Part 38 (1/2)

It was possible that when her father's steamer stopped to pay sea-rent, Hogarth might have heard, and seized him. That notion occurred to her.

And at once it threw her into an extraordinary fever, her bosom swelling like elastic in her heavings to catch breath, though she did not realize the wild thought that was working up to birth within her. She rose and paced, furiously fast.

If he was in the hands of Hogarth?

”He is a British subject”, she muttered: ”Hogarth has not the right...Oh, he has not the right...!”

She was fearfully agitated! something fighting up and up within her, stifling her, working to burst into birth; she flung the cashmire from her shoulders, her bosom rowing like two oarsmen. ”Because we are Jews...!” she went.

”If he _dared_ do that--!”

What then? Say! Rebekah!

”I would go to him myself--”

All at once that thought was born, and she stood shockingly naked to her own eyes, her hands rus.h.i.+ng to cover a face washed in shame. ”But, surely”, she whispered, ”I could never be so _bold_, good Heavens? Why, Never! Never--!”

However, an hour later, with flaming eyes, she was writing a letter to Frankl's manager.

XLI

THE VISIT

Frankl's Bank was scanning the agents' yacht-lists for her, when Sir Moses Cohen, who was closely a.s.sociated with Frankl, placed his own three-master at her disposal; and she set out from Bristol, with her being three Jewish ladies, Frankl's manager, and a snuffy Portuguese rabbi who resembled a Rembrandt portrait.

It was late at night, and Hogarth, who had lately acquired a pa.s.sion for those Mathematics which touch upon Mysticism, was bent over Quaternions and the quirks of [Proofers note: checkmark symbol] (--i) in an alcove of his _Boodah_ suite hardly fourteen feet square, cosy, rosy, and homely: he sitting at a sofa-head, and, lying on the sofa, Loveday, his head on Hogarth's thigh, escaped from office and frockcoat, in happy s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, between sleeping and waking.

Hogarth was interrupted by a telephone bell.

”Well?” he answered.

”My Lord King”, from Quilter-Beckett, ”Frankl has handed to his warder something written: will your Lords.h.i.+p's Majesty see it now?”

”Yes!” Then: ”John! Frankl has yielded!”

Up Loveday started with ”Thank G.o.d!” while Hogarth: ”When does my yacht arrive?”

”At midnight”--from Quilter-Beckett.

”She starts back immediately for England with me and Mr. Loveday”.

Now an officer entered to present an envelope, and the two looked together over these words:

”Your Lords.h.i.+p's Majesty's sister, Margaret Hogarth, is at No. 11, Market Street, Edgware Road, London. She goes under the name of Rachel Oppenheimer, I don't know why. As G.o.d is my witness, I repent in ashes.

Won't your Lords.h.i.+p's Majesty have mercy on a worm of the earth? I am an old man, getting on, and starved to madness. The ever devoted slave, from this day forth, of my Lord King.