It was a glowing, beautiful summer, and as each radiant day succeeded
another, it seemed to Melian a difficult thing to realise her former
life, so completely had that passed away. It seemed to have been the
life of somebody else. She thought of Violet Clinock with pity and real
concern--stewed up in horrible dusty streets, in all the roar and bustle
of them--while she herself was revelling in the glory of the unclouded
sunlight, and the dim holiness of leafy wood-depths, or the roll of open
champaign stretching away softened into far distance; a fresh vista of
joy whichever way the eye might turn; breathing the free and fragrant
air of Heaven itself. Yet her concern was to a certain extent wasted,
so differently are humans constituted; for, as a matter of fact, though
thoroughly enjoying every moment of the few days which constituted her
visit, the same number of months would have bored Violet Clinock to
death. She was temperamentally of the stirring, bustling order, and the
very elements of the town life, which to Melian, looking back upon,
gained in repulsion, were to her without knowing it, part of the
essentials of well being.
For the misgivings which had beset Melian as to whether she was not
wasting her life had lulled, if not died, as the joyous spring rushed on
into glorious summer, and she noted and appreciated every shade and
harmony of such change; the deepening of the leafage, and the blooming
of this or that new variety of wild flower life; the song chorus of
innumerable thrushes, in all its varying liquid notes, from early morn
till late eve; and the "tang-tang" of nightingales through the fast
shortening hours of darkness. And then, when the dawn pearled upon the
awakening world, what a carolling of sweetness as countless larks sprang
upwards and soared higher and higher into the liquid blue.
And then those delightful rambles, whether short or long, by field paths
or along leafy hedges where the honeysuckle was beginning to hang its
creamy petals, or in shaded woods, the sunlight networking here and
there on the feathery tops of the green bracken, a rest at some quaint
little roadside inn for tea, then home again in the dewiness of rich
meadows, where young lambs skipped and shrilly bleated. Or again, a
long round on the bicycle, exploring this or that old ruin, or massive
and picturesque ancient church. By this time she knew the whole
countryside by heart. And it is doubtful whether this brought more
enjoyment to her than to her uncle--her invariable companion on such
wanderings.
As for Mervyn himself, it is safe to say perhaps that he had never been
so happy in his life. All that appealed to the girl here, appealed to
him, but he had not been capable of enjoying it in solitude. Now this
was all changed, and at every moment of the day he found himself
revelling in her happiness, whether it was watching her gathering wild
flowers in a sunbath of greenery and radiance, or seated smoking the
pipe of placidity and peace upon some churchyard wall what time she was
assimilating the interior of the mouldering structure, to come forth
presently, with animated eyes to descant upon the wondrous fret of some
grisly old Norman arch which it comprised. And he revelled in it with
the deeper intensity because, with the experience of age, he knew that
it was not destined to last.
And then, indeed, as though to bear out the soundness of this reasoning,
there came a change--a cloud, a shadow--but of this he divined nothing
as yet. As the summer drew near its zenith something seemed to come
over Melian. Throughout the radiancy of the glowing summer day--or even
when clouds from seaward brought some hours of soft warm rain to keep
the full sapped leafage from succumbing to a too long unbroken glow of
sun heat, she rejoiced with the joy of living. But at night, in the
solitude of her room, all her elation would leave her. An influence
seemed to creep over her, substituting depression; not depression
merely, but conveying a suspicion of fear--of dread. Of dread she knew
not of what. Yet it was there. Happy, joyous, in the long hours of
light and open, yet when the night shut down, this feeling would come
over her--and come over her suddenly--directly she found herself in the
solitude of her own room. And it grew upon her more and more until she
began to dread the time of retiring for the night--for the life of her
she could not have told why. Yet she kept it to herself. It seemed
absurd to worry her uncle over what after all was a mere fancy. It
would pass. For months now, nothing had occurred to alarm her, as on
that other night--and surely in this paradise of a country there could
be no room for depression or haunting imaginings. But at such times her
thoughts flew unaccountably to Helston Varne.
