Part 4 (2/2)

”You young rebel!” he cried. ”You want a good smacking for your disobedience!”

He slipped from the saddle as he spoke and led his horse towards them.

He laid his hand familiarly on Aylmer's shoulder.

”Hurt?” he asked.

”Not in the least,” said Aylmer, and then looked, with a significant lift of the eyebrow, from Despard to the gray horse's rider.

Despard's face showed his own surprise.

”Don't you know each other yet?” he marvelled. ”Miss Van Arlen--Captain Aylmer.”

Uncertainty gripped Aylmer again. Landon had married a daughter of Jacob Van Arlen, the millionaire. A divorcee reverted to her maiden name, but surely not to her maiden t.i.tle. But Despard had said Miss, most distinctly Miss.

With his usual straightforward instinct to find the nearest way to probe a mystery, he looked at the girl herself. He became aware that her eyes had been upon his face with intentness.

”Yes,” she said quietly. ”This,” she patted the child's shoulder, ”is my nephew.”

He gave a little sigh of appreciation and, he scarcely knew why, of relief. It was not possible, of course, that this girl, whose whole poise and carriage spoke of resolution and unfettered self-command, could be the woman, broken in health and spirit, who had cowered before her husband's glance, so some of the baser journals had hinted, even when she was seeking and had received the law's protection from him.

And her eyes? They were not of that appealing blue which had shone beneath the bride's deep lashes on that half-forgotten wedding-day. They were blue, indeed, but they met his with something which was akin to defiance.

She did not explain herself, but her glance was that of one who needed no warrant for her demeanor. Her att.i.tude was not one of blatant aggressiveness, but was undoubtedly distrustful.

He looked at the child with renewed interest.

”Your sister is--where?” he asked quickly.

The frown came swiftly back to her forehead.

”You ask me that? Why?” she demanded.

He looked at the boy.

”Naturally I thought she might be with you,” he answered. ”As an Aylmer I should be glad to meet her.”

”Ah!” Her tone was hard and suspicious again. Unconsciously she gripped the child to her again with a fierceness which made him protest.

”You hurt!” he complained. ”You hurt, and I want to see the boar.”

With a sailor's instinctive fondness for children, Rattier, who had resigned his limping horse into the hands of one of the Arab beaters, turned towards him.

”May I be permitted?” he said simply, and held out his arms. The child made a restless little movement towards him. ”He'll show it me!” he cried joyously. ”He'll take me!”

Again she reined back, looking from one to the other with patent misgiving.

”No!” she cried sharply. ”You shall not touch him, either of you!” She made an appealing gesture towards Despard. ”You must see me back to the camp!” she said.

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