They ascended to the veranda still hand-in-hand. It was deserted.
Baring led her straight along it till he came to the two chairs outside
the drawing-room window. They were empty. A servant had just lighted a
lamp in the room behind them.
"Go in!" said Baring. "I will come back to you."
She obeyed him. She felt incapable of resistance just then. He passed on
quietly, and she stood inside the room, waiting and listening with
hushed breath and hands tightly clenched.
The seconds crawled by, and again there came to her straining ears the
cry of a jackal from far away. Then at last she caught the sound of
Baring's voice, curt and peremptory, and her heart stood still. But he
was only speaking to the _punkah-coolie_ round the corner, for almost
instantly the great fan above her head began to move.
A few seconds more, and he reappeared at the window alone. Hope drew a
great breath of relief and awoke to the fact that she was trembling
violently.
She looked at him as he came quietly in. His lean, bronzed face, with
the purple scar of a sword-cut down one cheek, told her nothing. Only
she fancied that his mouth, under its narrow, black line of moustache,
looked stern.
He went straight up to her and laid his hand on her shoulder.
"Tell me what frightened you!" he said, looking down at her with keen
blue eyes that shone piercingly in his dark face.
She shook her head instantly, unable to meet his look.
"Please," she said beseechingly, "please don't ask me! I would so much
rather not."
"I have promised not to laugh at you," he reminded her gravely.
"I know," she said. "I know. But really, really, I can't. It was so
silly of me to be frightened. I am not generally silly like that.
But--somehow--to-day--"
Her voice failed her. He took his hand from her shoulder; and she knew
suddenly that, had he chosen, he could have compelled.
"Don't be distressed!" he said. "Whatever it was, it's gone. Sit down,
won't you?"
Hope dropped rather limply into a chair. The security of Baring's
protecting presence was infinitely comforting, but her fright and
subsequent exertion had made her feel very weak. Baring went to the
window and stood there for some seconds, with his back to her. She noted
his height and breadth of shoulder with a faint sense of pleasure. She
had always admired this man. Secretly--his habitual kindness to her
notwithstanding--she was also a little afraid of him, but her fear did
not trouble her just then.
He turned quietly at length and seated himself near the window.
"How long does your uncle expect to be away?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"I never know; he may come back to-morrow, or perhaps not for days."
Baring's black brows drew together.
"Where is he?" he asked. She shook her head again.
He said nothing; but his silence was so condemnatory that she felt
herself called upon to defend the absent one.
"You see, he came here in the first place because I begged so very hard.
And he has to travel because of his book. I always knew that, so I
really can't complain. Besides, I'm not generally lonely, and hardly
ever nervous. And I have Ronnie."
"Ronnie!" said Baring; and for the first time he looked contemptuous.
Hope sighed.
"It's quite my own fault," she said humbly. "If I hadn't--"
"Pardon me! It is not your fault," he interrupted grimly. "It is
iniquitous that a girl like you should be left in such a place as this
entirely without protection. Have you a revolver?"
Hope looked startled.
"Oh, no!" she said. "If I had, I should never dare to use it, even if I
knew how."
Baring looked at her, still frowning.
"I think you are braver than that," he said.
Hope flushed vividly, and rose.
"No," she said, a note of defiance in her voice. "I'm a miserable
coward, Major Baring. But no one knows it but you and, perhaps, one
other. So I hope you won't give me away."
Baring did not smile.
"Who else knows it?" he asked.
Hope met his eyes steadily. She was evidently resolved to be weak no
longer.
"It doesn't matter, does it?" she said.
He did not answer her; and again she had a feeling that he was offended.
There was a considerable pause before he spoke again. He seemed to be
revolving something in his mind. Then at last, abruptly, he began to
talk upon ordinary topics, and at once she felt more at her ease with
him. They sat by the window after that for the best part of an hour;
till, in fact, the return of her brother put an end to their
_tête-à-tête_.
By those who were least intimate with the Carteret twins it was often
said that in feature they were exactly alike. Those who knew them better
saw no more than a very strong resemblance in form and colouring, but it
went no farther. In expression they differed utterly. The boy's face
lacked the level-browed honesty that was so conspicuous in the girl's.
His mouth was irresolute. His eyes were uncertain. Yet he was a
good-looking boy, notwithstanding these defects. He had a pleasant laugh
and winning manner, and was essentially kind-hearted, if swift to take
offence.
He came in through the window, walking rather heavily, and halted just
inside the room, blinking, as if the light dazzled him. Baring gave him
a single glance that comprehended him from head to foot, and rose from
his chair.
Again it seemed to Hope that she saw contempt upon his face; and a rush
of indignation checked the quick words of welcome upon her lips.
Her brother spoke first, and his words sounded rather slurred, as if he
had been running.
"Hullo!" he said. "Here you are! Don't get up! I expected to find you!"
He addressed Baring, who replied instantly, and with extreme emphasis:
"That I am sure you did not."
Ronnie started, and put his hand to his eyes as if confused.
"Beg pardon," he said, a moment later, in an odd tone of shame. "I
thought it was Hyde. The light put me off. It--it's Major Baring, isn't
it?"
"Yes; Baring." Baring repeated his own name deliberately; and, as by a
single flash of revelation Hope understood the meaning of his contempt.
She stood as if turned to stone. She had often seen Ronnie curiously
excited, even incoherently so, before that night, but she had never seen
him like this. She had never imagined before for a single instant what
now she abruptly knew without the shadow of a doubt.
A feeling that was like physical sickness came over her. She looked from
Ronnie to Ronnie's major with a sort of piteous appeal. Baring turned
gravely towards her.
"You will let me have a word alone with your brother?" he said quietly.
"I was waiting to see him, as you know."
She felt that he had given her a definite command, and she obeyed it
mutely, almost mechanically. He opened the door for her, and she went
out in utter silence, sick at heart.
V