "Good-morning. I thought you were going to catch theeight forty-five. "

"I felt lazy, " answered Thresk. "I sent off some telegrams to put off myengagements. "

"Good, " said Dick, and he sat down at the breakfast-table. As he pouredout a cup of tea, Thresk said:

"I think I heard you were over thirty. "

"Yes. "

"Thirty's a good age, " said Thresk. 

"It looks back on youth, " answered Dick. 

"That's just what I mean, " remarked Thresk. "Do you mind a cigarette?"

"Not at all. "

Thresk smoked and while he smoked he talked, not carelessly yet carefulnot to emphasize his case. "Youth is a graceful thing of high-soundingwords and impetuous thoughts, but like many other graceful things it canbe very hard and very cruel. "

Dick Hazlewood looked closely and quickly at his companion. But heanswered casually:

"It is supposed to be generous. "

"And it is--to itself, " replied Thresk. "Generous when its sympathies areenlisted, generous so long as all goes well with it: generous because itis confident of triumph. But its generosity is not a matter of judgment. It does not come from any wide outlook upon a world where there is a gooddeal to be said for everything. It is a matter of physical health. "

"Yes?" said Dick. 

"And once affronted, once hurt, youth finds it difficult to forgive. "

So far both men had been debating on an abstract topic without anyimmediate application to themselves. But now Dick leaned across the tablewith a smile upon his face which Thresk did not understand. 

"And why do you say this to me this morning, Mr. Thresk?" he askedpointedly. 

"Yes, it's rather an impertinence, isn't it?" Thresk agreed. "But I waslooking into a case late last night in which irrevocable and terriblethings are going to happen if there is not forgiveness. "

Dick took his cigarette-case from his pocket. 

"I see, " he remarked, and struck a match. Both men rose from the tableand at the door Dick turned. 

"Your case, of course, has not yet come on, " he said. 

"No, " answered Thresk, "but it will very soon. "

They went into the library, and Mr. Hazlewood greeted his son with avivacity which for weeks had been absent from his demeanour. 

"Did you ride this morning?" he asked. 

"Yes, but Stella didn't. She sent word over that she was tired. I must goacross and see how she is. "

Mr. Hazlewood interposed quickly:

"There is no need of that, my boy; she is coming here this morning. "

"Oh!"

Dick looked at his father in astonishment. 

"She said no word of it to me last night--and I saw her home. I supposeshe sent word over about that too?"

He looked from one to the other of his companions, but neither answeredhim. Some uneasiness indeed was apparent in them both. 

"Oho!" he said with a smile. "Stella's coming over and I knownothing of it. Mr. Thresk's lazy, so remains at Little Beeding anddelivers a lecture to me over breakfast. And you, father, seem inremarkable spirits. "

Mr. Hazlewood seized upon the opportunity to interrupt his son'sreflections. 

"I am, my boy, " he cried. "I walked in the fields this morningand--" But he got no further with his explanations, for the sound of Mrs. Pettifer's voice rang high in the hall and she burst into the room. 

"Harold, I have only a moment. Good morning, Mr. Thresk, " she cried in abreath. "I have something to say to you. "

Thresk was disturbed. Suppose that Stella came while Mrs. Pettifer washere! She must not speak in Mrs. Pettifer's presence. Somehow Mrs. Pettifer must be dismissed. No such anxiety, however, harassed Mr. Hazlewood. 

"Say it, Margaret, " he said, smiling benignantly upon her. "You cannotannoy me this morning. I am myself again, " and Dick's eyes turned sharplyupon him. "All my old powers of observation have returned, my oldinterest in the great dark riddle of human life has re-awakened. Thebrain, the sedulous, active brain, resumes its work to-day askingquestions, probing problems. I rose early, Margaret, " he flourished hishands like one making a speech, "and walking in the fields amongst thecows a most curious speculation forced itself upon my mind. How is it, Iasked myself--"

It seemed that Mr. Hazlewood was destined never to complete a sentencethat morning, for Margaret Pettifer at this point banged her umbrellaupon the floor. 

"Stop talking, Harold, and listen to me! I have been speaking with Robertand we withdraw all opposition to Dick's marriage. "

Mr. Hazlewood was dumfoundered. 

"You, Margaret--you of all people!" he stammered. 

"Yes, " she replied decisively. "Robert likes her and Robert is a goodjudge of a woman. That's one thing. Then I believe Dick is going to takeSt. Quentins; isn't that so, Dick?"

"Yes, " answered Dick. "That's the house we looked over yesterday. "

"Well, it's not a couple of a hundred yards from us, and it would not becomfortable for any of us if Dick and Dick's wife were strangers. So Igive in. There, Dick!" She went across the room and held out her hand tohim. "I am going to call on Stella this afternoon. "

Dick flushed with pleasure. 

"That's splendid, Aunt Margaret. I knew you were all right, you know. Youput on a few frills at first, of course, but you are forgiven. "

Mr. Hazlewood made so complete a picture of dismay that Dick could notbut pity him. He went across to his father. 

"Now, sir, " he said, "let us hear this problem. "

The old man was not proof against the invitation. 

"You shall, Richard, " he exclaimed. "You are the very man to hear it. Your aunt, Richard, is of too practical a mind for such speculations. It's a most curious problem. Hubbard quite failed to throw any light uponit. I myself am, I confess, bewildered. And I wonder if a fresh youngmind can help us to a solution. " He patted his son on the shoulder andthen took him by the arm. 

"The fresh young mind will have a go, father, " said Dick. "Fire away. "

"I was walking in the fields, my boy. "

"Yes, sir, among the cows. "

"Exactly, you put your finger on the very point. How is it, I askedmyself--"

"That's quite your old style, father. "

"Now isn't it, Richard, isn't it?" Mr. Hazlewood dropped Dick's arm. Hewarmed to his theme. He caught fire. He assumed the attitude of theorator. "How is it that with the advancement of science and the progressof civilization a cow gives no more milk to-day than she did at thebeginning of the Christian era?"

With outspread arms he asked for an answer and the answer came. 

"A fresh young mind can solve that problem in two shakes. It is becausethe laws of nature forbid. That's your trouble, father. That's thegreat drawback to sentimental enthusiasm. It's always up against thelaws of nature. "

"Dick, " said Mrs. Pettifer, "by some extraordinary miracle you are giftedwith common-sense. I am off. " She went away in a hurricane as she hadcome, and it was time that she did go, for even while she was closing thedoor Stella Ballantyne came out from her cottage to cross the meadow. Dick was the first to hear the gate click as she unlatched it and passedinto the garden. He took a step towards the window, but his fatherinterposed and for once with a real authority. 

"No, Richard, " he said. "Wait with us here. Mrs. Ballantyne has somethingto tell us. "

"I thought so, " said Dick quietly, and he came back to the other two men. "Let me understand. " His face was grave but without anger or anyconfusion. "Stella returned here last night after I had taken her home?"

"Yes, " said Thresk. 

"To see you?"

"Yes. "

"And my father came down and found you together?"

"Yes. "

"I heard voices, " Mr. Hazlewood hurriedly interposed, "and so naturally Icame down. "

Dick turned to his father. 

"That's all right, father. I didn't think you were listening at thekeyhole. I am not blaming anybody. I want to know exactly where weare--that's all. "

Stella found the little group awaiting her, and standing up before themshe told her story as she had told it last night to Thresk. She omittednothing nor did she falter. She had trembled and cried for a great partof the night over the ordeal which lay before her, but now that she hadcome to it she was brave. Her composure indeed astonished Thresk andfilled him with compassion. He knew that the very roots of her heart werebleeding. Only once or twice did she give any sign of what these fewminutes were costing her. Her eyes strayed towards Dick Hazlewood's facein spite of herself, but she turned them away again with a wrench of herhead and closed her eyelids lest she should hesitate and fail. Alllistened to her in silence, and it was strange to Thresk that the one manwho seemed least concerned of the three was Dick Hazlewood himself. Hewatched Stella all the while she was speaking, but his face was a mask, not a gesture or movement gave a clue to his thoughts. When Stella hadfinished he asked composedly:

"Why didn't you tell me all this at the beginning, Stella?"

