THE FLIGHT OF PHYLLIS
Phyllis Lane, on reaching home, went at once to bed. The next morning
she did not come down, so Mrs. Ransom went up to her room--to find the
door locked.
As she could get no answer, though she called a number of times, she
informed the Colonel.
“Let her alone,” he said. “She is in a temper, that is all. Let her
stay all day. It will do her good.”
Mrs. Ransom, who had had some experience of the “tantrums” of Miss
Phyllis, followed the Colonel’s advice, but when evening came and
Phyllis did not appear, she got anxious. “The poor child must be
starving,” she said.
Then Colonel Lane went himself and knocked loudly and called without
obtaining an answer.
Then he put his shoulder to the door and burst it open.
The room was empty.
Consternation and fear took possession of him. He reproached himself
bitterly for his harshness.
Phyllis was so erratic, what might she not have done?
“She may be at Hawk’s Nest,” he said, but he did not believe it. His
heart sank, and fear possessed him such as he had never felt on the
battlefield. What might not a wilful, excitable girl like Phyllis do?
“I will go to Hawk’s Nest, Mrs. Ransom,” Colonel Lane said in a strange
voice. “Don’t let the servants know anything--unless it is inevitable.”
In the meantime Mrs. Barrimore was much exercised in spirit. Things
appeared to be all going wrong. Uncle Robert had put away the copies of
his book, and refused to speak of it.
Philip had sent a letter, which she found to be only a line to say he
was starting at once for London, and had no time to come in. A letter
was enclosed for Phyllis, with the instruction that it should be given
into her own hand. Added to that there were the underlined words:--
“_I can trust you, mother, regarding this letter for Phyllis. I don’t
want it mentioned._”
Mrs. Barrimore was arranging chrysanthemums in her flower-vases when
Colonel Lane was announced. Mr. Burns had gone out to change some books
at Brown and Woodley’s library.
A glance was sufficient for the woman who loved, to see that the old
Colonel was well-nigh heart-broken.
“My dear friend!” she exclaimed, putting out both her hands to him and
searching his face with agonized eyes, “what is it?”
Two tears stole down the strong, almost severe face of the soldier,
which caused Annie’s own tears to gush forth.
“Tell me, dearest! tell me!” she pleaded.
“Phyllis has run away, Annie!” he told her, making a great effort to
control himself.
Mrs. Barrimore thought of the letter in her pocket, but she could not
betray Philip.
“I found out--accidentally--that she and Philip were lovers,” he said
firmly. “I went over to the bungalow when I left you. Phyllis was
there--hiding like a common housemaid--in Philip’s bedroom. There was
a scene. I brought Phyllis home. She went to her room and would not
come out. I left her there, as I thought, to get over her temper. This
morning I forced the door. She was gone. I must go over and see Philip.”
“Philip has left suddenly for London,” gasped Mrs. Barrimore.
“Then she is gone with him!” cried the Colonel.
“I am sure she has not,” said Mrs. Barrimore hastily.
“How can you be sure, dear?” he asked her hopelessly.
“I _am_ sure, and I can’t tell you why,” she said, trembling.
How could Philip leave a letter for Phyllis if she were with him?
At that moment Mr. Burns came in, one arm full of library books.
“I say, Lane!” he broke out in his usual blustery fashion, “I would not
let Phyllis go on the East Hill alone in the evening if I were you.”
“Phyllis! on the East Hill! _When_ was she there?” demanded the Colonel.
“She went up by the lift quite late last night. I heard it remarked
upon in the town, I am sorry to say. I thought you ought to know.
Phyllis is a dear little girl, but she does too much as she likes. She
is a bit of a handful, I know.”
“Burns, Phyllis has run away,” groaned the father.
“Run away? Nonsense!” exclaimed Uncle Robert. “Even Phyllis would draw
the line at that.”
“It is true, nevertheless,” said the Colonel. “What are we to do? I
don’t want to set all Hastings talking, yet I must make inquiries.”
