Part 78 (1/2)

But Mr. Lane's loud friendly voice broke in from behind.

”My dear Miss Boyce!--we can't possibly allow it--no! no--just half an hour--while they bring us our coffee--to do your homage, you know, to the terrace--and the river--and the moon!--And then--if you don't want to go back to the House for the division, we will see you safely into your cab. Look at the moon!--and the tide”--they had come to the wide door opening on the terrace--”aren't they doing their very best for you?”

Marcella looked behind her in despair. _Where_ was Edith? Far in the rear!--and fully occupied apparently with two or three pleasant companions. She could not help herself. She was carried on, with Mr.

Lane chatting beside her--though the sight of the s.h.i.+ning terrace, with its moonlit crowd of figures, breathed into her a terror and pain she could hardly control.

”Come and look at the water,” she said to Mr. Lane; ”I would rather not walk up and down if you don't mind.”

He thought she was tired, and politely led her through the sitting or promenading groups till once more she was leaning over the parapet, now trying to talk, now to absorb herself in the magic of bridge, river, and sky, but in reality listening all the time with a shrinking heart for the voices and the footfalls that she dreaded. Lady Winterbourne, above all! How unlucky! It was only that morning that she had received a forwarded letter from that old friend, asking urgently for news and her address.

”Well, how did you like the speech to-night--_the_ speech?” said Mr.

Lane, a genial Gladstonian member, more heavily weighted with estates than with ideas. ”It was splendid, wasn't it?--in the way of speaking.

Speeches like that are a safety-valve--that's my view of it. Have 'em out--all these ideas--get 'em discussed!”--with a good-humoured shake of the head for emphasis. ”Does n.o.body any harm and may do good. I can tell you, Miss Boyce, the House of Commons is a capital place for taming these clever young men!--you must give them their head--and they make excellent fellows after a bit. Why--who's this?--My dear Lady Winterbourne!--this _is_ a sight for sair een!”

And the portly member with great effusion grasped the hand of a stately lady in black, whose abundant white hair caught the moonlight.

”_Marcella_!” cried a woman's voice.

Yes--there he was!--close behind Lady Winterbourne. In the soft darkness he and his party had run upon the two persons talking over the wall without an idea--a suspicion.

She hurriedly withdrew herself from Lady Winterbourne, hesitated a second, then held out her hand to him. The light was behind him. She could not see his face in the darkness; but she was suddenly and strangely conscious of the whole scene--of the great dark building with its lines of fairy-lit gothic windows--the blue gulf of the river crossed by lines of wavering light--the swift pa.s.sage of a steamer with its illuminated saloon and crowded deck--of the wonderful mixture of moonlight and sunset in the air and sky--of this dark figure in front of her.

Their hands touched. Was there a murmured word from him? She did not know; she was too agitated, too unhappy to hear it if there was. She threw herself upon Lady Winterbourne, in whom she divined at once a tremor almost equal to her own.

”Oh! do come with me--come away!--I want to talk to you!” she said incoherently under her breath, drawing Lady Winterbourne with a strong hand.

Lady Winterbourne yielded, bewildered, and they moved along the terrace.

”Oh, my dear, my dear!” cried the elder lady--”to think of finding _you_ here! How astonis.h.i.+ng--how--how dreadful! No!--I don't mean that. Of course you and he must meet--but it was only yesterday he told me he had never seen you again--since--and it gave me a turn. I was very foolish just now. There now--stay here a moment--and tell me about yourself.”

And again they paused by the river, the girl glancing nervously behind her as though she were in a company of ghosts. Lady Winterbourne recovered herself, and Marcella, looking at her, saw the old tragic severity of feature and mien blurred with the same softness, the same delicate tremor. Marcella clung to her with almost a daughter's feeling.

She took up the white wrinkled hand as it lay on the parapet, and kissed it in the dark so that no one saw.

”I _am_ glad to see you again,” she said pa.s.sionately, ”so glad!”

Lady Winterbourne was surprised and moved.

”But you have never written all these months, you unkind child! And I have heard so little of you--your mother never seemed to know. When will you come and see me--or shall I come to you? I can't stay now, for we were just going; my daughter, Ermyntrude Welwyn, has to take some one to a ball. How _strange_”--she broke off--”how very strange that you and he should have met to-night! He goes off to Italy to-morrow, you know, with Lord Maxwell.”

”Yes, I had heard,” said Marcella, more steadily. ”Will you come to tea with me next week?--Oh, I will write.--And we must go too--where _can_ my friend be?”

She looked round in dismay, and up and down the terrace for Edith.

”I will take you back to the Lanes, anyway,” said Lady Winterbourne; ”or shall we look after you?”

”No! no! Take me back to the Lanes.”

”Mamma, are you coming?” said a voice like a softened version of Lady Winterbourne's. Then something small and thin ran forward, and a girl's voice said piteously: