Part 68 (1/2)

”Have you had a hot drink since your accident?” he asked.

She shook her head. ”I told West--I couldn't.”

He turned and rang the bell. He must have seen his note tightly grasped in her hand, but he made no comment upon it.

”Sit down again!” he said gently, and, stooping, poked the sinking fire into a blaze.

She obeyed him almost automatically. After a moment he laid down the poker, and drew the chair with her in it close to the fender. Then he picked up the cloak and put it about her shoulders, and finally moved away to the door.

She heard him give an order to a servant, and sat nervously awaiting his return. But he did not come back to her. He went outside and waited in the pa.s.sage.

There ensued an interval of several minutes, and during that time she sat crouched over the fire, holding her cloak about her, and s.h.i.+vering, s.h.i.+vering all over. Then the door which he had left ajar closed quietly, and she knew that he had come back into the room.

She drew herself together, striving desperately to subdue her agitation.

He came to her side and stooped over her. ”I want you to drink this,” he said.

She glanced up at him swiftly, and as swiftly looked away. ”Don't bother about me!” she said. ”I--am not worth it.”

He pa.s.sed the low words by. ”It's only milk with a dash of brandy,” he said. ”Won't you try it?”

Very reluctantly she took the steaming beverage from him and began to drink.

He remained beside her, and took the cup from her when she had finished.

”Now,” he said, ”wouldn't it be wise of you to go to bed?”

She made a movement that was almost convulsive. She had his note still clasped in her hand.

After a moment, without lifting her eyes, she spoke. ”Percival, why did you--what made you--write this?”

”I owed it to you,” he said.

”You--meant it?” she said, with an effort.

”Yes. I meant it.” He spoke with complete steadiness.

”But--but--” She struggled with herself for an instant; then, ”Oh, I've got to tell you!” she burst forth pa.s.sionately. ”I'm--very wicked.”

”No,” he said quietly, and laid a constraining hand upon her as she sat.

”That is not so.”

She contracted at his touch. ”You don't know me. I wrote you a note this evening, trying to explain. I told you I meant to leave you. But--I didn't mean you to read it till I was gone. Did you read it?”

”No,” he said. ”I guessed what you had done.”

Desperately she went on. ”You've got to know the worst. I was ready to go away with him. We--were such old friends, and I thought--I thought--I knew him.” She bowed herself lower under his hand. Her face was hidden.

”I thought he was at least a gentleman. I thought I could trust him.