Part 15 (2/2)
”I am afraid,” he said, ”that the years, which have made so little change in your appearance, have made you a sentimentalist. I can a.s.sure you that these old memories seldom trouble me.”
Then with a lightning-like intuition, almost akin to inspiration, he saw that he had made a mistake. His best hold upon the woman had been through that mixture of sentiment and pity, which something in their conversation had reawakened in her. He was destroying it ruthlessly and of his own accord. What folly!
”Bah! I am lying,” he said softly; ”why should I? Between you and me, Constance, there should be nothing but truth. We at least should be sincere one to the other. You are right, I have brought you something which should have been yours long ago.”
She looked at him with wondering eyes.
”You are going to give me the letters?”
”I am going to give them to you,” he said. ”With the destruction of this little packet falls away the last link which held us together.”
He had taken a little bundle of letters, tied with a faded ribbon, from his pocket and held them out to her. Even in that salt-odorous air the perfume of strange scents seemed to creep out from those closely written sheets as they fluttered in the breeze. Lady Deringham clasped the packet with both hands, and her eyes were very bright and very soft.
”It is not so, Victor,” she murmured. ”There is a new and a stronger link between us now, the link of my everlasting grat.i.tude. Ah! you were always generous, always quixotic! Someday I felt sure that you would do this.”
”When I left Europe,” he said, ”you would have had them, but there was no trusted messenger whom I could spare. Yet if I had never returned they were so bestowed that they would have come into your hands with perfect safety. Even now, Constance, will you think me very weak when I say that I part with them with regret? They have been with me through many dangers and many strange happenings.”
”You are,” she whispered, ”the old Victor again! Thank G.o.d that I have had this one glimpse of you! I am ashamed to think how terrified I have been.”
She held out her hand impulsively. He took it in his and, with a glance at her servants, let it fall almost immediately.
”Constance,” he said, ”I am going away now. I have accomplished what I came for. But first, would you care to do me a small service? It is only a trifle.”
A thrill of the old mistrustful fear shook her heart. Half ashamed of herself she stifled it at once, and strove to answer him calmly.
”If there is anything within my power which I can do for you, Victor,” she said, ”it will make me very happy. You would not ask me, I know, unless--unless----”
”You need have no fear,” he interrupted calmly; ”it is a very little thing. Do you think that Lord Deringham would know me again after so many years?”
”My husband?”
”Yes!”
She looked at him in something like amazement. Before she could ask the question which was framing itself upon her lips, however, they were both aware of a distant sound, rapidly drawing nearer--the thunder of a horse's hoofs upon the soft sand. Looking up they both recognised the rider at the same instant.
”It is your son,” Mr. Sabin said quickly; ”you need not mind. Leave me to explain. Tell me when I can find you at home alone?”
”I am always alone,” she answered. ”But come to-morrow.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
MR. SABIN EXPLAINS.
Mr. Sabin and his niece had finished their dinner, and were lingering a little over an unusually luxurious dessert. Wolfenden had sent some muscatel grapes and peaches from the forcing houses at Deringham Hall--such peaches as Covent Garden could scarcely match, and certainly not excel. Mr. Sabin looked across at Helene as they were placed upon the table, with a significant smile.
”An Englishman,” he remarked, pouring himself out a gla.s.s of burgundy and drawing the cigarettes towards him, ”never knows when he is beaten. As a national trait it is magnificent, in private life it is a little awkward.”
Helene had been sitting through the meal, still and statuesque in her black dinner gown, a little more pale than usual, and very silent. At Mr. Sabin's remark she looked up quickly.
”Are you alluding to Lord Wolfenden?” she asked.
Mr. Sabin lit his cigarette, and nodded through the mist of blue smoke.
”To no less a person,” he answered, with a shade of mockery in his tone. ”I am beginning to find my guardians.h.i.+p no sinecure after all! Do you know, it never occurred to me, when we concluded our little arrangement, that I might have to exercise my authority against so ardent a suitor. You would have found his lords.h.i.+p hard to get rid of this morning, I am afraid, but for my opportune arrival.”
”By no means,” she answered. ”Lord Wolfenden is a gentleman, and he was not more persistent than he had a right to be.”
”Perhaps,” Mr. Sabin remarked, ”you would have been better pleased if I had not come?”
”I am quite sure of it,” she admitted; ”but then it is so like you to arrive just at a crisis! Do you know, I can't help fancying that there is something theatrical about your comings and goings! You appear--and one looks for a curtain and a tableau. Where could you have dropped from this morning?”
”From Cromer, in a donkey-cart,” he answered smiling. ”I got as far as Peterborough last night, and came on here by the first train. There was nothing very melodramatic about that, surely!”
”It does not sound so, certainly. Your playing golf with Lord Wolfenden afterwards was commonplace enough!”
”I found Lord Wolfenden very interesting,” Mr. Sabin said thoughtfully. ”He told me a good deal which was important for me to know. I am hoping that to-night he will tell me more.”
”To-night! Is he coming here?”
Mr. Sabin a.s.sented calmly.
”Yes. I thought you would be surprised. But then you need not see him, you know. I met him riding upon the sands this afternoon--at rather an awkward moment, by the bye--and asked him to dine with us.”
”He refused, of course?”
”Only the dinner; presumably he doubted our cook, for he asked to be allowed to come down afterwards. He will be here soon.”
”Why did you ask him?”
Mr. Sabin looked keenly across the table. There was something in the girl's face which he scarcely understood.
”Well, not altogether for the sake of his company, I must confess,” he replied. ”He has been useful to me, and he is in the position to be a great deal more so.”
The girl rose up. She came over and stood before him. Mr. Sabin knew at once that something unusual was going to happen.
”You want to make of him,” she said, in a low, intense tone, ”what you make of every one--a tool! Understand that I will not have it!”
”Helene!”
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