Part 12 (2/2)

”Oh, but of his own accord,” said Pamela. ”I can't tell you why; it wouldn't be fair. I have no right to tell you. But he must be found, and he must be brought back. Again I can't tell you why; but it is most urgent.”

”Is there any clue to help us?” Warrisden asked. ”Had he friends in New York?”

”No; but he has a friend in England,” said Pamela, ”and I think it's just possible that the friend may know where he is to be found, for it was upon his advice that Mr. Stretton went to New York.”

”Tell me his name.”

”Mr. Chase,” Pamela replied. ”He is head of a mission in Stepney Green. Tony Stretton told me of him one morning in Hyde Park just before he went away. He seemed to rely very much upon his judgment.”

Warrisden wrote the name down in his pocket-book.

”Will he tell me, do you think, where Stretton is, even if he knows?

You say Stretton has disappeared of his own accord.”

”I have thought of that difficulty,” Pamela answered. ”There is an argument which you can use. Sir John Stretton, Tony's father, is ill, and in all probability dying.”

”I see. I can use the same argument to Stretton himself, I suppose, when I find him?”

”I can give you no other,” said Pamela; ”but you can add to it. Mr.

Stretton will tell you that his father does not care whether he comes back in time or not. He is sure to say that. But you can answer that every night since he went away the candles have been lit in his dressing-room and his clothes laid out by his father's orders, on the chance that some evening he might walk in at the door.”

That Sir John Stretton's illness was merely the pretext for Tony's return both understood. The real reason why he must come home Pamela did not tell. To her thinking Millie was not yet so deeply entangled with Lionel Callon but that Tony's home-coming might set the tangle right. A few weeks of companions.h.i.+p, and surely he would resume his due place in his wife's thoughts. Pamela, besides, was loyal to her s.e.x. She had promised to safeguard Millicent; she was in no mind to betray her.

”But bring him back,” she cried, with a real pa.s.sion. ”So much depends on his return, for Millie, for him, and for me, too. Yes, for me! If you fail, it is I who fail; and I don't want failure. Save me from it!”

”I'll try,” Warrisden answered simply; and Pamela was satisfied.

Much depended, for Warrisden too, upon the success of his adventure.

If he failed, Pamela would retire again behind her barrier; she would again resume the pa.s.sive, indifferent att.i.tude of the very old; she would merely look on as before and wait for things to cease. If, however, he succeeded, she would be encouraged to move forward still; the common sympathies would have her in their grasp again; she might even pa.s.s that turnpike gate of friends.h.i.+p and go boldly down the appointed road of life. Thus success meant much for him. The fortunes of the four people--Millicent, Tony, Pamela, and Warrisden--were knotted together at this one point.

”Indeed, I'll try,” he repeated,

Pamela's horse was brought round to the inn door. The dusk was coming on.

”Which way do you go?” asked Warrisden.

”Down the hill.”

”I will walk to the bottom with you. The road will be dangerous.”

They went slowly down between the high elder hedges, Pamela seated on her horse, Warrisden walking by her side. The wide level lowlands opened out beneath them--fields of brown and green, black woods with swinging boughs, and the broad high road with its white wood rails. A thin mist swirled across the face of the country in the wind, so that its every feature was softened and magnified. It loomed dim and strangely distant, with a glamour upon it like a place of old romance.

To Pamela and Warrisden, as the mists wove and unwove about it, it had a look of dreamland.

They reached the end of the incline, and Pamela stopped her horse.

”This is my way,” said she, pointing along the highway with her whip.

”Yes,” answered Warrisden. The road ran straight for some distance, then crossed a wooden bridge and curved out of sight round the edge of a clump of trees. ”The new road,” he said softly. ”The new road from Quetta to Seistan!”

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