Part 49 (1/2)

”You know, Wagram, it's a deuced rum world,” said Haldane as the two were driving home again. ”Fancy this poor chap Develin Hunt, over whose absurd name we were roaring when that first yarn about the derelict came to hand, turning out to be my old pal Jack Faro of the early, rousing, Kimberley days! Poor chap! How he wilted over the recollection of that old crock of his. You know, it was an echo of the old camp chaff I was firing off on him--the point of which was that the said old ruin was fond of bragging that she was Jack's real and lawful wife, whatever others might be, and brandis.h.i.+ng what she called her 'lines' in the faces of all comers. Poor old Jack! He was fairly straight as men go-- and yet--and yet--I don't know--there were things whispered about him even then. Well, he's gone now.”

Haldane never learned of the said Develin Hunt's--otherwise Jack Faro's--last _coup_, for on that Wagram was for ever silent.

That night Develin Hunt died.

CHAPTER FORTY.

CONCLUSION.

”Oh, how good you have been to us! No; really, when I want to find words--well, I simply can't.”

”Then don't try. That's the simplest way out of the difficulty, isn't it?” answered Wagram, with a smile.

Delia Calmour shook her head, a puzzled little frown contradicting, as it were, the soft light that was in her eyes, and a certain tender curving of the lips. Her gaze swept over the network of sunlight glinting on the sward beneath the arching oaks, then rested on the adjacent palisade enclosing the African animals, whose quaint bellow would every now and then vie with the shout of the cuckoo to break the stillness of the l.u.s.trous summer air. She thought of herself--now enabled to make more than a comfortable living by turning her musical talents to account; of Clytie, doing exceedingly well in her own line; of raffish Bob, removed from Ba.s.singham influences and third-rate Pownall and Skreet, to be given every chance at a fair salary with a first-cla.s.s legal firm in London; of the three younger ones at school again, only at far better schools than they had ever dreamed of before-- and, thus thinking, she did not exaggerate in declaring that she could not find words to express her appreciation to the man beside her--to whom all this was due. And again she repeated this.

”My dear child,” he answered, ”haven't I told you before that it's our duty to help each other in this world as far as lies in our power? At any rate you seemed to bear in mind that principle when you literally forced the skipper of the _Runic_ to put back because you had glimpsed some unknown poor devil left on board the derelict. Eh?”

”That's different--quite different.”

Again she felt strangely tongue-tied. The past couple of years flashed through her mind, and how they had seemed to her to contain but one consideration, but one all-engrossing thought--the man now at her side.

How their lives seemed bound up together from their first sudden and semi-tragical meeting! Even upon the vast wilderness of the wide deep they had been thrown together once more. And now here they were together again at dear old Hilversea--on the very spot, hallowed, as it were, within her mind, by the a.s.sociations of those earlier days.

The time intervening, and the experiences it comprised, had rather enhanced than detracted from her beauty; indeed, it was not the fault of more than one pecuniarily eligible and physically attractive unit of the other s.e.x that she was still Delia Calmour, eke of more than one of whom neither of these qualifications held good. And now here she was at Hilversea again.

She was staying at Haldane's, and had cycled over that morning in response to a note from Wagram asking her to come and look at some old musical ma.n.u.scripts he had unearthed in his library. Yet, so far, very little had been said about the ma.n.u.scripts, he declaring it was much too lovely a morning to sit indoors; and the ma.n.u.scripts were always with them, but the fine weather was not. Now he did not seem inclined to help her through her unwonted fit of silence as he strolled by her side; calm, self-possessed, the very personification of ease and strength and dignity, she was thinking.

”So you are happy in your new line, Delia?” he said at last. ”And comfortable? Sure you are quite that?”

”Of course I am--all that--thanks to you,” she answered, throwing an unconscious warmth into her voice.

”That's rather a pity, because I was going to suggest that you should change it.”