“I think she will come back of her own accord,” said Uncle Robert. “She
will soon have enough of it. What made her do it?”
Colonel Lane repeated what he had told Mrs. Barrimore, and Mrs.
Barrimore told her brother of Philip’s sudden departure for London.
“Phyllis may have known Philip was going, if we did not,” said Mr.
Burns.
“I believe they have gone together,” affirmed the Colonel. “But what
was she doing on the East Hill at night? It is so lonely--dangerous
even.”
Mrs. Barrimore turned her head away. Her face had become ashen. She
recalled the incident of a woman’s body being picked up on the rocks
below that cliff.
Mr. Burns all at once took the reins in his own hands.
“Look here, Lane. First of all, we will send guarded wires with prepaid
replies to all your friends to ask if Phyllis is there. If we find
she has gone to none of them, we will wire Philip at the Savage Club.
If that fails, we must at once go to the police. I am sure the girl
would not go to any of our Hastings acquaintances, and if we went round
inquiring of them, we should only make a scandal. Don’t you worry! I’ll
see to it all for you. Really, I shall scold Phyllis myself when I do
find her--a thing I have never done. I am surprised at Philip! He is
much to blame. He knows quite well what Phyllis is, and he did very
wrong to encourage her. He has no notion of marrying her, I am certain.”
Colonel Lane stared vacantly in front of him. At last he said:
“It is no good wiring to Philip.”
“Why?” inquired Uncle Robert.
“Because he lied to me when I was at the bungalow. He said the last
time Phyllis had been there was a week ago. She was in his bedroom
then--his bedroom! Think of it!”
“He may not have known it,” murmured the mother.
“Of course he knew it,” pronounced the Colonel.
There was an awkward, a dismal silence.
Then Uncle Robert spoke:
“Did Phyllis take any luggage?”
“I don’t know. I came straight here when I found her room empty,” said
the Colonel.
“You ought to have examined the room. There may have been a letter.
These romantic girls always leave a letter--on the pin-cushion, I
believe,” said Uncle Robert. “But I will send the wires, if you will
give me likely addresses.”
Colonel Lane gave several, but remarked bitterly: “If she meant to get
away from me--her father--she would not go where I could easily find
her. But send the wires.”
“And you and I will go and examine her room,” said Mrs. Barrimore.
The pretty bed-chamber of Phyllis was littered with odds and ends which
a careless girl throws about, but there was no sign of packing. The
bed had not been slept in. There was no letter to be found. Colonel
Lane dropped into a chair and sat with his chin on his breast. Mrs.
Barrimore laid a gentle hand on his, but he did not heed it.
Mrs. Ransom came in with some wine, but Colonel Lane waved her angrily
away.
“Come home with me, dear,” whispered Mrs. Barrimore.
He rose and followed her like a child.
“Upon my word!” ejaculated Mrs. Ransom, as she saw them depart. “Miss
Phyllis ought to be downright ashamed of herself!”
The answers to the telegrams came. No one had seen Phyllis.
Then Uncle Robert went to the police.
In the meantime Davis had given a spirited account of the “row” to
Pickett, who had merely laughed.
“So the old Colonel didn’t know!” he remarked. “Young folks are pretty
artful!”
It was from Minnie Pickett that Thomas Alvin heard of the disturbance.
Eweretta had held her peace till then. But as her uncle gave Minnie’s
version to her and Mrs. Le Breton, she spoke up.
“There was no love affair between them at all,” she said. “Philip told
me the truth. I know he told me the truth. Miss Lane treated him as a
brother. They had known each other from children. She took her little
troubles to him. That was all.”
By the following night it was known all over Hastings that Miss Lane
had run away.
It was known, too, that Philip Barrimore had gone away.
Mrs. Hannington, who had been over to Pickett’s Farm, was quite tired
out; she had called on everyone she knew to impart the amazing news
that Mr. Barrimore and Miss Lane had gone off together!
No reply had come from Philip to the wire his uncle had sent. He had
not been to the Savage Club, and he knew nothing. He was too angry to
write home, and no one knew his address.