Part 9 (1/2)

”Say months, say months,” answered his uncle, stretching out his hands as though to push something from him. Then, to all appearances overcome by a sudden anguish, physical or mental, he turned and hurried from the room.

Taking them all together, those five weeks were the happiest that Morris had ever known. No longer was he profoundly dissatisfied with things in general, no longer ravaged by that desire of the moth for the star which in some natures is almost a disease. His outlook upon the world was healthier and more hopeful; for the first time he saw its wholesome, joyous side. Had he failed to do so, indeed, he must have been a very strange man, for he had much to make the poorest heart rejoice.

Thus Mary, always a charming woman, since her engagement had become absolutely delightful; witter, more wideawake, more beautiful. Morris could look forward to the years to be spent in her company not only without misgiving, but with a confidence that a while ago he would have thought impossible. Moreover, as good fortunes never come singly, his were destined to be multiplied. It was in those days after so many years of search and unfruitful labour that at last he discovered a clue which in the end resulted in the perfection of the instrument that was the parent of the aerophone of commerce, and gave him a name among the inventors of the century which will not easily be forgotten.

Strangely enough it was Morris's good genius, Mary, who suggested the substance, or, rather, the mixture of substances, whereof that portion of the aerophone was finally constructed which is still known as the Monk Sound Waves Receiver. Whether, as she alleged, she made this discovery by pure accident, or whether, as seems possible, she had thought the problem out in her own feminine fas.h.i.+on with results that proved excellent, does not matter in the least. The issue remains the same. An apparatus which before would work only on rare occasions--and then without any cert.i.tude--between people in the highest state of sympathy or nervous excitement, has now been brought to such a stage of perfection that by its means anybody can talk to anybody, even if their interests are antagonistic, or their personal enmity bitter.

After the first few experiments with this new material Morris was not slow to discover that although it would need long and careful testing and elaboration, for him it meant, in the main, the realisation of his great dream, and success after years of failure. And--that was the strange part of it--this realisation and success he owed to no effort of his own, but to some chance suggestion made by Mary. He told her this, and thanked her as a man thanks one through whom he has found salvation.

In answer she merely laughed, saying that she was nothing but the wire along which a happy inspiration had reached his brain, and that more than this she neither wished, nor hoped, nor was capable of being.

Then suddenly on this happy, tranquil atmosphere which wrapped them about--like the sound of a pa.s.sing bell at a child's feast--floated the first note of impending doom and death.

The autumn held fine and mild, and Mary, who had been lunching at the Abbey, was playing croquet with Morris upon the side lawn. This game was the only one for which she chanced to care, perhaps because it did not involve much exertion. Morris, who engaged in the pastime with the same earnestness that he gave to every other pursuit in which he happened to be interested, was, as might be expected, getting the best of the encounter.

”Won't you take a couple of bisques, dear?” he asked affectionately, after a while. ”I don't like always beating you by such a lot.”

”I'd die first,” she answered; ”bisques are the badge of advertised inferiority and a mark of the giver's contempt.”

”Stuff!” said Morris.

”Stuff, indeed! As though it wasn't bad enough to be beaten at all; but to be beaten with bisques!”

”That's another argument,” said Morris. ”First you say you are too proud to accept them, and next that you won't accept them because it is worse to be defeated with points than without them.”

”Anyway, if you had the commonest feelings of humanity you wouldn't beat me,” replied Mary, adroitly s.h.i.+fting her ground for the third time.

”How can I help it if you won't have the bisques?”

”How? By pretending that you were doing your best, and letting me win all the same, of course; though if I caught you at it I should be furious. But what's the use of trying to teach a blunt creature like you tact? My dear Morris, I a.s.sure you I do not believe that your efforts at deception would take in the simplest-minded cow. Why, even Dad sees through you, and the person who can't impose upon my Dad----. Oh!” she added, suddenly, in a changed voice, ”there is George coming through the gate. Something has happened to my father. Look at his face, Morris; look at his face!”

In another moment the footman stood before them.

”Please, miss, the master,” he began, and hesitated.

”Not dead?” said Mary, in a slow, quiet voice. ”Do not say that he is dead!”

”No, miss, but he has had a stroke of the heart or something, and the doctor thought you had better be fetched, so I have brought the carriage.”

”Come with me, Morris,” she said, as, dropping the croquet mallet, she flew rather than ran to the brougham.

Ten minutes later they were at Seaview. In the hall they met Mr.

Charters, the doctor. Why was he leaving? Because----

”No, no,” he said, answering their looks; ”the danger is past. He seems almost as well as ever.”

”Thank G.o.d!” stammered Mary. Then a thought struck her, and she looked up sharply and asked, ”Will it come back again?”

”Yes,” was his straightforward answer.

”When?”