For by this time she had arrived at the conviction that some influence,
sinister and terrifying, was really hanging about Heath Hover. She had
even tried drawing old Joe Sayers on the subject again, but that astute
rustic, remembering his former slip, had shut up like an oyster. With
old Judy she met no better success.
"We be wold folks," had answered that ancient, when deftly sounded as to
why they should not take up their quarters altogether at Heath Hover on
the ground of convenience to her--Melian. "We likes our own chimbley
corner o' nights,--Miss Melun. The master, he's allus been middlin'
cumferble o' nights without we. And now you'm here and he's more
cumferble nor ever--sure-lye."
This, with the deft invocation of "the master," was unanswerable, as old
Judy had intended. That these two were not to be drawn was obvious, and
Melian had no idea in the world of looking for information outside. Her
uncle too, had distinctly discouraged her taking any interest in the
surrounding cottages, and there were few enough of these. She began to
think she saw through the reason.
But, after all, here she was, and life was happy, she would tell
herself; and she had found it so after some experience of it of which
this by no means held good. She must make the best of it, and, after
all, the best, even by force of contrast, was very good indeed. Yet
still, that weird, uncanny oppression--yes, that was the word for it,
oppression--came upon her more and more as sure as the hours of darkness
set in. And more and more her thoughts reverted to Helston Varne.
Why had he not been again to see them after all this time? It could be
through no want of cordiality in repeating their invite either on her
uncle's part or upon hers. He was a skilled clearer-up of mysteries.
He had told her--with some earnestness--that if ever she were in a
difficulty, and stood in need of a friend--she was to communicate with
him at once.
And more than once she had thought of doing so--had been on the point of
doing so--when another consideration would obtrude. Would she not, in a
way, be working behind her uncle? For instance, the mystery of that
queer, shining thing, with several points, the mere sight of which had
turned him ashy pale and evoked a peremptory command to her to drop it--
at once, and where she stood. That had never been explained. What if
in some way it were bound up with the mystery which overhung this eerie,
creepy old dwelling? What if in some way it affected him--were in some
way, patient of evil results to him? And if Helston Varne were to give
his wonderful faculty towards discovery at Heath Hover, he must do so
wholly. He would never stop halfway--and then, what about that incident
upon which her uncle seemed to set such store of secrecy? No, it
wouldn't do, she decided. It was one thing to let loose that sort of
thing, it was another to know where it was going to end. Yet, apart
from it, she owned to herself she would be glad, very glad, to see
Helston Varne again. And then, all unexpectedly, she obtained her wish.
She was standing in front of the house one morning. The black kitten
was on her left shoulder and she was playing with it with a bit of
string, which it was striving to seize without falling from its perch.
Clad in cool white, she stood erect against a background of Virginia
creeper and one of the window frames of the old house; and the gleaming
waves of her gold hair changed their lights with every movement of the
head. A perfect picture, a most exquisite picture, thought the one
spectator, who had arrived on the scene unobserved, such a picture
indeed as he would carry in his mind, and which he was wholly loth to
disturb all at once. Then a low, lighthearted laugh escaped her as the
kitten, missing its stroke, overbalanced and dropped lightly to the
ground. Then looking up, she discovered she was not alone.
Helston Varne raised his hat and came down the path from the sluice.
She made a step forward to meet him.
"How long were you standing there?" she said, in her bright, quick,
animated way, when the first greetings had been exchanged.
"Well, not long--unfortunately. But I hope I have too much of an
artistic eye to be in a hurry to break up that picture. Is your uncle
in?"
"No. He had to run up to London on business. He wanted to take me,
although he always says London is the worst place in the world to take a
girl to for the day, unless she's got a lot of things of her own to
attend to--which I haven't. Says he doesn't know what to do with her.
He more than half wanted me to go--and chance it, but I wouldn't. I
should only have been in the way, of course."
"That's a pity. I didn't want to see him about anything in particular,
only as I shall have to be away from England some time, I thought I
should just like to see how you were all getting on first."
If Melian's face had fallen just a shade over the announcement, the
change, it is certain, did not escape the keen perception of the other,
nor could he tell why the fact should have afforded him a modicum of
gratification.
"I suppose I mustn't ask, as a matter of innocent and feminine
curiosity, what part of the world you are bound for next?" she ventured.
Even that smile as she looked up at him was not sufficient to let down
his guard. He shook a deprecating head.
"I'm afraid not. The element of secrecy in my movements is one of the
very first essentials."
"Why, of course. By the way, here am I keeping you standing. Do come
inside. But--where's your bicycle? You didn't walk?"
"I left my bike up there on the sluice, till I'd found out whether
anybody was at home. Save the bother of lugging it up again if nobody
was."
"Oh, do go and fetch it. Some one might bag it."
"They'd wish they hadn't--before they had ridden it a hundred yards," he
answered with a laugh. "They'd come about the most complete spill
they'd ever come in their lives."
"Why? How?" she asked, mystified.
"There's a dodge in it that would produce that result with any other
than myself mounting it. Incidentally, there have been two attempts
made at annexing it--with the effect described."
"That's a very wonderful machine of yours," she said. "The other day--
only it was months ago--you told us it was unpuncturable--now it seems
it's unrideable, for any one but its owner."
"Yes--it is rather wonderful, isn't it--Hallo?" as he became alive to
the greetings of the kitten, which was rubbing against his legs and
purring. "Why, this little beauty is hardly any bigger than it was, and
it ought to be nearly full grown by this time."
"Yes, and aren't I just glad too, that it's always going to stay small.
I was afraid it wouldn't," she answered, picking it up and replacing it
upon her shoulder. "But you're not pressed for time, are you? Uncle
Seward will be back by quite an early afternoon train, and he'd he
awfully disgusted if he missed you--especially as you're going away."
To Helston Varne this invitation was wholly alluring--he wondered that
it should prove so much so. And what a strange turn the situation had
taken. He had originally come to these parts with--professionally--
hostile intent towards the occupier of Heath Hover; now, any discoveries
that he might make--whatever their nature--and this he would repeat to
himself with emphasis, he would certainly use to the aid and advantage
of that individual, if possible. He would have been only too glad to
arrive at a solution, as a matter of purely professional interest only--
but with no intention of using it by a hair's breadth against his
new-found friend, as to which he had already begun to put Nashby off the
scent by such modicum of suspicion as we heard him express to that
painstaking officer. Now he answered:
"If you can do with me for all that time, Miss Seward, I shall be only
too delighted. What a lovely day it is. Won't you get on your bicycle
and show me some of the country I haven't seen? We could pick up lunch
at some wayside inn, and get back in time to meet your uncle."
"I'd be delighted, but my bike happens to be out of commission. It
wants a thorough overhauling in fact. Let's have a walk instead. It's
no end jolly just meandering on, winding in and out, now in a jolly
wood--now through a field, or by a pond--in fact, just anywhere you like
to go. We can get back here by lunch-time. Yes, that'll be the very
thing. I'll go up and get a hat--I won't be a sec."
She vanished upstairs, and Helston Varne, left momentarily alone, was
conscious of a mixed train of thought. First of all was the certainty
of a very delightful day before him: then, as he sat opposite the
creeper-shaded window, his glance fell upon the couch which stood
beneath it. There, then, was where the stranger had been found dead.
Instinctively he rose from his seat and went over to the couch. It was
the first time he had been alone in the room, and now his professional
instincts moved him in that direction. Yet there was nothing on earth
to reward them in the aspect of this very plain and innocent looking
article of furniture. He looked at it long and earnestly--up and down,
but no. It suggested nothing. Then the sound of Melian's footsteps,
coming down the stairs recalled him to the ordinary ways of life, and he
simply stood where he was--looking out of the window.
"Which way shall we go?" she said. "I know. We'll go up through
Broceliande and out on to the heath, then we'll wander round the wood on
the other side, and down again by the head of Plane Pond."
"Anywhere you like," he said. "And your programme sounds delightful."