Part 27 (1/2)
”He was well when he wrote, but the letter was written some time ago.
Where he is, it is not easy to get letters carried in safety. One never knows what may be happening. It is, of course, a terrible anxiety.”
The tears came into her eyes. There had been a little shadow over her brightness even while she had watched Bunny. Nelly had been aware of it dimly. What did she mean?
”Anxiety!” Nelly repeated falteringly. ”Why should you be anxious? He is not ill, is he?”
Her heart had sunk, heavy as lead. Her soul cried out in fear.
”You know he is with the punitive expedition against the Wazees for the murder of Major Sayers and his companions? You never can tell what dreadful thing may be happening to him. It isn't possible you didn't know? And I had been thinking you hardhearted! Ah!”
Her arms went round Nelly.
”It isn't possible you didn't know? _Don't_ look like that! Do you care so much as all that, Nelly? Why, then, why, in the name of Heaven, did you let him go? Why are you marrying your cousin? My poor G.o.dfrey!”
She was conscious of a strident voice shouting the evening papers in the street outside. Indeed, even while she spoke to Nelly, half her brain was listening in a strained way to that voice as it came nearer. What was it the creature was shouting? Before she could hear distinctly the voice died away again in the distance.
”Why did I let him go?” Nelly repeated after her. ”Because, because, he would not stay. He knew that I loved him, but he would not stay. He never seemed to think of staying. When he had broken my heart it seemed that I might as well make others happy. My father, Lady Drummond, my cousin; they have been so good to me always.”
”But you were engaged to your cousin, weren't you, when G.o.dfrey left?”
Little Mrs. Rooke's dark eyes looked black in her frightened face.
”You were engaged to your cousin, were you not, just as you are to-day?”
”I never accepted my cousin till--till Captain Langrishe had gone. It was understood that when we grew up we should marry to please our parents if we saw nothing against it. No one would have wanted to bind me if I did not wish to be bound.”
Mrs. Rooke flung up her hands with a dramatic gesture.
”Heaven forgive me, my poor Nelly, for it was I who sent G.o.dfrey from you! I told him you were engaged to your cousin. I had been told so explicitly by Lady Drummond herself. How could I doubt that it was true?”
Nelly turned a white face towards her. Oddly enough, in spite of its pallor the face had a certain illumination.
”So he went away because of that. Only that stood between us. Do you think I am going to let that--a lie, a mistake--stand between us? I am going to break off my engagement, even at the eleventh hour.”
The daughter of the Drummonds had found the courage of her race. She stared uncomprehendingly at the alarm in Mrs. Rooke's expression.
”Don't do anything rash,” the little woman said, in a frightened voice.
”Supposing G.o.dfrey did not come back. Supposing----”
Again there sounded in the distance the voices of the vendors of evening papers. The voices came nearer, one, two, half a dozen of them. They were all shouting together.
”There must be some news,” Mrs. Rooke said under her breath.
”I shall come and see you to-morrow,” Nelly said. ”To-morrow I shall be free to come and go where I like. Do you know that I was bidding this room and you and Bunny a long good-bye five minutes ago? And if he never comes back--well, he will know I waited for him.”
So preoccupied was she with her intention that she never noticed the newspaper boys and men fluttering their Stop Press editions like the wings of some birds of evil omen. As she sat in the hansom she drew the engagement ring off her finger and dropped it into her purse. Then she sighed, as though an immense burden had fallen from her.
CHAPTER XXIII