Part 44 (2/2)

A new fire spun its lilac flames behind his back The spicy breath of the wreaths of hemlock was deliciously sweet Little by little the sun had made its eastern way and sparkled at the pane outside, and in the radiant clarity the terrace and its char, the urns with the little cedars, stood out clearly; and more than all else, the truth cried itself to him, that whatever happened, she was still here, still in the house with hiift for her in London, and determined to send it up to her noith some roses, and in this way to announce the fact that he had come back from The Dials and was ready to use the day as she liked He felt only how beautiful it would be to see her, that it did not for a second occur to him to wonder if she on her part would feel a certain e, not a man servant, but the perfect housekeeper rustled in, her crisp silks, her cameos, and her ”Christmas face,” as one of the little Westboro' chaps had called her rosy countenance, on one of his few Christmas days

”Where would Mr Bulstrode please to have breakfast?”

”Why, wherever it best suited, ith the house, with the day

Where, indeed, and that was more to the point, would Mrs Falconer have it?”

”Mrs Falconer? Why, Mr Bulstrode didn't know then that Mrs Falconer had gone?”

She saw by his face that he knew nothing less in the world

Why, directly the despatch had been fetched over from the Abbey station There had been but twentyaway A motor had been sent with her and the maid, and Mrs Falconer had fortunately been able toChristmas Day, that connected with the Dover and Calais special

The matter-of-fact bit of news came to Bulstrode so coldly and so ruthlessly that it took soone because she couldn't trust hient hope that it ht be _herself_ she couldn't trust! But the discovery that she had left hie of any kind, and that she was above all irrevocably gone, struck him more cruelly than had any blow in his kindly life He could not suffer in peace before the bland creature in silks and cameos Crises and departures, battle, murder, and sudden death, he felt the housekeeper would accept serenely should any of them chance to occur at Westboro', and above all if they were part of the sacred family history But Mrs Falconer and he were not Westboro's, and he wanted to be rid of his companion and to find himself alone in order to consult tio to Calais, hat boat for America a Christmas-Day train could possibly connect, and to turn it all over in his ram and that she had only eht

Why, at all events, couldn't she have left hiht, he ruefully complained, have strained a point and wished him a Merry Christmas! As he walked to and fro in the rooan slowly to approach a certain hypothesis which as soon as he granted, he as violently discarded But the thought was i of its kind always haunted hihost It could usually be dismissed, but noas persistent A despatch froht have followed on this , hard upon it? To have been sent over froe indeed; ”a matter,” as the old teran to repeat itself and the conviction to grow, and as he was obliged to give it admittance and to face it, and to wonder what the shock would be to her, and what the neould be to his, and how they would both ht him up before the centre table and he looked down upon it at length with a seeing eye Why not? why not? he ondering

We are all essentiallynever had struck yet, _why not in this place_? And since there had been neither shame nor blame, why couldn't he face the possibility of a perfectly natural reen scarf, and as Bulstrode lifted the soft thing he saw that underneath it lay a despatch

Then he knew instantly that Mary Falconer had left both scarf and telegrae to him He seemed, as the word he had not yet readall his life for just this news The road, so long in winding hoth, and now that he believed the crisis was really reached, there was so in its solemnity

Bulstrode could not at once draw the sheet froar and sat down before the fire

He knew, as though he saw it all before his eyes, how the despatch had found her this early Christmas Day, in her room--he kne she had read it first and borne it well--for she was a brave, strong woman--he knew that his absence had been a relief to her He kne she had worn her long, dark cloak and thick veil, and had gone out to travel hoht of the picture she had in her sad and dreadful journey, he for the first tiht of himself--of themselves He was too human not to know that there would be a future and that they would build anew In the new house there would be no driftwood now; nor would they ever be haunted by the sound of a bell in the dark, for with the few brave souls who sail across the seas of life they had both of the shi+p until it put into port

Mrs Shawles caain presently and told hi the gardens Then she waited, and as Bulstrode looked up at her he forced himself to smile faintly and wished her a Merry Christave hi for all of the Westboro's, and that the castle and the house would see new tis, and when he had stirred hi what he had for her into her hand, he was not sure whether he wanted her to go, or not, this time and leave him alone

She still hesitated It was a custom with them, she told him, with the Westboro's, to have hall prayers on holidays When the Duke himself was there, he always read them; the servants and the children of the place had already come in In the absence of the family _would_ Mr

Bulstrode?

”Oh, no, on no account, on no account,” he hurried ”Wasn't there some one else?”

”Well, to be sure, there was Portuest was sure that Portman would do it quite in the proper way, and as for himself, he would have his breakfast in a few moments, he thanked her

And Mrs Shawles, who had expected a more favorable answer, left open on the table the little Book which she had brought in with her

Bulstrode took it up after she was gone

In a few seconds he heard fro Their voices ceased, to be followed by the subduedAs Bulstrode opened the Book he held, the leaves fell apart at the e rite He hurriedly passed this over, and his eyes were arrested by the opening lines of a more solemn service He paused to read the beautiful, pitiful words, and then, still with the open Book in his hands, he drew the telegram out of its cover