In the train, nearing London, Alan and Teddy yawned simultaneously,
caught each other's eye, and grinned.
"We've had a deuce of a talk," said Alan, "and I hope you feel wiser, for
I don't. How much simpler it would all have been had my uncle refrained
from those explicit instructions respecting Bullard. We've actually got
to be tender with the man until that blessed clock stops."
"But oh, what a difference afterwards!--though I doubt if we'll ever get
anything like even with the beggar. By the way, about the Green Box--"
"Don't return to it!"
"I must, old chap. Do you still take that warning wire seriously? You
don't think now that it was sent by Bullard for purposes of his own?"
"I feel that the warning was genuine and not Bullard's. Yet who could
have sent it? Lancaster? Doris? ... But how should they know there was
anything changed about the box? Also, was it Bullard who was in the house
the night before last? It was certainly not he who went for Caw.... Oh,
Lord, we're beginning all over again! Let's chuck it for the present.
And, I say, Teddy, won't you come with me to Earl's Gate after we've had
some grub?"
"Thanks, no. I've made up my mind to have another dose of shadowing our
friend. Ten to one I have no luck, but instinct calls."
"It's jolly good of you, and I'm afraid it's going to be a filthy night
of fog. Well, when shall I see you?"
"Depends. Don't wait up for me. To-morrow is included in my leave, and
the next day is Sunday, so we are not pressed for time."
"Consider what I said about your coming to Grey House for the winter.
You could help me in many ways. Of course, I don't want you to risk
your prospects at the office, not to mention your person, and you must
allow me to--"
"I'll see what can be done. You know I'm keen to see the thing through.
By the way, I needn't remind you to be mighty slim to-night so far as
Mrs. Lancaster is concerned. She represents Bullard in that house. You
spoke of inviting Lancaster to return North with you for a change of
scene, and Heaven knows the old chap must need it; but don't you think
such an invitation might simply mean upsetting the whole boiling of fat
into the fire? Bullard--"
"And don't you think that the sooner we have the flare up the
better?--Oh, hang! I keep on forgetting about that clock!"
"Lucky blighter! However, it's your affair, and the change might be
Lancaster's salvation. He'll never get any peace for his poor weary soul
where he is."
"You are fond of the man, Teddy?"
"Always liked him," Teddy answered, a trifle shortly. "Not so fond as you
are, judging from what you're doing for him."
"Oh, drop that! I suppose there's no likelihood of getting them all to
come North?"
"Can you imagine Mrs. Lancaster existing for a week without crowds of
people and shops and theatres?"
"Well, we'll see," said Alan. "I--I'll consult Doris about it."
Ten minutes later they were in the Midland Hotel. Alan found a telegram
from Caw--"Nothing doing,"--and received a legal-looking person who had
been awaiting his arrival.
* * * * *
Time, the kindly concealer, is also the pitiless exposer. How often in
the Arctic had Alan imagined, with his whole being athrill, this reunion
with the girl who, in the last strained moment of parting, had promised
to wait for him! How often had Doris, in the secrecy of her soul, even
when the last hope of reunion had failed, repeated the promise as though
the spirit of her lost lover could hear! And now fate had set these two
once more face to face, and--neither was quite sure. Emotion indeed was
theirs, joy and thankfulness, but passionate rapture--no! A clasping of
hands, a kiss after ever so slight a hesitation, and the embrace that
both had dreamed of was somehow evaded.
"You haven't changed, Alan, except to look bigger and stronger," she
remarked, after a little while.
"And you are more lovely than ever, Doris," he said; and now he could
have embraced her just for her sheer grace and beauty. He was angry with
himself and not a little humbled, for he had never really doubted his
love for Doris. Her comparative calmness troubled rather than wounded
him, for his faith in her was not yet faltering like his faith in
himself, and he wondered whether her calmness was born of girl's pride or
woman's insight. Nevertheless, amid all doubts and questionings his main
purpose remained unwavering: he was here to ask Doris to marry him as
soon as possible, so that he might rescue her and her father from the
difficulties besetting them.
As for Doris, her mind was working almost at cross purposes with his.
