XI

The daylight had all gone when Rachel at last got into her cart in the

yard of the Rose and Thistle at Millsborough and took the reins. But

there was a faint moonrise struggling through the mist in which the

little town and countryside were shrouded. And in the town, with its

laughing and singing crowds, its bright shop windows, its moist,

straggling flags, the mist, lying gently over the old houses, the moving

people, the flashes and streamers of light, was extraordinarily romantic

and beautifying.

Rachel drove slowly through the streets, delighting in the noise and

excitement, in the sheer new pleasure of everything, the world--human

beings--living--the end of the war. And out among the fields, and in the

country road, the November sun was still beautiful; what with the pearly

mist, and the purple shapes of the forest-covered hills. She had been

much made of in Millsborough. People were anxious to talk to her, to

invite her, to do business with her. Her engagement, she perceived, had

made her doubly interesting. She was going to be prosperous, to

succeed--and all the world smiled upon her.

So that her pulses were running fast as she reached Ipscombe, where, in

the mild fog, a few groups were standing about, and a few doors were

open. And now--there was home!--in front of her. And--Heavens! what had

Janet done? Rachel pulled up the horse, and sat enchanted, looking at the

farm. For there it lay, pricked out in light, its old Georgian lines

against the background of the hill. Every window had a light in it--every

blind was drawn up--it was Janet's illumination for the peace. She had

made of the old house "an insubstantial faery place," and Rachel laughed

for pleasure.

Then she drove eagerly on into the dark tunnel of trees that lay between

her and the house.

Suddenly a shape rushed out of the hedge into the light of the lamps, and

a man laid a violent hand upon the horse's reins. The horse reared, and

Rachel cried out,--

"What are you doing? Let go!"

But the man held the struggling horse, at once coercing and taming

it, with an expert hand. A voice!--that sent a sudden horror through

Rachel,--

"Sit where you are--hold tight!--don't be a fool!--he'll quiet down."

She sat paralysed; and, still holding the reins, though the trembling

horse was now quiet, a man advanced into the light of the left-hand lamp.

"Well--do you know me?" he said quietly.

She struggled for breath and self-control.

"Let those reins alone!--what are you doing here?"

And snatching up her whip, she bent forward. But he made a spring at it,

snatched it easily with a laugh, and broke it.

"You know you never were strong enough to get the better of me. Why do

you try? Don't be an idiot. I want to make an appointment with you. You

can't escape me. I've watched you for weeks. And see you alone, too.

Without that fellow you're engaged to."

Her passion rose, in spite of her deadly fear.

"He'll take care of that," she said, "and the police. I'm not helpless

now--as I used to be."

"Ah, but you'd better see me. I've got a great deal to say that concerns

you. I suppose you've told that American chap a very pretty story about

our divorce? Well, it took me a long time to get to the bottom of it

myself. But now I'm--well, disillusioned!"

He came closer, close to the rail of the cart and the lamp, so that she

saw clearly the haggard wreck of what once had been Roger Delane, and the

evil triumph in his eyes.

"Who stayed the night alone, with Dick Tanner, on his place, when I was

safely got rid of?" he said, in a low but clear voice. "And then who

played the innocent--who did?"

"Liar!"

"Not at all. I've got some new evidence now--some quite fresh light on

the scene--which may be useful to me. I want money. You seem to have a

lot. And I want to be paid back a little of what I'm owed. Oh, I can hold

my tongue, if it's made worth my while. I don't suppose you've told your

American young man anything about Dick Tanner--eh?"

"Let go the horse!" she said fiercely, trying to recapture the reins.

"You've nothing to do with me any more."

"Haven't I? Oh, by all means tell your Yankee that I've waylaid you. I

shouldn't at all object to an interview with him. In fact, I rather think

of asking for it. But if you want to prevent it, you've got to do what

you're told."

He came closer, and spoke with slow emphasis. "You've got to arrange a

time--when I can see you--_alone?_ When shall it be?"

Silence. But far ahead there were sounds as of some one approaching.

Delane leapt on the step of the cart.

"This is Monday. Wednesday night--get rid of everybody! You can do it if

you like. I shall come at nine. You've got to let me in."

Her white, quivering face was all his answer.

