Part 70 (1/2)

”I love her,” he said very simply. ”I have been a blind fool, but I am awake now. I shall give my life to trying to win her.”

”Oh! thank G.o.d... thank G.o.d,” Basil whispered. ”It is certain to come right some day - don't lose heart. You have made me very happy.”

He sank into stupor after that, and spoke no more, except for a whispered ”Chum”, just before he died.

Then it was that the full flood of Dudley's bitterness seemed to close in upon him, for his tortured mind translated Ethel's stunned grief into veiled antipathy to his presence; and when there was nothing left for him to see to, he went home for Hal.

In his chair, with his head bowed on his hands, Hal thought he had aged years in the last three months.

”What shall I do?” she asked. ”Shall I go to Ethel?”

”Yes - will you? She doesn't want me. I feel as if she hated my being there now. But if you would go -?”

”It is your imagination, Dudley. Things have all got a little topsy-turvy since Doris went, but presently you will see you were mistaken. Don't lose heart too quickly.”

But he refused to be comforted, and merely shook his head in silent desolation.

”You'll stay with her if she wants you?” he asked.

”Yes, I'll stay”; and she went away to get her hat.

As she mounted the stairs in Holloway, the door of Flat G opened as if some one within had been listening for her, and a stealthy head peeped out. Then a hand beckoned.

Hal crossed the landing and went inside the door. The poor music-teacher's face was swollen almost past recognition with crying.

””What am I to do?... what am I to do?” she moaned, rocking herself backwards and forwards. ”There was only one thing in all the world that made my life worth living, and now it is gone.”

She sobbed bitterly for a few minutes, softened by Hal's sympathetic presence, then she told her brokenly:

”They're all mourning. Every single soul in this dreary building.

Considering he never left the flat, it's wonderful - wonderful; but he knew all the children, and they all knew him. And if you know the children you know the fathers and mothers.

”Little Splodgkins, as we always called him, has been sitting like a small stone effigy on the stairs outside his door. He has patrolled the whole staircase for days, keeping the other children quiet. I told Mr. Hayward, and he sent him a message. He said, 'Tell him to grow up a fine man, and fight for his country, and not to forget me before we meet again.' The little chap fought back his tears when I gave him the message, and he said: 'Tell him, I thaid dammit, tho I will.'

But they're young, and they've got each other, most of the other folks here, and I've got nothing - nothing. Miss Pritchard, I can't go on again the same - I can't - I can't.”

”You must help Miss Hayward, at any rate for a time,” Hal told her; ”if you didn't you would be failing him now; and even little Splodgkins doesn't mean to do that.”

”No, of course you're right. I can light the fire for her in the afternoon and put the kettle on. It isn't much to be alive for, but he'd say it was worth while. He'd say, 'What would she do without a G in the alphabet?' wouldn't he? I must remember. And now you must go to her. It's worse for her than me, only that she's still got all her life before her, and she's very attractive, while I never seemed to please any one in my life but him.”

”Yes; I must go now,” Hal said; ”but I'll come and see you again. Come down east with me next Wednesdayn evening, to a social evening in the slums, will you? They're so interesting. We'll have tea together first. I'll arrange to take you, and then you'll meet d.i.c.k.”

”Good-bye for the present.”

Then she crossed the landing, wondering with a sinking heart how she could ever hope to comfort Ethel.

CHAPTER XL