Part 15 (2/2)

Sir Roderick showed all his new purchases with an inescapable pride.

They walked round the Salon looking at those already hung. Astara was not surprised to learn how knowledgeable Vulcan was or how with one word or a short sentence he could make her see more clearly than she ever .had before the quality of each particular artist.

”A wayward genius!” he said of Piera de Cosimo and she knew no-one could have described his painting better.

”What do you think of this one by Jan Van Eyele?” she asked a little breathlessly.

”His pictures always have a dazzling self-possessiveness and confidence,” Vulcan replied.

”And Rubens?” her uncle asked.

Astara waited. She knew how proud Sir Roderick was of the Rubens they had bought in Paris. She felt that if Vulcan disparaged it in any way, it would hurt his uncle.

”Ruben always 'thought ' with his brush, ” Vulcan answered. ”He magnifred life and glorified it.”

Sir Roderick was delighted.

”I have moved my father 's sporting pictures to the Library and the Hall, ” he said as they reached the door of the Salon. ”I would like your opinion as to whether a Wooton which he bought just before he died is genuine. I have a feeling that it was done either by one of his pupils or is perhaps a complete fake.”

They walked across the Hall towards the Library and Astara realised with relief that William and Lionel had not followed them.

There were only a few candles burning in the Library and Sir Roderick ordered a footman to light the others.

In the big room with its background of books, Astara stood watching Vulcan as he inspected the painting.

She hoped that perhaps he would touch her hand or say something rea.s.suring when Sir Roderick was looking the other way.

He must be aware, she thought, of her feelings. He must know how anxious she was that he should not be angry with her, But if he did know what she felt, he made no sign of it.

When finally he said good-bye she thought despairingly it would be impossible to go through the night and wait until the morning before she could see him alone.

Sir Roderick saw him off from the Hall, and although she walked beside him Vulcan continued to talk to his uncle.

”I would have liked you to stay here, ” Sir Roderick was saying, ”but I suppose you are very comfortable in the old Mill which I hear you have made charming.”

”You must come and see it, Uncle Roderick,” Vulcan replied, ”though it can hardly compare with the magnificence of Worfield House !”

”There is a great deal more I wish to do now that I am living here,” Sir Roderick replied, ”and I hope you will help me, at least as far as the pictures are concerned. ”

”There is nothing I would enjoy more, ” Vulcan answered, ”but I am afraid I am soon off on my travels and have a great deal to do before I go.”

”Then try to spare me a little of your valuable time, ” Sir Roderick said with a slightly cynical accent on the word 'valuable”I am sure my cousins are far more capable of doing what you want than I am,” Vulcan said, and now there was a definite innuendo behind the words.

The two men looked at each other.

”You are quite sure about that?” Sir Roderick asked. ”Quite sure!” Vulcan answered.

He put out his hand.

”Good-night, Uncle Roderick, and thank you for a most interesting dinner.”

Astara held her breath. Could he really have meant what he had said?

She would know for certain, she thought, when he touched her. But before she could hold out her hand towards him Vulcan bowed.

”Good-night, Miss Beverley,” he said. ”It has been delightful to meet you!”

Then he was gone out through the front door and only by exerting every ounce of her will-power did Astara pre-vent herself from running after him.

”How can you leave me like this?” she wanted to cry. ”How can you be so cruel?”

As if in a dream she heard her uncle ask if she wished to retire.

She must have given him the right answer for the next thing she knew she was in her bed-room, alone and the tears were streaming down her face.

She had lost everything ... everything which mattered in the whole world!

CHAPTER SIX.

Astara hurried through the wood, not actually running but walking as quickly as she possibly could.

It was only seven o'clock but she was sure that Vulcan, like her father, was an early riser.

She was half-afraid that he might already have left and gone perhaps to London before she could see him.

She had been unable to sleep and had lain awake wondering what she should do. But every possible solution seemed hopeless or impracticable and ended in her once again crying hopelessly.

She loved him so overwhelmingly that it was an agony to know that he was, despite all he had said, prepared to give her up and never see her again.

This morning she was not interested in the beauty of the wood or the early morning suns.h.i.+ne percolating through the trees. All she could think of was to reach Little Milder as quickly as possible to find Vulcan.

Perhaps, she tried to tell herself, she had misunderstood what he had said to her uncle.

Yet if she was honest she knew that the way he had virtually ignored her during the evening and deliberately avoided touching her when they said good-night was si cant in itself.

She reached the old Mill and for the fast time since she had come there she found the door closed.

First she thought frantically that she was too late Vulcan had gone and she would never see him again.

Then she told herself it was still very early in the morning, and perhaps he was not yet up or was at breakfast.

She did not knock on the door, she merely lifted the latch and walked in.

Everything seemed very quiet and she resisted the impulse to call to Vulcan and to learn that, if he answered, he was still in the Mill.

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