Hilda was a fairly practical, self-reliant, American girl. She was face
to face with the most momentous occasion of her life as she passed
through that line of respectful servants. With a woman's knowledge she
was fully conscious of the strict scrutiny to which she was being
subjected from under all those apparently drooping eyelashes.
"Where is my mother, Edgson?" asked Raife.
"She is in the library, Sir Raife," answered the old butler.
"Will you announce us, please. No, don't trouble, I will go upstairs
myself, if you good folk will wait here," and he ushered them into an
old oak-panelled room, with gloomy old portraits that seemed to frown
down upon them.
Raife's meeting with his mother was affectionate, and tears were in her
eyes as she asked: "Have you brought her, Raife?"
He replied, cheerily: "Yes, mother dear, and I want you to like her and
give her and her father a hearty welcome to Aldborough."
In somewhat anxious tones, she said: "I hope I shall, dear, and I
promise to try. Of course, they shall have a hearty welcome. She is my
son's choice, and I will do my duty." Then, in halting accents, she
added: "You are your own master here. Forgive me, Raife, if I appear
anxious. I love you very dearly, and with all a mother's love. You are
all I have left in this world, and I fear for your happiness." Then,
smiling, she again added: "I will not remind you that you were always a
brave, darling, wayward boy."
Raife took his mother in his arms and reverently kissed her on the
forehead, saying, with a happy laugh: "You dear, darling mother! Never
fear for me. I will not forget that I am a Reymingtoune." As he left
the room Lady Remington turned to the window and wiped away a tear.
Raife almost ran down the staircase, and, bursting into the room, called
out cheerily to Hilda and her father: "Come along, good folks, and meet
my dear old mother. She is upstairs and awaits you."
The close scrutiny of the servants was easy to bear. Hilda's heart
fluttered as they climbed the wide old staircase and entered the
library. Lady Remington was standing to receive them. Raife started to
present them. "Mother, this is--"
He did not finish.
Hilda, with a charming impulse, had crossed the room with both hands
extended, exclaiming: "You are Raife's mother. Oh, I'm so glad!"
The radiance of this beautiful young girl, the charm of her musical
voice, and the evident spontaneity of the action, were magical. The
stately Lady Remington took the two extended hands and kissed Hilda on
both cheeks, saying: "Welcome, Hilda. I am sure I shall like you, and I
hope you will like me. May you both be very happy."
Mr Muirhead stood by Raife's side, viewing this unconventional scene,
where the newer West had conquered the stiffer conventions of the older
West by a display of genuine frankness. His handsome face was made the
more handsome by the pleased smile that it bore. Raife now presented
him to his mother with more formality than Hilda had allowed in her
case.
When Lady Remington and Mr Muirhead had left the room to stroll around
the gardens, Hilda exclaimed: "Oh, Raife. This is all very wonderful.
I did not believe such places existed outside storybooks. Your mother
is a darling. I love her already. I'm glad I don't have to stamp my
foot and shake my fist, as I told you I would in Cairo, if she didn't
like me."
Raife kissed her again and again, and through the kisses said: "How do
you know she likes you?"
Imitating Raife's accents, she said: "Woman's instinct, dear boy,
woman's instinct. Besides, she wouldn't have kissed me so hard if she
didn't like me."
The words were hardly finished when he seized her, exclaiming: "That
settles it! Then I'll show you I more than like you, I love you!" And
he kissed her until she pretended that it hurt.
Now, at last, were Raife's ideals realised, and complete happiness was
nearly his. There could be no other spectres or phantoms to cast a
shadow over their pure love. Hilda broke away and ran to the other side
of the room. The window was open and she looked out, crying: "Oh, do
come, Raife, look at that wonderful clump of rhododendrons."
She did not see it, but a pained expression crossed his face as he came
to the window, and, placing an arm around her, they looked down together
on the rhododendrons. Why could not happiness last? What was the curse
that at every turn blighted his fondest hopes? The last time he had
looked on those rhododendrons was on that fateful dark night, when Gilda
Tempest, the burglar--the burglar whom he had fancied that he loved--
slid down the silken rope from the window, and disappeared in their dark
shadows. And now the hideous memory came to his mind, to destroy his
brightest hopes, his dream of bliss. He turned away, leaving Hilda at
the window. He stood lighting a cigarette, and again his gaze chanced
in a tragic direction. In front of him was the safe, where his father
had shot and killed the burglar, and there, the spot where his murdered
father had, in his dying words, stammered out, in choking gulps to
Edgson, the awful warning to Raife, his son, to "beware of the trap--
she--that woman." Who was that woman and what was the trap? Again,
that was the spot where he had nearly shot Gilda Tempest, the second
burglar. Why, oh why, had his mother chosen this room in which to
receive his beloved Hilda--his fiancee?
Calling to Hilda, he said: "Come, Hilda, let us go downstairs and find
your father. They have gone into the grounds, and won't be far away."
They went downstairs, she on to the terrace, and he into a morning-room.
He rang the bell and Edgson, the butler, entered. "Mix me a stiff
whisky and soda, Edgson, please."
The old man eyed his master quizzically as he handed him the cool drink
in a long, sparkling tumbler. "Aren't you feeling well, Sir Raife?"
Between gulps, Raife replied: "Oh, yes, Edgson, only a bit tired, thank
you."
"I hope, Sir Raife, you've had a pleasant holiday, sir. We are all very
glad to see you back again, sir."
"Thank you, Edgson. Yes, very pleasant indeed."
Then, with the licence of an old servant of the family, Edgson chatted
on: "Pardon the liberty, Sir Raife, but we saw the announcement in the
_Morning Post_, sir, Miss Muirhead who has just come to stay, sir.
She's your `fyancee,' isn't she, sir? She's a very beautiful young
lady, sir, if I may take the liberty, sir. And if that's her father,
sir, he's a very handsome old gentleman--Again asking your pardon, Sir
Raife, we, in the servants' hall, wishes to offer you our hearty
congratulations."
Raife was accustomed to the old butler's garrulity and smilingly
replied: "Thank you, Edgson. And will you thank the others for me. If
all goes well, we'll very soon be having gay times in the old house."
As he retired towards the door the old man talked to himself. "Ay!
That we will, I warrant, if Master Raife has anything to do with it."
He had barely closed the door when he knocked and entered again.
"Excuse me, Sir Raife--"
Raife was worried and said, rather impatiently: "Yes, Edgson," then
smiling a forced smile, added: "What is it this time?"
Closing the door, and looking around with an air of mystery, the old
servant almost whispered: "Do you remember the night, sir, in last
September, when I saw the light in the library, and I had the house
surrounded?"
"Yes," interrupted Raife, irritably. "What about it?"
The old man, once started, was not to be waved aside: "Well, sir, one of
the under-gardeners, Hodgson, it was. He was at work among the
rhododendrons, and he picked up a long piece of silk rope."