Part 28 (1/2)

He stepped out of the car and started to walk slowly up the hill. He felt a strange sinking of the heart. In his day there had been no sidewalk, only a clay path, beaten hard by the feet of three children on their way to school. In his day the blank row of houses had been a mud _taipa_ wall, broken just here by the little gate of the priest's house.

In his day there had been that long, high-plumed bank of bamboos, forever swaying and creaking, behind the screen of which had lain the wonder realm of childhood.

He came to the spot where the gate to Consolation Cottage had been. The old wooden gate and the two friendly, square brick pillars on which it had swung were gone; but in their stead rose a wondrous structure of scrolled wrought iron between two splendid granite shafts.

Lewis stood on tiptoe and gazed through the gate, up the driveway, to where Consolation Cottage had once stood. Through the tepid haze of a beautiful tropical garden he saw a high villa. It did not look back at him. It seemed to be watching steadily from its hilltop the spread of the mighty city in the valley below.

Lewis was brought to himself with a start. Somebody behind him cried out, ”O-la!” He turned to find two impatient horses almost on top of him. A footman was springing from his place beside the coachman to open the gate.

Lewis stepped aside. In the smart victoria sat a lady alone. She was dressed in white, and wore a great, black picture-hat. Lewis glanced at her face. He recognized the Anglo-Saxon pallor. Out of the dead-white shone two dark eyes, unnaturally bright. He raised his hat.

”I beg your pardon,” he began in English.

The gate had swung open. The horses were plunging on the taut reins. The lady drew her skirts in at her side and nodded. Lewis stepped into the carriage. The horses shot forward and up the drive.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

”It was the only way,” said the lady as Lewis handed her out of the carriage. ”The horses wouldn't wait, once the gates were open. What did you wish to say?”

”I--I wanted to ask you about the Leightons,” stammered Lewis. ”They used to live here. That is--”

”I know,” said the lady. ”Come up on the veranda.”

That veranda made Consolation Cottage seem farther away than ever to Lewis. Its floor was tiled. Its roof was cleverly arranged to give a pergola effect. It was quite vine-covered. The vines hid the gla.s.s that made it rain-proof. In one corner rugs were placed, wicker chairs, a swinging book-rack, and a tea-table. The lady motioned to Lewis to sit down. She sat down herself and started drawing off her long gloves. She looked curiously at Lewis's face.

”You're a Leighton yourself, aren't you? Some relative to Mrs. Leighton and Natalie?”

Lewis nodded.

”A cousin in some Scotch degree to Natalie,” he said; ”I don't know just what.” Then he turned his eyes frankly on her.

”Where are they--Mrs. Leighton and--and Natalie?”

”They are gone,” said the lady. ”They sold out here almost a year ago and went back to the States. I have the address somewhere. I'll get it for you.” She went, but was back in a moment.

”Thanks,” said Lewis. He did not look at her any more or around him. His eyes fixed vaguely on distance, as one's eyes do when the mind tells them they are not wanted.

The lady sat perfectly still and silent. The silence grew and grew until by its own weight it suddenly brought Lewis back to the present and confusion. He colored. His lips were opening in apology when the lady spoke.

”Where have you been?” she asked.

Lewis gave her a grateful look.

”I've been playing about the old place,” he said, smiling. ”Not alone.

Natalie, Shenton, and I. We've been racing through the pineapple-patch, lying on our backs under an orange-tree, visiting the stables, and--and Manoel's little house, hiding in the bramble-patch, and peeking over the priest's wall.” Lewis waved his hand at the scene that made his words so incongruous. ”Sounds to you like rank nonsense, I suppose.”

The lady shook her head.

”No,” she said--”no, it doesn't sound like nonsense.”