Part 69 (1/2)

”No, no,” she said, ”you must not go, I have rung for tea. I know the English habit, and you must be thirsty after so much talking,” and she laughed merrily.

”Thank you,” he said. ”I shall be glad of a cup of tea,” and he sat down again.

Over the teacups conversation became more general, and flowed more freely in consequence. They talked about St. Gaved, about the Tregonys, and Captain Tom Hendy, and Dr. Pendarvis, and Mrs. Tuke. She related some of her experiences at Trewinion Hall, and in London and Nice, and how and why she escaped from the guardians.h.i.+p of Sir Charles. The afternoon sped like a dream, and when he rose to go, he felt as though a new vision of life had been vouchsafed to him.

”You will call again?” she said, when he was leaving.

”May I?” he asked eagerly.

She laughed brightly in his face. ”Does our American freedom or our lack of British formality shock you?” she questioned.

”No, no. I was not thinking of that at all,” he answered, hurriedly.

”May I call again to-morrow?”

”At the same hour?”

”Yes.”

”I will wait in for you.”

Rufus remained in New York as many weeks as he had expected to remain days. He fixed the date of his return to Reboth time after time, but when the day arrived he found some excuse for remaining a day or two longer. He did not call to see Madeline every day. Indeed, sometimes for days on the stretch he did not go near her house, but he discovered that New York furnished endless opportunities for meeting. He got to know when she went shopping, and when she rode or drove in the park, and so he way-laid her at all sorts of unexpected times, and discovered that his interest in her movements was the all-absorbing concern of his life.

Their conversation that winter evening on the Downs was picked up at the point at which it broke off, and Madeline got a yet clearer insight into the human doc.u.ment that had fascinated her from the first.

Rufus opened his heart to Madeline as he never did to any other. Her sympathy touched the deepest chords of his emotion, her generosity won his confidence.

Bit by bit the truth was revealed to her that she, under G.o.d, had been his salvation. Her quick imagination saw the path along which he had travelled. His loss of faith, his gropings in the desert of a barren philosophy.

She saw, too--not that he told her in so many words--that the loss of all sense of accountability was destroying the moral basis of conduct.

That his honour was saved to him because he won back his faith.

It was no small satisfaction to her that she, in the supreme crisis of his life, had been his helper and his inspiration. If he had saved her, she, in a yet deeper sense, had saved him.

That the same thought should grow almost unconsciously in the minds and hearts of both was natural--perhaps inevitable. In due course it would blossom into speech.

He returned to Reboth in December--business demanded his presence--but he was back in New York again in January. Madeline looked up with a start of surprise when he was shown into the room in which she was reading.

”I hope I do not intrude?” he said, hesitatingly.

”No, no,” she replied, with almost childish delight. ”I am so glad to see you again. But I was not aware you were in New York.”

”I arrived this morning,” he answered, ”and so took an early opportunity of looking you up.”

”You are just in time for afternoon tea, and you must be almost frozen,”

and she rang the bell at once.

Rufus watched her moving about the room with almost hungry eyes. She was so dainty, so lissom, so strong. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her that he loved her more than all else on earth, but he had not the courage yet.