Apart from the double barrier created by her father's unhappy position
and her promise to Bullard, she knew that she could not willingly
marry Alan, for at last it was given her to realise why the first news
of his safety, as told by Teddy France, had failed to glorify her own
little world.
She had seated herself, bidding him with a gesture to do the same,
and now they were placed with the width of the hearth between them.
She was the first to break the silence that had followed a few
rather conventional remarks from either side, and it cost her an
effort. She was pale.
"Alan, I wish to thank you for your message to father in Teddy's
telegram. I--I think it saved him. But--please let me go on--I want to be
quite sure that Teddy told you everything that mattered."
"Everything I need know, Doris. I wish you wouldn't distress yourself.
It's going to be all right, you know. How is your father to-night?"
"I think he will be well enough to see you to-morrow," she replied, and
went on to ask a number of questions very painful to her. When he had
answered the last of them in the affirmative, she sighed and said: "Then,
Alan, I think, I hope, you do know nearly all, and I can only beg you to
believe that father never meant to injure _you_ in any way. It was not
until there was no hope left of your being alive that he--"
"Doris, I implore you not to talk about it. Mr. Lancaster was my good
friend in the old days, and I trust he is that still. When I see him
to-morrow I shall have to depend on that friendship, because, you see,
Doris, I shall want--with your permission--to ask a great favour of him."
On the girl's tired lovely face a flush came--and went. "Alan, this is no
time for misunderstandings," she said bravely, "and when you have a talk
with father, I wish you to--to try to forget me."
"Forget you! ... Ah! you mean you do not wish me to refer to your part in
helping him--"
"Oh," she cried hastily, "I was afraid, after all, Teddy would not tell
you one thing--"
"It can't matter in the least, dear Doris. What I want to ask your father
is simply his blessing on us both in our engage--"
"For pity's sake, no! Listen, Alan; and don't think too unkindly of me,
for I have promised to marry Mr. Bullard--"
"Doris!"
"--a year from now." She bowed her head.
He was on his feet, standing over her. "Bullard!" he exclaimed at last,
"Bullard! Good Lord, Doris! Had that fat successful gambler actually the
impudence to ask you to marry him?"
"Oh, hush!" she whispered. "The fact remains that I gave my promise."
He drew a long breath. "Of course you gave your promise, and the reason's
plain enough to me! You gave it for your father's sake!" As in a flash he
saw what she had suffered. Teddy's story had told him much, but this! ...
His heart swelled, overflowed with that which is so akin to love that in
the moment of stress it is love's double.
And this young man, casting aside his doubts of himself, caught in a
passion evoked by beauty in distress and hot human sympathy, fell on his
knees, murmuring endearments, and took this young woman, with all her
doubts of herself, to his breast.
And Doris let herself go. Doubts or no doubts, right or wrong, it was
sweet and comforting, after long wearing anxiety and arid loneliness, to
find refuge in the strong, gentle arms of one who cared. But it was a
lull that could not last.
"Dear," he was saying when she stirred uneasily, "you shall never marry
him! Why, you don't even need to break your promise, for we will see to
it that he shall never dare to ask you to fulfil it. Leave Mr. Francis
Bullard to Teddy and me."
"Alan, this is madness!" She drew away from him. "How could I forget?
Father is so completely in his power."
"But we are going to rescue him, you and I, thanks to good old Teddy."
She shook her head. "Ah, no, Alan, you are too hopeful."
Alan was puzzled. "Didn't you and he understand my message to him in
Teddy's wire?" he asked at length.
"We understood that you--you forgave everything. Oh, it was kind and
generous of you!"
"Was that all?" Alan got up and stood looking down at the fire. "I didn't
want to say a word about it," he said presently. "I hoped Mr. Lancaster
at least, would take my meaning. It's horrid having to discuss it with
you, Doris, but Teddy mentioned something about a--a debt--"
"Oh!" It was a cry of pain. "Teddy must have misunderstood me. I
never meant--"
"Teddy did it for the best, you may be sure, and I'm grateful to him. Let
me go on, dear. It is this debt that gives Bullard the upper hand--is it
not? Twenty-five thousand, Teddy mentioned as the amount."
"Don't!--don't!" She hid her face.
