Part 25 (1/2)
”Is that you?”
There was the certain prospect of alarming her, if some reply was not given. There was no help for it. Come what come might, Arnold answered, in a whisper:
”Yes.”
The door was flung wide open. Anne Silvester appeared on the threshold, confronting him.
”Mr. Brinkworth!!!” she exclaimed, standing petrified with astonishment.
For a moment more neither of them spoke. Anne advanced one step into the sitting-room, and put the next inevitable question, with an instantaneous change from surprise to suspicion.
”What do you want here?”
Geoffrey's letter represented the only possible excuse for Arnold's appearance in that place, and at that time.
”I have got a letter for you,” he said--and offered it to her.
She was instantly on her guard. They were little better than strangers to each other, as Arnold had said. A sickening presentiment of some treachery on Geoffrey's part struck cold to her heart. She refused to take the letter.
”I expect no letter,” she said. ”Who told you I was here?” She put the question, not only with a tone of suspicion, but with a look of contempt. The look was not an easy one for a man to bear. It required a momentary exertion of self-control on Arnold's part, before he could trust himself to answer with due consideration for her. ”Is there a watch set on my actions?” she went on, with rising anger. ”And are _you_ the spy?”
”You haven't known me very long, Miss Silvester,” Arnold answered, quietly. ”But you ought to know me better than to say that. I am the bearer of a letter from Geoffrey.”
She was an the point of following his example, and of speaking of Geoffrey by his Christian name, on her side. But she checked herself, before the word had pa.s.sed her lips.
”Do you mean Mr. Delamayn?” she asked, coldly.
”Yes.”
”What occasion have _I_ for a letter from Mr. Delamayn?”
She was determined to acknowledge nothing--she kept him obstinately at arm's-length. Arnold did, as a matter of instinct, what a man of larger experience would have done, as a matter of calculation--he closed with her boldly, then and there.
”Miss Silvester! it's no use beating about the bush. If you won't take the letter, you force me to speak out. I am here on a very unpleasant errand. I begin to wish, from the bottom of my heart, I had never undertaken it.”
A quick spasm of pain pa.s.sed across her face. She was beginning, dimly beginning, to understand him. He hesitated. His generous nature shrank from hurting her.
”Go on,” she said, with an effort.
”Try not to be angry with me, Miss Silvester. Geoffrey and I are old friends. Geoffrey knows he can trust me--”
”Trust you?” she interposed. ”Stop!”
Arnold waited. She went on, speaking to herself, not to him.
”When I was in the other room I asked if Geoffrey was there. And this man answered for him.” She sprang forward with a cry of horror.
”Has he told you--”
”For G.o.d's sake, read his letter!”