Part 43 (1/2)

”You've wandered entirely from the object of your visit,” he had remarked at one point in the conversation, ”and I can't for the life of me see why you are taking this extraordinary interest in what you consider my welfare. What on earth can it matter to any one else, how I choose to live my life?”

”Ah, but it does matter,” she had answered earnestly, ”it matters quite supremely. I know we often pretend to ourselves that it doesn't in the least matter how we live our lives so long as we don't commit actual sin; but we can't isolate ourselves from others without loss to them and to ourselves.”

”How about monks and nuns, who shut themselves up, and never see their fellow-creatures at all?” he had retorted, greatly pleased with himself for the retort.

Trix had opened eyes of wonder.

”The contemplative orders! Why, Mr. Danver, they're the cog-wheels of the whole machinery. They only keep their bodies apart that their minds may be more free. n.o.body has the good of mankind so much at heart as a contemplative. They are keeping the machinery going by prayer the whole time.”

The utter conviction in her words was unmistakable. For an odd flas.h.i.+ng moment he had had something like a mental vision of an irresistible force pouring forth from those closed houses, a force like the force of a great river, carrying all things with it, and with healing virtue in its waters. The thought was utterly foreign to him. But it had been there.

”I am not much of a believer in prayer,” he had said dryly. He had expected her to ask if he had ever tried it. She had not done so.

”Most of us do it so badly,” she had said with a little sigh, ”but they don't.” And then she had flashed a glance of amus.e.m.e.nt at him. ”Did you ever hear of the story of the old lady who said she was going to pray one night with entire faith that the hill beyond her garden might be removed?

In the morning she found it still there. 'I knew it would be!' said the old lady triumphantly.”

Nicholas joined in her laugh, but somewhat grimly.

”We're all like that,” he said.

Trix shook her head.

”Not all, mercifully; but a good many.” And then she had returned to her former charge.

Well, she had ended by bewitching him, and the queer thing was he was quite glad of the bewitchment. Now and again he pulled himself up with a jerk and a muttered word or two of irritation; but it was all a pretence, and he knew it. There was an odd excitement pulsing at his heart; despite his age and crippled state, he was feeling boyishly, absurdly young. For the first time for fifteen years he was looking forward to the morrow with pleasure.

He began to consider his programme. It was entirely simple. First there was Antony Gray to be interviewed. She had insisted on that. It was due to him to be given an entire, full, and detailed account of the whole business, so she had decreed. Nicholas shrugged his shoulders at the thought. There was just a question in his mind as to how the young man might regard the matter. Secondly, there was to be a tea-party in the library, at which Trix, the d.u.c.h.essa, Miss Tibb.u.t.t, Antony, and Doctor Hilary were to be present. After that--well, events might take their own course. The villagers get to hear? Let them. Any amount of gossip? Of course, what did he expect? Anyhow he'd be a benefactor to mankind in giving poor, dull little Byestry something more interesting to talk about than the latest baby's first tooth, or the last injustice of Mr. Curtis.

Yes; she meant it. Mr. Curtis was unjust, and the sooner Mr. Danver got rid of him and put Antony Gray in his place the better it would be for everyone concerned. And if he wanted a really dramatic moment he had better have Mr. Curtis up, and inform him that his services were no longer needed, and introduce him to the new agent at the same time. Trix only wished she could be present at the interview, but Mr. Danver would have to describe it to her in the minutest detail.

It is not at all certain that the thought of this interview, suggested before Trix had wrung the final promise from him, did not go a remarkably long way towards extracting that promise. The idea appealed to Nicholas.

In the first place there would be the agent's profound amazement at the fact that Nicholas was not lying, as he had supposed, in the tomb of his ancestors; in the second place there would be his discomfiture in realizing that Nicholas had been entirely aware of his own movements, and the small act of petty spite towards Job Grantley and Antony; and in the third place there would be his amazement and discomfiture combined when he found that Nicholas was not the doddering old a.s.s he had taken him for, but a man prepared to take matters into his own hands, and put a stop once and for all to a long system of tyranny.

”Yes sir, a man, and not the crippled fool you have taken me for,”

Nicholas heard himself saying. He chuckled at the thought.

And then he sat upright. What need to wait till the morrow for that interview? It was barely lunch time. A message to Antony requesting his presence at two o'clock, another to Mr. Curtis requesting his an hour later, and the game could be begun immediately.

Once more Nicholas chuckled. Then he pressed the electric b.u.t.ton attached to the arm of his chair.

For once, and once only, in the long course of his butlers.h.i.+p did the placid and unmoved calm of his manner entirely desert Jessop. The occasion was the present one.

He was in the pantry cleaning silver, when the whirr of the electric bell just above his head broke the silence. He put down the spoon he was polis.h.i.+ng, discarded his green baize ap.r.o.n, donned his coat, and made his dignified way to the library.

Nicholas looked up at his entrance.

Accustomed to note every slightest variance in his master's moods, Jessop was at once aware of something unusual in his bearing. There was an odd, suppressed excitement; the nonchalance of his manner was unquestionably a.s.sumed.