"And so--and so I just brought the money along with me." He cleared his
throat. "And Mr. Lancaster will be a free man to-morrow. Doris, for God's
sake, don't take it like that!"
She was not weeping, but her slim body seemed rent.
"Doris, since you are going to marry me, what could be more natural than
that I should want to help your dearest one out of his trouble? I've
more money than I need--honestly." He laid his hand on her shoulder.
"Dear little girl," he continued, with a kindly laugh, "you've no idea
how difficult it is to speak about it. And I can't carry the thing
through myself; simply couldn't open the subject to him and offer the
money. I want you to help me--and at once. I suppose he is strong enough
to bear a small surprise. So I want you to go now and tell him, and--and
give him these. I brought notes, you know, because they are more
private." His free hand dropped a packet into her lap. Amazing how
little space is required for twenty-five thousand pounds in Bank of
England notes! "Doris!"
She did not raise her head, but her hands went up to her shoulder and
took his hand between them. Hers were cold.
"My dearest!" he cried softly.
"Oh, Alan, Alan," she said in a dry whisper. "I shall never get over
this, I will never forget your goodness. But I can't--I _can't_ do it."
"Yes, you can, dear. I know it's hard. I know it means sinking
your pride--"
"Pride!--have I any left?"
"Plenty--and plenty to be proud of! Help me to remove your father's
trouble, and we shall all be happy again. Just think that you are putting
freedom into his hand--"
"Have mercy, Alan!"
"Dearest, is it too hard? Well, well, I must do it myself, after all.
Only that will mean so many more troubled hours for him.... Doris, you
will do it, for his sake and mine? After all, what does the whole affair
signify? Simply that you and I will have so much less to spend
later,--and do you mind that?"
He had won, or, at all events, filial love had won. It is the other sort
of love that pride may withstand to the last.
She did a thing then that he would remember when he was an old man: drew
his hand to her lips. The colour rushed to his face. "Not that, dear!"
She rose and he supported her, for she was a little _dizzy_ with it all.
"What am I to say to him, Alan?"
"Just say that it is merely what my Uncle Christopher would have done,
had he known. And tell him to get well quickly, because I want him to
come to Grey House for a change, at the earliest possible day. I want you
and Mrs. Lancaster also, Doris. Will you come?"
She shook her head. "I'm afraid--"
"Never mind now. I'll write to Mrs. Lancaster to-night, and perhaps I may
see her to-morrow."
"You--you won't tell her about this, Alan?"
"Certainly not. I've forgotten about it," he said, with a smile intended
to be encouraging. "And I'll go at once. Perhaps that will make it a
little easier for you. As soon as you've seen your father, you ought to
turn in. Will you?"
She attempted to smile, but her voice was grave. "I will do anything you
wish--now and always. I can't thank you, Alan dear, but God knows--" She
could say no more.
"You dear little girl," he said, rather wildly, "there's just one thing
you must be quite clear about. This miserable money may buy your father's
peace of mind, but it has not bought one hair of your beautiful head." He
took her in his arms and kissed her. "Sleep well ... till to-morrow!"
Her mind was still in turmoil as she went up the broad staircase,
clutching against her bosom the precious packet, but her eyes were wet at
last. Her father was saved! For herself she had no thought.
She halted at the door of his room, listening. It was essential that he
should be alone.... She started violently.
Another door on the landing opened and Mrs. Lancaster came forth.
"Surely Mr. Craig has not gone already," she said. "I am just
going down."
"He has gone, mother, but he hopes to see you tomorrow."
"Too bad! He can't have told you all his adventures, Doris." Thus far
Mrs. Lancaster had learned nothing beyond the bare facts of Alan's return
and his intention to call.
"I think he is keeping them for you and father," said the girl, striving
for composure. "He wants us all to go to Grey House as soon as father is
well enough to travel."
"At this time of year?--absurd, or, at all events, impossible!--for you
and me, at any rate. Has Mr. Craig not been made aware of your engagement
to Mr. Bullard?"
"I thought we had agreed not to talk of that." Doris laid her fingers on
the door-handle.
Mrs. Lancaster came a little closer. "Is that a letter for your father?
The last post must have been late?"
The strain was telling on Doris; she gave a nervous assent.
