The dressing-bell sounded. He led her to the door, opened it, and
watched her pass down the long corridor with its portraits of the dead
Wynnegates lining the walls. But Jim made no effort to obey the summons
of the bell. He returned to the prayer-closet; he wanted to be alone.
In his dressing-room Henry received two messages. One was from his
mother, it said, "Courage"; the other note read: "Come to the
prayer-closet at ten.--Jim."
At dinner Diana strained her eyes in vain down the long table, and then
watched the great doors for Jim's appearance, but to no purpose. Had he
obeyed her note? By the desolation of her heart she knew that she had
not wished such swift obedience.
*CHAPTER XII*
The clock was striking ten, and Jim was waiting for Henry in the
prayer-closet. He had arranged all the details of his departure. It
was as though he carried a dead soul, so calm and void had been his
feelings for the past hours. He had stayed away from the dinner-party
on some pretext, and his man had already started for London with his
luggage to be left at his club. When the servant returned the following
morning, as he supposed to accompany his master back to town, he would
find him gone. By the time the discovery of the deficit was made, Jim
would be aboard the steamer that was to carry him across the Atlantic.
Sounds from the drawing-room told him that dinner was over. He sat
twirling his travelling hat; on a chair near by lay his coat. The
chimes of the last notes of the church-bell were dying away as Henry
hurriedly entered. Jim looked up and studied his cousin's face, and he
saw by his manner that some word of hope must have reached him from Lady
Elizabeth. Save for a half-suppressed exclamation from Henry as he
noticed Jim's travelling clothes, neither of the men spoke. Henry flung
himself into a chair; he could feel Jim's eyes on his face.
"Damn it, why don't you speak?" he finally gasped, when he could no
longer endure the situation.