Part 5 (1/2)

In a moment or two, the young man was propelling the long mahogany punt with easy strokes towards the artificial cutting which led to the Seaming boathouse. Then, laughing and talking together, the three strolled over the wonderful lawns, pneumatic to the tread, brilliant as emerald to the eye, towards the old house with its encircling oaks and elms.

The tall red chimneys rose up between the leaves, that triumph of the Tudor style, which alone of all architectural systems has shown how chimneys may aid and complete the beauty of a building. The house rested upon the lawns as if it might float away at any moment, as they pa.s.sed round an ancient grey dove-cot and some formal box-trees, and came in sight of the beautiful place. James Poyntz gave a quick breath of pleasure as he saw it, the old riverside palace of his ancestors. There were other houses which would one day be his--a great, grim Yorks.h.i.+re fortress, the gay villa at Nice by the old citadel of Mont-Albano, where the Paglion sings its song of the mountain torrent, the decorous London mansion in Berkeley Square. But of all, he loved the old Tudor house by the river best.

How well Lucy walked! her carriage was a pleasure to watch. Yes! she harmonised with her background, she was in correspondence with her environment, she would be a fit mistress of Scarning in some dim future day.

They sat down to lunch in an ancient, mellow room, panelled in oak, with Tudor roses everywhere. It was beautifully cool and fresh after the glare outside. Father Saltus was a tall and very portly elderly man. His head was large, formed on a grand scale, and his mouth powerful but good-humoured. His eyebrows were very bushy and extremely white, and they overhung eyes which were of a dark grey, deep but not sombre, with much that was latent there.

The meal was progressing merrily when the butler entered and spoke to the footman who had been waiting on them. Then he went up to Agatha.

”His Lords.h.i.+p has returned, Miss,” he said, ”and will be down to lunch in a moment.”

Lord Huddersfield had been away for several days. The family house in London was let, as the Baron did not entertain largely since his wife's death. Agatha's season was spent under the wing of the St. Justs, her mother's people. But Lord Huddersfield had chambers in Piccadilly, and no one ever quite knew whether or not he would be at Scarning at any given time.

He entered in a moment, a slim, spectacled man, with a short beard, very quietly dressed, a man who did not, at first glance, in any way suggest the power he wielded or the strenuous personality he was.

He kissed his daughter, shook hands with his son, Lucy, and the chaplain, and sat down. They noticed that he was pale and worried.

”Have any of you seen the papers?” he said in a strong, resonant voice, which came oddly from a man so ordinary and undistinguished in appearance.

”I saw the _Times_ this morning, Father,” Poyntz said, ”but that is all.” The girls confessed that they had not touched the pile of journals in the library, and Mr. Saltus said he had been writing letters all the morning and so had not yet been able to see the news.

”I am sorry,” said Lord Huddersfield sadly. ”I had hoped that you would have seen the thing that has happened. I had hoped that I should not have had to tell you, Miss Blantyre.”

His voice was so charged with meaning that Lucy s.h.i.+vered. Her eyes became full of apprehension. ”Why me, Lord Huddersfield?” she said, ”what has happened?”

Agatha, who was thoroughly frightened, laid a sympathetic hand upon her friend's arm. James, who was gazing anxiously at the girl, suddenly turned to his father.

”I think you had better tell your news right out,” he said quietly.

”Don't keep Miss Blantyre in suspense, Father; it is mistaken kindness.

I am sure that she will be brave.”

Every one looked at Lord Huddersfield; the air was tense with expectation. ”Your good brother, Miss Blantyre,” the peer began--Lucy gave a quick gasp and the colour faded from her lips--”your good brother, yesterday in church, was saying Ma.s.s when suddenly some local residents rose in their places and made an open protest, shouting and brawling at the very moment of the Prayer of Consecration!”

Lucy gazed steadfastly at him, waiting. He said nothing more. ”Go on, please,” she managed to whisper at last.

”They were at once ejected, of course,” Lord Huddersfield said.

”And Bernard?”

”Although his state of mind must have been terrible, despite his pain, I learn from a private telegram that he continued the service to the end.”

The three young people stared incredulously; only Father Saltus suddenly looked very grave.

”But--why--is that all, Lord Huddersfield?” Lucy said with a gasp of half-relief. ”I thought you meant that something dreadful had happened to Bernard.”

”Yes,” he said, very surprised, ”I have told you.”

James picked up his knife and fork, and continued his lunch without a word. He was very angry with his father.

Agatha shrugged her shoulders slightly.

”Oh, that wasn't quite fair, Lord Huddersfield,” Lucy said tremulously.