And now she turned to him in a burst of passion and remorse. 

"Oh, Dick, I tried to tell you. I made up my mind so often that I would, but I never had the courage. I am terribly to blame. I hid it all fromyou--yes. But oh! you meant so much to me--you yourself, Dick. It wasn'tyour position. It wasn't what you brought with you, other people'sfriendship, other people's esteem. It was just you--you--you! I longedfor you to want me, as I wanted you. " Then she recovered herself andstopped. She was doing the very thing she had resolved not to do. She waspleading, she was making excuses. She drew herself up and with a dignitywhich was quite pitiful she now pleaded against herself. 

"But I don't ask for your pity. You mustn't be merciful. I don't _want_mercy, Dick. That's of no use to me. I want to know what you think--justwhat you really and truthfully think--that's all. I can stand alone--if Imust. Oh yes, I can stand alone. " And as Thresk stirred and moved, knowing well in what way she meant to stand alone, Stella turned her eyesfull upon him in warning, nay, in menace. "I can stand alone quiteeasily, Dick. You mustn't think that I should suffer so very much. Ishouldn't! I shouldn't--"

In spite of her control a sob broke from her throat and her bosom heaved;and then Dick Hazlewood went quietly to her side and took her hand. 

"I didn't interrupt you, Stella. I wanted you to tell everything now, once for all, so that no one of us three need ever mention a word ofit again. "

Stella looked at Dick Hazlewood in wonder, and then a light broke overher face like the morning. His arm slipped about her waist and she leanedagainst him suddenly weak, almost to swooning. Mr. Hazlewood started upfrom his chair in consternation. 

"But you heard her, Richard!"

"Yes, father, I heard her, " he answered. "But you see Stella is my wife. "

"Your--" Mr. Hazlewood's lips refused to speak the word. He fell backagain in his chair and dropped his face in his hands. "Oh, no!"

"It's true, " said Dick. "I have rooms in London, you know. I went toLondon last week. Stella came up on Monday. It was my doing, my wish. Stella is my wife. "

Mr. Hazlewood groaned aloud. 

"But she has tricked you, Richard, " and Stella agreed. 

"Yes, I tricked you, Dick. I did, " she said miserably, and she drewherself from his arm. But he caught her hand. 

"No, you didn't. " He led her over to his father. "That's where you bothmake your mistake. Stella tried to tell me something on the very nightwhen we walked back from this house to her cottage and I asked her tomarry me. She has tried again often during the last weeks. I knew verywell what it was--before you turned against her, before I married her. She didn't trick me. "

Mr. Hazlewood turned in despair to Henry Thresk. 

"What do you say?" he asked. 

"That I am very glad you asked me here to give my advice on yourcollection, " Thresk answered. "I was inclined yesterday to take adifferent view of your invitation. But I did what perhaps I may suggestthat you should do: I accepted the situation. "

He went across to Stella and took her hands. 

"Oh, thank you, " she cried, "thank you. "

"And now"--Thresk turned to Dick--"if I might look at a _Bradshaw_ Icould find out the next train to London. "

"Certainly, " said Dick, and he went over to the writing-table. Stella andHenry Thresk were left alone for a moment. 

"We shall see you again, " she said. "Please!"

Thresk laughed. 

"No doubt. I am not going out into the night. You know my address. If youdon't ask Mr. Hazlewood. It's in King's Bench Walk, isn't it?" And hetook the time-table from Dick Hazlewood's hand. 

THE END