"What would be the use now?" He knew that his mother had told Jim the
truth. Why did Jim not refer to it? Perhaps there was, as his mother
suggested, a way out of this; if so, why in Heaven's name should the
torture be continued. But Jim remained silent. "You think of nothing
but Diana--Diana--Diana." With the last call of her name it became a
wail. Henry had learned during the past hours what suffering could
mean--he was beginning to know what life tempered with discipline might
have meant for him. "When I stand dishonored before the world, it will
be easy for you to take her from me. Is that what you are thinking?" He
began excitedly to pace the room.
"Not exactly," Jim answered, without moving from his bent position; "I
was wondering whether you can be trusted with Diana's future. I believe
you love her after a fashion."
Henry stopped in his walk in front of Jim. "And I know that you love
her."
Jim moved from the position that told how spent he was, and raised
himself to his cousin's height. "Yes," he said, "but not quite in the
way you mean. I am about to show you how I love her."
Something in the simple directness of his words made Henry lower his
eyes. He threw himself into a chair and with averted head listened to
what his cousin had to say.
"It's too late for Diana to find out what a blackguard you are, Henry."
Henry only dropped his head lower on his hands. "I wonder if you will
enter into an honest conspiracy to keep her in happy ignorance to the
end," Jim continued.
"What are you driving at?" Henry asked. He almost knew the words that
were to follow, but he hardly dared believe that what he surmised could
be true.
"I am thinking that under certain conditions I will disappear--leave
England; as secretary of the Fund my action would be practically a
confession of guilt."
Jim could hardly hear the strained question that followed.
"Your conditions?"
"That you give up gambling of every kind; that you drop your mistress,
shut up her establishment, and give up your other liaisons for good and
all; that you make a will leaving everything you have, except what is
entailed, to Diana; and that you give me a written and signed confession
that you embezzled this money; that for the above considerations I
consented to assume the appearance and responsibility of the guilt, and
that if you do not keep the agreement you have made with me, I am at
liberty to appear at any time and make known the truth."
Henry rose and stood looking silently at Jim. Vaguely he began to grasp
the tremendous power of Jim's loyal love. He could find no word--the
clock chimed the quarter-hour.
"Well?" Jim asked.
"It's for her, Jim--for her--I understand that, and I'll try and have
the future make up for the past, so that you'll never regret this." His
voice broke--he leaned towards Jim and tried to grope for the hands that
he could not see--"I was a dog to say what I did, but, by God! I'll keep
my part of the agreement."
Jim nodded--he was beyond emotion. "Good; it's a bargain. Go to your
room, make out a paper such as I have indicated, sign it and bring it to
me here. Be quick," he added, "and I'll get away at once."
This time it was Jim who dropped into a chair and averted his head to
avoid seeing Henry's out-stretched, pleading hand. He never raised his
eyes until he heard the door click, then he went and unlocked a side
entrance that led from the prayer-closet to the other side of the
garden, and with his watch in his hand leaned against the open door and
waited. Henry must not be too long; he was to leave by the midnight
train, but before that he must make his pilgrimage. Across the garden
he could see the waving tree-tops beckoning him, calling him with the
mysterious powers of the night. Yes, he would make his start for the
new life from the Fairies' Corner that led--whither?
Towards the carriage-drive Diana tenderly assisted Sir Charles, followed
by Bates.
"Must you really go, father?"
"Yes, my dear, I must keep good hours, you know. These two days have
been a great dissipation for me; but I've been well repaid; I can't tell
you how much the delightful episode of the loving-cup pleased me. So
now, good-night, my love." They had reached the entrance, "No, no," Sir
Charles protested as Diana started to walk to the carriage with him,
"Bates will take care of me." Then he gathered her close in his frail
arms as he kissed her, and whispered, full of the pride he felt in the
honors done to the house of Kerhill, "You see, it was all for the best,
my dear--all for the best." And Diana made no answer. Ever since she
had sent the note to Jim revealing the truth of her tortured heart she
had seemed to gain a spiritual strength that helped to calm the aching
call of her senses. She dared ask no question concerning Jim's absence,
and her heart mocked her again with the truth that she had not meant him
to obey her so implicitly.
She saw Sir Charles drive away. "Dear father," she whispered, "he must
never know--never know--but it was all for the worst, my dear, all for
the worst." Tears began to stain her face; they were the first in many
days. She tried to control the passion of her grief but it was
impossible; quivering sobs shook her in an hysterical outburst. To
escape from the possible eyes of any chance meeting she quickly sought
refuge in the rose-arbor. Hidden completely, she gave herself up to the
relaxation of her sorrow. Finally, spent with her tears, she leaned
against the damp foliage of the rose-screen, and an aftermath of calm
followed her outburst. Suddenly she became conscious that Sir John
Applegate and Mr. Chiswick were crossing to a bench near the sundial.
