Part 45 (1/2)

And Ethelrida's fine senses told her there was no use pressing the matter further, whatever the trouble was this was not the moment to interfere; so she turned the conversation to lighter things, and, finally, talked about her own wedding, and so the time pa.s.sed.

The Dowager Lady Tancred was too proud to ask any one any questions, although she talked alone with Lady Anningford and could easily have done so: the only person she mentioned her anxiety to was her brother, the Duke, when, later, she spoke a few words with him alone.

”Tristram looks haggard and very unhappy, Glas...o...b..ry,” she said simply, ”have you anything to tell me about it?”

”My dear Jane,” replied the Duke, ”it is the greatest puzzle in the world; no one can account for it. I gave him some sound advice at Montfitchet, when I saw things were so strained, and I don't believe he has taken it, by the look of them to-night. These young, modern people are so unnaturally cold, though I did hear they had got through the rejoicings, in fine style.”

”It troubles me very much, Glas...o...b..ry--to go abroad and leave him looking like that. Is it her fault? Or what--do you think?”

”'Pon my soul, I can't say--even the Crow could not unravel the mystery.

Laura Highford was at Montfitchet--confound her--would come; can she have had anything to do with it, I wonder?”

Then they were interrupted and no more could be said, and finally the party broke up, with the poor mother's feeling of anxiety una.s.suaged.

Tristram and Zara were to lunch with her to-morrow, to say good-bye, and then she was going to Paris--by the afternoon train.

And Francis Markrute staying on to smoke a cigar with the Duke, and, presumably, to say a s.n.a.t.c.hed good night to his fiance, Tristram was left to take Zara home alone.

Now would come the moment of the explanation! But she outwitted him, for they no sooner got into the brougham and he had just begun to speak than she leaned back and interrupted him:

”You insinuated something on the stairs this evening, the vileness of which I hardly understood at first; I warn you I will hear no more upon the subject!” and then her voice broke suddenly and she said, pa.s.sionately and yet with a pitiful note, ”Ah! I am suffering so to-night, please--please don't speak to me--leave me alone.”

And Tristram was silenced. Whatever it was that soon she must explain, he could not torture her to-night, and, in spite of his anger and suspicions and pain, it hurt him to see her, when the lights flashed in upon them, huddled up in the corner--her eyes like a wounded deer's.

”Zara!” he said at last--quite gently, ”what is this, awful shadow that is hanging over you?--If you will only tell me--” But at that moment they arrived at the door, which was immediately opened, and she walked in and then to the lift without answering, and entering, closed the door. For what could she say?

She could bear things no longer. Tristram evidently saw she had some secret trouble, she would get her uncle to release her from her promise, as far as her husband was concerned at least,--she hated mysteries, and if it had annoyed him for her to be out late she would tell him the truth--and about Mirko, and everything.

Evidently he had been very much annoyed at that, but this was the first time he had even suggested he had noticed she was troubled about anything, except that day in the garden at Wrayth. Her motives were so perfectly innocent that not the faintest idea even yet dawned upon her that anything she had ever done could even look suspicious. Tristram was angry with her because she was late, and had insinuated something out of jealousy; men were always jealous, she knew, even if they were perfectly indifferent to a woman. What really troubled her terribly to-night Was the telegram she found in her room. She had told the maid to put it there when it came. It was from Mimo, saying Mirko was feverish again--really ill, he feared, this time.

So poor Zara spent a night of anguish and prayer, little knowing what the morrow was to bring.

And Tristram went out again to the Turf, and tried to divert his mind away from his troubles. There was no use in speculating any further, he must wait for an explanation which he would not consent to put off beyond the next morning.

So at last the day of a pitiful tragedy dawned.

Zara got up and dressed early. She must be ready to go out to try and see Mimo, the moment she could slip away after breakfast, so she came down with her hat on: she wanted to speak to her uncle alone, and Tristram, she thought, would not be there so early--only nine o'clock.

”This is energetic, my niece!” Francis Markrute said, but she hardly answered him, and as soon as Turner and the footman had left the room she began at once:

”Tristram was very angry with me last night because I was out late. I had gone to obtain news of Mirko, I am very anxious about him and I could give Tristram no explanation. I ask you to relieve me from my promise not to tell him--about things.”

The financier frowned. This was a most unfortunate moment to revive the family skeleton, but he was a very just man and he saw, directly, that suspicion of any sort was too serious a thing to arouse in Tristram's mind.

”Very well,” he said, ”tell him what you think best. He looks desperately unhappy--you both do--are you keeping him at arm's length all this time, Zara? Because if so, my child, you will lose him, I warn you. You cannot treat a man of his spirit like that; he will leave you if you do.”

”I do not want to keep him at arm's length; he is there of his own will.

I told you at Montfitchet everything is too late--”