"Don't forget," he said, jumping down. "Good-night!"

And in a second he was gone, where, she could not tell.

The reins fell from her grasp. She leant back in the cart, half fainting.

The horse, finding the reins on his neck, strayed to the grassy side of

the road, and began grazing. A short time passed. In another minute or

two the left wheel would have gone done into a deep ditch.

"Hallo!" cried a man's voice. "What the matter?"

Rachel tried to rouse herself, but could only murmur inarticulately. The

man jumped off his bicycle, propped it against a tree, and came running

to her.

He saw a woman, in a khaki felt hat and khaki dress, sitting hunched up

in a fainting state on the seat of a light cart. He was just in time to

catch the horse and turn it back to the road. Then in his astonishment

John Dempsey altogether forgot himself.

"Don't be frightened, Mrs. Delane! Why, you've had a faint. But never

mind. Cheer up! I'll get you home safe."

And Rachel, reviving, opened her heavy eyes to see stooping over her the

face of the lad in the hooded cart whom she had last seen in the night of

that November snowstorm, two years before.

"What did you say?" she asked stupidly. Then, raising herself, with an

instinctive gesture she smoothed back her hair from her face, and

straightened her hat. "Thank you, I'm all right."

Dempsey's mouth as he retreated from her shaped itself to an involuntary

grin.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am--but I think I've seen you in Canada. Didn't I

once come to your place, with a parcel from Mr. Grimes--that was my

employer--of Redminster? I remember you had a Jap servant. And there was

another time, I think"--the lad's eyes fixed her, contracted a little,

and sharp with curiosity--"when you and Mr. Dick Tanner gave me that

fizzling hot coffee--don't you remember?--in that awful blizzard two

years ago? And Mr. Tanner gave the horses a feed, too. Awfully good chap,

Mr. Tanner. I don't know what I should have done without that coffee."

Rachel was still deathly white, but she had recovered possession of

herself, and her mind was working madly through a score of possibilities.

"You're quite mistaken," she said coldly, "I never saw you before that I

am aware of. Please let go the reins. I can manage now quite well. I

don't know what made me feel ill. I'm all right now."

"You've got the reins twisted round the shaft, miss," said Dempsey

officiously. "You'd better let me put 'em right."

And without waiting for a reply, he began to disentangle them, not

without a good deal of fidgeting from the horse, which delayed him. His

mouth twitched with laughter as he bent over the shaft. Deny that she was

Mrs. Delane! That was a good one. Why, now that he had seen her close, he

could swear to her anywhere.

Rachel watched him, her senses sharpening rapidly. Only a few minutes

since Roger had been there--and now, this man. Had they met? Was there

collusion between them? There must be. How else could Roger know? No one

else in the world but this youth could have given him the information.

She recalled the utter solitude of the snow-bound farm--the heavy

drifts--no human being but Dick and herself--till that evening when the

new snow was all hard frozen, and they two had sleighed back under the

moon to her own door.

What to do? She seemed to see her course.

"What is your name?" she asked him, endeavouring to speak in her ordinary

voice, and bending over the front of the cart, she spoke to the horse,

"Quiet, Jack, quiet!"

"My name's John Dempsey, ma'am." He looked up, and then quickly withdrew

his eyes. She saw the twitching smile that he now could hardly restrain.

By this time he had straightened the reins, which she gathered up.

"It's curious," she said, "but you're not the first person who's mistaken

me for that Mrs. Delane. I knew something about her. I don't want to be

mistaken for her."

"I see," said Dempsey.

"I would rather you didn't speak about it in the village--or anywhere.

You see, one doesn't like to be confused with some people. I didn't like

Mrs. Delane."

The lad looked up grinning.

"She got divorced, didn't she?"

"I dare say. I knew very little about her. But, as I said, I don't want

to be mistaken for her."

Then, tying the reins to the cart, she jumped down and stood beside him.

His hand went instinctively to the horse's mouth, holding the restive

animal still.