"My dear Chiswick," her cousin John was saying, "I'm greatly distressed.
I've been obliged to ask you to give me a few moments here, and, indeed,
I've asked Lady Elizabeth--as Kerhill seemed so ill to-day--to join us
here."
Diana could distinctly hear every word, but with her tear-stained face
it was impossible for her to make known her presence.
"You see, Chiswick," Sir John continued, "I presume that as Lord
Kerhill's secretary you had his accounts in such shape that we could go
over them at a moment's notice. When the keys were sent me this evening
I gave an hour to glancing over the accounts before meeting the auditing
committee to-morrow; as I've just told you, they seemed in a frightful
tangle, and--"
"But, as I explained a moment ago, Sir John," Chiswick interrupted, "I
really know nothing about the Fund; it was a pleasure for the Earl to do
all the work--a labor of love--and he took the matter quite out of my
hands. Captain Wynnegate, as secretary of the Fund, and Lord Kerhill
have had absolute control of the business side of it."
"What you tell me amazes me; but no doubt there is an explanation which
we will have from Kerhill later."
An intangible presentiment began to fasten its web about Diana. Lady
Elizabeth came from the house; both men rose, and Diana watched eagerly.
"Lady Elizabeth, believe me I'm exceedingly sorry to trouble you, but--"
then Sir John Applegate quite brusquely said: "I've had the books for
the Fund's accounts, and there is, I'm afraid, trouble ahead for our
Yeomanry. Lord Kerhill seems ill from overwork with the troops, so I've
hesitated to trouble him to-night."
Lady Elizabeth's brows contracted; so it had come so soon. She must act
at once--why not? Jim had agreed: perhaps he had already
gone--everything was at stake--one small misstep might prove fatal--how
far dared she venture?
"What you tell me comes to me as no great surprise," she said. Both men
drew nearer to her, Diana strained to hear the low words. "The cause of
Kerhill's indisposition this afternoon was due to this sudden discovery
on his part. Need I say, as Captain Wynnegate had charge of the books,
what it means to Henry? He and his cousin are alone responsible, so my
son feels that the honor of our house is involved. To-morrow he
intended to lay the case before you; he will. I only ask that to-night
you will keep the matter quiet until our guests have departed. Perhaps,
after all, an investigation will prove quite satisfactory and the
shortage may be adjusted." She spoke more directly to Sir John;
Chiswick, after all, could do little harm. "Indeed, I feel it is in all
probability a mistake, the result of overtired nerves." Sir John
listened, he had a great respect for Elizabeth, Countess of Kerhill;
seriously he answered:
"I feel anxious, but you may rely absolutely on me. In the morning I
must see Henry--will you tell him to meet me with Captain Wynnegate?
The matter must be laid before the committee; there may be a leakage in
some out-of-the-way corner of another department." Lady Elizabeth
acquiesced. Sir John went on, "I could only find confusion in the
books; consequently, I feel we need not be too seriously alarmed.
By-the-way, where is Captain Wynnegate?" Lady Elizabeth shook her head.
Into both the men's faces came a look of curious surprise.
"He has not been seen the entire day, save for a little while quite
early, in his tent." Diana could feel the condemnation in the silence
that followed.
"Mr. Chiswick, Mr. Chiswick," it was Mabel's voice calling from the open
casement. "You promised to come back for the charades."
"Yes, you must both return--they will need you. And, after all," Lady
Elizabeth whispered as they started for the house, "we have no doubt
been anticipating difficulties that do not exist."
The voices died away, and Diana left the rose-bower. She had but one
thought--she must find Jim at once. Why, oh, why, had she written the
note of the morning? She stumbled across the heavy, thick sward. In the
distance she could see a figure; it looked like Jim's; he was coming
from the Fairies' Corner over the green to the entrance which in the
morning had let her out on to the purple moor. Quickly she hurried to
him, staining her gown and delicate slippers in the wet grass.
"Jim, Jim," she called, "where are you going?" As he turned she came
close to him and repeated her question.
"I'm taking your advice, Diana; I'm leaving England--"
"Oh no, no," she eagerly interrupted, "I thought so, but now you must
stay--stay to protect your honor. I've just heard that the Fund--oh,
it's not you, I know, Jim, it's not you--not you--you couldn't be--" her
despairing cry stopped. Still he made no effort to comfort her.