Part 21 (1/2)

When the old man had finally gone, Raife mixed himself another whisky and soda, and cursed with a freedom that was not customary with him.

This contretemps was more tangible than the others, and it was the fourth incident or train of unpleasant thoughts that had been forced on him, on this the joyful day, when he had brought Hilda to his home. He was not superst.i.tious, but his nerves were affected by the sequence of events. Did they spell disaster?

The spring day had ended in an unusually warm moonlight night. After dinner they walked on to the terrace and sauntered up and down. Hilda's happiness was very great, and unmarred by doubt or foreboding. ”The other woman” was not in her thoughts. She surveyed the ornamental flower beds which, even in this light, showed the wealth of blossom.

She had already examined, at close quarters, the old sundial and the quaint-carved stone figures around the lily pond, with a fountain in the centre, with sleepy old carp gliding through the dark shadows of its waters. At length, they decided it was warm enough to sit in the chairs that had been brought from some mysterious corner where they had rested through the long winter time.

The silence that was customary among the trio, when conversation appeared superfluous, was broken by the sound of bells from a church on a hillside some distance away. Softly at first, in irregular clangs of varying notes, they burst into a carillon, ending in crashes, known in some parts as firing. There was an evident intention of joy in the sounds that floated through the still night air until it reached the group seated in the moonlight on the terrace of old Aldborough Park.

Raife broke the silence. ”Mother, why are the church bells ringing?

This used not to be practice-night, for I've helped myself many a time to clang with those ropes in our old church tower. They wouldn't ring like that for an ordinary week-day service, besides, it's too late for a service. I'll call Edgson. Perhaps he'll know.”

The duties of an old family butler are many and not well-defined.

Speaking generally he does mostly what he pleases. He is always working in some way or another, and may be safely trusted to guard the interests of his master. It is his own chosen duty to know everything that transpires on his domain, and to know the reason for it. In response to Raife's call, Edgson appeared. ”What are the church bells ringing for, Edgson?”

With a beaming countenance, the old man replied: ”They are ringing for you, Sir Raife, and, begging your pardon, Sir Raife, they are ringing for the young lady, Miss Muirhead.”

Hilda, in astonished tones, exclaimed: ”What's that? Ringing for me?

What are they ringing for me for?”

Edgson stammered, but failed to make a coherent reply.

”Thank you, Edgson. That'll do,” intimated Raife.

The old man retired, chortling to himself: ”She's a nice young lady for an American. But, lor', these Americans don't know as much as we do.”

When Edgson had gone, Lady Remington explained how those church bells had rung for the birth and marriage of many generations of Reymingtounes during four centuries, and sadly, she added, they had tolled a knell at many a funeral of the family. Then, more cheerfully, smiling at Raife, she continued: ”My son, I am glad to say, is very popular with the bell-ringers, as well as all over the estate.”

Raife intervened. ”Please leave that out, mother.”

His mother retorted: ”It's true, Raife, and I am glad of it. Well, Hilda, they are ringing those bells to welcome him back home, and to welcome you to Aldborough as the future Lady Remington.”

Hilda felt very glad and very proud. She had loved Raife for his own sake, before she had known of all these things so wonderful to her, and, indeed, before she knew he was a baronet. She had loved him for his modesty and courage in fighting the Nubian who was beating the woman in Khartoum.

Lady Remington presently said, graciously:

”Hilda, you have had a long and trying day; perhaps you would like to retire early?” Together they walked along the terrace, and Lady Remington took Hilda's arm, and personally conducted her to her room.

There the two women talked awhile. The elderly lady, so soon to be a ”Dowager,” and the young American girl who was to hand down the traditions of the ancient family, and, perchance, become the mother of the future heir to the estate. Lady Remington spoke very kindly, but there was a sad note throughout. She told of her anxiety until they had met. She expressed, ungrudgingly, how Hilda's manner had charmed her from the moment of their meeting. She alluded to the great responsibility she was undertaking. They talked for long, and at length, Lady Remington affectionately bade her good-night, and Hilda was left in privacy to her thoughts and sleep, if it would come.

A maid tapped discreetly at the door, and offered her services. Hilda's needs were very slight that night, and she was glad when she had dismissed the maid. Attired in a loose dressing-gown she sat in a chair and wondered whether all could possibly be as well as it appeared. Her reverie lasted long. How long she did not know. Rousing herself she made preparation for sleep. Impulse prompted her to have a final look at the fine night and beautiful scene. To view those lovely gardens that were to be hers with Raife. As she approached the window, a slip of paper appeared underneath the door which opened on to a balcony. She started, but Hilda was not the type of girl to scream or become panic-stricken. She opened the paper and read a typewritten message on a plain piece of paper:

”It is dangerous to rob another.”

What did it mean? Rob another of what? Was it her fancy that the paper had just been placed there, or had it lain there a long time? Perhaps it was a text, or something of that kind. If so, it was harmless and was, perhaps, a crazy fad of some one who had occupied the room before.

She studied the fastenings of the window and went to bed without looking at the night as she intended. Then she thought of ”the other woman”

Raife had told her about. She decided to say nothing about it, as it might make her appear foolish. It was long before sleep overtook her, but her youthful nature a.s.serted itself and she, being very tired, at length slept.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

RAIFE'S JEALOUSY ENDS DISASTROUSLY.