To Major Richard Felstead, Mills' announcement was without significance.
For the first time he became conscious, however, of something which
seemed almost like a secret understanding between his sister and his
fiancée.
“Tell Mr. Lessingham I shall be with him in a minute or two, if he will
kindly wait,” Philippa instructed.
“Who is Mr. Lessingham?” Richard enquired, as soon as the door had
closed behind Mills. “Seems a queer time to call.”
Helen glanced at Philippa, whose lips framed a decided negative.
“Mr. Lessingham is a gentleman staying in the neighbourhood,” the
latter replied. “You will probably make his acquaintance before long.
Incidentally, he saved Henry's life the other night.”
“Sounds exciting,” Richard observed. “What form of destruction was Henry
courting?”
“There was a trawler shipwrecked in the storm,” Philippa explained. “You
can see it from all the front windows. Henry was on board, returning
from one of his fishing excursions. They were trying to find Dumble's
anchorage and were driven in on to that low ridge of rock. A rope broke,
or something, they had no more rockets, and Mr. Lessingham swam out with
the line.”
“Sounds like a plucky chap,” Richard admitted.
Philippa rose to her feet regretfully.
“I expect he has come to wish us good-by,” she said. “I'll leave you
with Helen, Dick. Don't let her overfeed you. And you know where the
cigars are, Helen. Take Dick into the gun room afterwards. You'll have
it all to yourselves and there is a fire there.”
Philippa entered the library in a state of agitation for which she was
glad to have some reasonable excuse. She held out both her hands to
Lessingham.
“Dick is back--just arrived!” she exclaimed. “I can't tell you how happy
we are, and how grateful!”
Lessingham raised her fingers to his lips.
“I am glad,” he said simply. “Do you mean that he is in the house here,
now?”
“He is in the dining room with Helen.”
Lessingham for a moment was thoughtful.
“Don't you think,” he suggested, “that it would be better to keep us
apart?”
“I was wondering,” she confessed.
“Have you told him about my bringing the letters?”
She shook her head.
“We nearly did. Then I stopped--I wasn't sure.”
“You were wise,” he said.
“Are you wise?” she asked him quickly.
“In coming back here?”
She nodded.
“Captain Griffiths knows everything,” she reminded him. “He is simply
furious because your arrest was interfered with. I really believe that
he is dangerous.”
Lessingham was unmoved.
“I had to come back,” he said simply.
“Why did you go away so suddenly?”
“Well, I had to do that, too,” he replied, “only the governing causes
were very different. We will speak, if you do not mind, only of the
cause which has brought me back. That I believe you know already.”
Philippa was curiously afraid. She looked towards the door as though
with some vague hope of escape. She realised that the necessity for
decision had arrived.
“Philippa,” he went on, “do you see what this is?”
He handed her two folded slips of paper. She started. At the top of one
she recognised a small photograph of herself.
“What are they?” she asked. “What does it mean?”
“They are passports for America,” he told her.
“For--for me?” she faltered.
“For you and me.”
They slipped from her fingers. He picked them up from the carpet. Her
face was hidden for a moment in her hands.
“I know so well how you are feeling,” he said humbly. “I know how
terrible a shock this must seem to you when it comes so near. You are
so different from the other women who might do this thing. It is so much
harder for you than for them.”
She lifted her head. There was still something of the look of a scared
child in her face.
“Don't imagine me better than I am,” she begged. “I am not really
different from any other woman, only it is the first time this sort of
thing has ever come into my life.”
“I know. You see,” he went on, a little wistfully, “you have not taken
me, as yet, very far into your confidence, Philippa. You know that I
love you as a man loves only once. It sounds like an empty phrase to say
it, but if you will give me your life to take care of, I shall only have
one thought--to make you happy. Could I succeed? That is what you have
to ask yourself. You are not happy now. Do you think that, if you stay
on here, the future is likely to be any better for you?”
She shook her head drearily.
“I believe,” she confessed, “that I have reached the very limit of my
endurance.”
He came a little nearer. His hands rested upon her shoulders very
lightly, yet they seemed like some enveloping chain. More than ever in
those few moments she realised the spiritual qualities of his face.
His eyes were aglow. His voice, a little broken with emotion, was
wonderfully tender. He looked at her as though she were some precious
and sacred thing.
“I am rich,” he said, “and there are few parts of the world where we
could not live. We could find our way to the islands, like your great
writer Stevenson in whom you delight so much; islands full of colour,
and wonderful birds, and strange blue skies; islands where the peace of
the tropics dulls memory, and time beats only in the heart. The world is
a great place, Philippa, and there are corners where the sordid crime of
this ghastly butchery has scarcely been heard of, where the horror and
the taint of it are as though they never existed, where the sun and
moon are still unashamed, and the grey monsters ride nowhere upon the
sapphire seas.”
“It sounds like a fairy tale,” she murmured, with a half pathetic smile.
“Love always fashions life like a fairy tale,” he replied.
She stood perfectly still.
“You must have my answer now, at this moment?” she asked at last.
“There are yet some hours,” he told her. “I have a very powerful
automobile here, and to-night there is a full moon. If we leave here at
ten o'clock, we can catch the steamer to-morrow afternoon. Everything
has been made very easy for me. And fortune, too, is with us--your
vindictive commandant, Captain Griffiths, is in London. You see,
you have the whole afternoon for thought. I want you only for your
happiness. At ten o'clock I shall come here. If you are coming with me,
you must be ready then. You understand?”
“I understand,” she assented, under her breath. “And now,” she went
on, raising her eyes, “somehow I think that you are right. It would be
better for you and Dick not to meet.”
“I am sure of it,” he agreed. “I shall come for my answer at ten
o'clock. I wonder--”
He stood looking at her, his eyes hungry to find some sign in her face.
There was so much kindness there, so much that might pass, even,
for affection, and yet something which, behind it all, chilled his
confidence. He left his sentence uncompleted and turned towards the
door. Suddenly she called him back. She held up her finger. Her whole
expression had changed. She was alarmed.
“Wait!” she begged. “I can hear Dick's voice. Wait till he has crossed
the hail.”
They both stood, for a moment, quite silent. Then they heard a little
protesting cry from Helen, and a good-humoured laugh from Richard. The
door was thrown open.
“You don't mind our coming through to the gun room, Phil?” her brother
asked. “We're not--My God!”
There was a queer silence, broken by Helen, who stood on the threshold,
the picture of distress.
“I tried to get him to go the other way, Philippa.”
Richard took a quick step forward. His hands were outstretched.
“Bertram!” he exclaimed. “Is this a miracle? You here with my sister?”
Lessingham held out his hand. Suddenly Richard dropped his. His
expression had become sterner.
“I don't understand,” he said simply. “Somebody please explain.”