Part 11 (1/2)

The sun has set as she enters the gates, and a mist which has crept up from the river makes the wide empty s.p.a.ce on her left, as she walks up toward the house, look more like a lake than solid earth.

She has left the ruins behind her, not without a nervous s.h.i.+ver in pa.s.sing, when the sound of a step, falling lightly but regularly on the strip of gra.s.s by the side of the drive, arrests her attention and sets her heart beating rapidly.

”It is all my own foolish fancy,” she says to herself, and walks faster.

The step follows faster too. She stops, and instantly that light footfall is silent. Not a creature is to be seen. The old ruins rise grim and bare between her and the pale evening sky, but not a sound comes from them.

”It must have been my own fancy,” she tells herself, and, rea.s.sured, starts forward almost at a run.

But listen! Again the step sounds behind her; more distant and far less rapid than her own, but clear and unmistakable. Her heart gives a great throb, the color dies out of her cheeks, and by the time she reaches her own door she feels ready to fall from haste and fear.

The old butler is crossing the hall and he looks at her curiously.

”Have you seen anything to startle you, Miss Honor?” he says at last.

”No; I have seen nothing. Why do you ask?” Not for worlds would she own to any one the ghostly fears that shook her out there in the dusky avenue, with the sound of those following steps in her ears.

”Well,” adds the butler, ”one of the girls has just come in, miss, in a state of great fright, and says that she saw the old abbot himself at the corner of the avenue, watching the house for all the world as if it held some treasure of his own.”

”Nonsense!” Honor says, turning suddenly pale, even in the lighted hall. ”I hope these silly tales are not going to begin again. Your master will be very displeased if they come to his ears.”

As she enters the sitting-room she sees that her father is not alone.

A tall man is standing on the rug before the fire, talking with much animation. It is Brian Beresford.

”I have taken the liberty of invading you without even an invitation,”

he says, coming forward with outstretched hand.

”And you are welcome,” the girl answers softly. ”Besides, your last invasion was so well timed, we may well forgive this one.”

”Ah,” he says, smiling gravely, ”that was a rough sort of invasion! I hope I shall never have to attack Donaghmore in that fas.h.i.+on again.”

”I hope not indeed!” Honor agrees promptly. ”I don't think I could live through another night like that.”

”Oh, yes, you could--through a dozen such, if necessary. I quite admired your bravery. I never saw a young lady so cool under fire before.”

She blushes as she listens; her heart thrills with a half-reluctant pride at his praise.

”What has come to me,” she says to herself crossly, ”that I can't look at the man without blus.h.i.+ng? It's time I had more sense.”

”I have come to stay a day or two,” he tells them.

A week pa.s.ses, however, and he does not go away. To Honor it is a week of very mixed sensations. She has never before known any one like this stolid Englishman, who under all his composure hides a pa.s.sion so fiery, a will so strong.

On his part he is very grave and gentle. Not once does a word of love pa.s.s his lips; and she is glad of it, for she is in no mood to think of love or lovers.

”It would be horrible to think of such things,” she tells herself, ”while poor Power Magill is wandering in homeless misery.”