Part 25 (1/2)

”As I stood in the darkness a little this side of the shed, a girl hurried down the hill from it. She was dressed in white, so that I could make no mistake. On the other hand, my dark coat very likely made me difficult to see. The girl pa.s.sed me, and so closely that her frock brushed against my hand. Now, can you name the girl?”

She looked at me with the same stubbornness.

”No,” she said, ”I cannot.”

”On the other hand,” said I, ”I can. One circ.u.mstance enables me to be certain. I slipped on the gra.s.s that night, and catching hold of a bush of gorse p.r.i.c.ked my hand.”

”Yes, I remember that.”

”I p.r.i.c.ked my hand a minute or two before the girl pa.s.sed me. As I say, she brushed against my hand, which was bleeding, and the next day I saw the blood smirched upon a white frock--and who wore it, do you think?”

”I did,” she answered.

”Ah! Then you own it. You will own too that I have some cause of discontentment in that you have played with me, whose one thought was to serve you like an honest gentleman.”

And at that the stubbornness, the growing resentment at my questions, died clean out of her face.

”You would have!” she cried eagerly. ”You would indeed have cause for more than discontent had I played with you. But you do not mean that.

You cannot think that I would use any trickeries with you. Oh! take back your words! For indeed they hurt me. You are mistaken here. I wore the frock, but it was not I who was on Castle Down that night. It was not I who brushed past you----”

”And the stain?” I asked.

”How it came there I do not know,” she said. ”But this I do know,--it was not your hand that marked it. I never knew that Cullen was on Tresco. I never saw him, much less spoke to him. You will believe that? No! Why should I have kept it secret if I had?” and her head drooped as she saw that still I did not believe.

There was silence between us. She stood without changing her att.i.tude, her head bent, her hands nervously clasping and unclasping. The wind came through the open door into the hall. Once in the silence Helen caught her breath; it was as though she checked a sob; and gradually a thought came into my mind which would serve to explain her silence--which would, perhaps, justify it--which, at all events, made of it a mistaken act of kindness. So I spoke with all gentleness--and with a little remorse, too, for the harshness I had shown:

”You said we were good friends, you hoped; and, for my part, I can say that the words were aptly chosen. I am your friend--your good _friend_. You will understand? I want you also to understand that it was not even so much as friends.h.i.+p which brought me down to Tresco. It was d.i.c.k's st.u.r.dy example, it was my utter weariness, and some spark of shame d.i.c.k kindled in me. I was living, though upon my soul _living_ is not the word, in one tiresome monotony of disgraceful days. I had made my fortune, and in the making had somehow unlearnt how fitly to enjoy it.”

”But this I know,” interrupted Helen, now lifting her face to me.

”I never told you.”

”But my violin told me. Do you remember? I wanted to know you through and through, to the heart's core. So I took my violin and played to you in the garden. And your face spoke in answer. So I knew you.”

It was strange. This confession she made with a blush and a great deal of confusion--a confession of a trick if you will, but a trick to which no one could object, by which anyone might be flattered. But that other more serious duplicity she could deny with an unwavering a.s.surance!

”You know then,” I went on. ”It makes it easier for me. I want you to understand then that it was to serve myself I came, and I do verily believe that I have served myself better than I have served you. Why, I did not even know what you were like. I did not inquire of Clutterbuck, he drew no picture of you to persuade me to my journey.

Thus then there is no reason why you should be silent concerning Cullen out of any consideration for me.”

She looked at me in perplexity. My hint had not sufficed. I must make myself more clear.

”I have no doubt,” I continued, ”that you have seen. No doubt I might have been more circ.u.mspect. No doubt I have betrayed myself this last day. But, believe me, you are under no debt to me. If I can bring Cullen Mayle back to you, I will not harbour a thought of jealousy.”

Did she understand? I could not be sure. But I saw her whole face brighten and smile--it was as though a glory shone upon it--and her figure straighten with a sort of pride. Did she understand at the last that she need practise no concealments? But she said nothing, she waited for me to say what more I had to say. Well, I could make the matter yet more plain.

”Besides,” I said, ”I knew--I knew very well before I set out from London, Clutterbuck told me. So that it is my own fault, you see, if when I came here I took no account of what he told me. And even so, believe me, I do not regret the fault.”

”Lieutenant Clutterbuck!” she exclaimed, with something almost of alarm. ”He told you what?”