"Ah, it has not come by post, I see! Why it is not even addressed to
him!"
"It is for him."
"From Mr. Craig?"
"Yes."
"If it is anything exciting, he ought not to have it to-night. It will
spoil his chances of getting to sleep."
"I--I don't think so, mother."
"My dear girl, you ought to be perfectly certain, one way or another. I
simply cannot trust you. Leave it with me, and you can give it him in
the morning."
Doris felt faint. "I can take care of it, but I'm sure it won't do him
any harm. I will--"
With a swift movement of her supple body and arm the woman possessed
herself of the packet. At the feel, the almost imperceptible sound, of it
her eyes gleamed, her dusky colouring darkened.
"Mother!" gasped Doris.
"I cannot risk having your father upset. You can ask me for it in
the morning."
"Mother!" Impelled by a most hideous fear the daughter sprang, clutched,
missed--and fell like a lifeless thing.
Mrs. Lancaster rang for her maid.
When Doris came hazily to herself she was in bed.
"Drink this, my dear," said her mother gently.
It was a powerful sleeping draught, and soon the girl's brain was under
its subjection.
* * * * *
About ten o'clock Mrs. Lancaster, in her boudoir, rang up Bullard, first
at his hotel, then at his office, whence she obtained a response.
"Can you come here at once?" she asked him.
"Impossible! Anything urgent?"
"Alan Craig has been here."
"... Well?"
"He knows about--things. I'm sure he does."
"For instance?"
"Robert's difficulties."
"No special harm in that, is there? He won't be alone in his knowledge
for long, you know--"
"What do you mean?" she cried in alarm.
He ignored the question and asked another. "Was Craig in any way
unpleasant? Quick, please!"
"I didn't see him, but I should imagine he was quite the reverse. The
servant Caw must have kept back things. Doris tells me he wants the three
of us to go to Grey House--"
"What? To Grey House?"
"Of course, I should never dream--"
"Great Heavens, how extremely fortunate for you! My dear Mrs. Lancaster,
you must accept the invitation at once. Don't let it slip. Have your
husband well enough to start in the beginning of the week."
"Are you crazy? What should I do at Grey House?"
"I'll tell you precisely what you may do--but not now. For the present I
should inform you that it may be your last chance of salvation."
"What on earth do you mean? Not the dia--"
"Listen carefully! I have already told you of the disaster to the
mines--"
"But all that will come right in time."
"One may hope so. In the meantime, however, the Syndicate will require
all its available funds, and, as you know, there is a matter of nearly
twenty-five thousand pounds, which Mr. Lancaster--"
For a moment the woman was incoherent. Then--"Mr. Bullard, we have your
promise that you would see that matter put right."
"My dear lady, this calamity was not to be foreseen. I am unspeakably
sorry, but I have been hard hit, and the plain truth is that I am quite
powerless for the present. Of course I shall do what I can to
delay--er--discovery, but unfortunately I must leave for South Africa on
Friday, this day week."
"Then all is lost! Ruin--disgrace--"
"Not so loud, please. Be calm. All may not yet be lost--if you at
once accept young Craig's invitation. Now let us leave it at that.
To-night I am distracted by a thousand things, but I will call in the
morning to enquire for your husband and, incidentally, to make things
clearer to you."
"Can't you explain now? I shan't be able to sleep--"
"No.... But, by the way, it would do no harm were your husband to ask
Craig, if he is really friendly, for a loan. If I'm any judge of men,
Craig is the sort of silly fool who, because he has come into a bit of
money, is ready to give lots of it away. However, you can suggest it to
your husband, if you like. How is he to-night?"
"I think he is better, but he was so excitable a little while ago that I
had to give him some sleeping medicine. He is sleeping now."
"Sooner or later, you know, he has got to be told of the Johannesburg
disaster. What about getting Doris to break it?"
After a pause--"I'll see," said Mrs. Lancaster, "but I do wish you would
give me some idea--"
"You really must excuse me. I hear some one coming in to see me. Till
to-morrow--good-bye!"
Mrs. Lancaster, her handsome face haggard, lay back in her chair and
for a space of minutes remained perfectly motionless. At last her
lips moved--
"Whatever happens, I shall have twenty-five thousand pounds."