"And I should be very much obliged to you if you would keep what you

thought about me to yourself. I don't want you to talk about it in the

village or anywhere. Come up and see me--at the farm--and I'll tell you

why I dislike being mixed up with that woman--why, in fact, I should mind

it dreadfully. I can't explain now, but--"

The young man was fairly dazzled by the beauty of the sudden flush on her

pale cheeks, of her large pleading eyes, her soft voice. And this--as old

Betts had only that afternoon told him--was the lady engaged to his own

superior officer, Captain Ellesborough, the Commandant of Ralstone Camp,

whom he heartily admired, and stood in considerable awe of! His vanity,

of which he possessed so large a share, was much tickled; but, also, his

feelings were touched.

"Why, of course, ma'am, won't say anything. I didn't mean any harm."

"All right," said Rachel, scrambling back to her seat. "If you like to

come up to-morrow morning, I shall be pleased to see you. It's a bargain,

mind!"

He saluted, smiling. She nodded to him, and drove off.

"Well, that's the rummiest go!" said the bewildered Dempsey to himself,

as he walked towards his bicycle. "Mistake be damned! She _was_ Mrs.

Delane, and what's she up to now with my captain? And what the deuce was

she doing at Tanner's?"

Never did a person feel himself more vastly important than Dempsey as he

bicycled back to the Ralstone camp, whence he had started in the morning,

after the peace news, to go and see a cousin living some distance beyond

Great End Farm. To be his grandfather's grandson was much--but _this_!

Rachel drove, with hands unconscious of the reins, along the road and up

the farm lane leading through her own fields. The world swam around her

in the mist, but there, still in front of her, lay the illuminated farm,

a house of light standing in air. As she neared it, the front door opened

and sounds of singing and laughter came out.

The "Marseillaise"! _Allons, enfants de la patrie!_--Janet was playing

it, singing vigorously herself, and trying to teach the two girls the

French words, a performance which broke down every other minute in

helpless laughter from all three. Meanwhile, Hastings, who had been

standing behind the singers, his hands in his pockets, a rare and

shamefaced pleasure shining from his care-worn face, thought he heard the

cart, and looked out. Yes, it was the Missis, as he liked to call Miss

Henderson, and he ran down to meet her.

"Well, I suppose there were fine doings at Millsborough, Miss," he said,

as he held the horse for her to get down.

"Yes--there were a lot of people. It was very noisy."

"We thought you'd hear our noise, Miss, as far as the road! Miss

Leighton, she's been keeping us all alive. She took the girls to

church--to the Thanksgiving Service, while I looked after things."

"All right, Hastings," said Miss Henderson, in a voice that struck his

ear strangely. "Thank you. Will you take the cart?"

He thought as he led the horse away, "She's been overdoin' it again. The

Cap'n will tell her so."

Rachel climbed the little slope to the front door. It seemed an Alp.

Presently she stood on the threshold of the sitting-room, in her thick

fur coat, looking at the group round the piano. Janet glanced round,

laughing. "Come and join in!" And they all struck up "God Save the

King"--a comely group in the lamplight, Jenny and Betty lifting their

voices lustily. But they seemed to Rachel to be playing some silly game

which she did not understand. She closed the door and went upstairs to

her own room. It was cold and dark. She lit a candle, and her own face,

transformed, looked at her from the glass on the dressing-table. She gave

a weary, half-reflective sigh. "Shall I be like that when I'm old?"

She took off her things, and changed mechanically into an afternoon

dress, her mind, like a hunted thing, running hither and thither all the

time.

Presently she got up and locked the door. She must think--_think_--by

herself.

It would be quite easy to defy Roger--quite easy to lie, and lie

successfully, if only she was sure of herself, and her own will to carry

things through. Roger could prove nothing--or that vulgar boy--or

anybody. She had only to say, "I went to find Lucy Tanner, who was my

friend--she wasn't there--I was overtaken by the storm--and Dick Tanner

looked after me till I could get home."

It was the most natural--the most plausible story. If Delane forced

himself on George with any vile tale, Ellesborough would probably give

him in charge for molesting his former wife. There was absolutely nothing

to fear, if she handled the thing in a bold, common-sense way, and told a

consistent and clever lie.

And yet, she had weakly made appointments with both her tormentors!--made

it plain to them that she was afraid! She called herself a coward, and a

fool--and then as she leant her head against the side of her bed, the

tears ran down her face, and her heart cried out for Ellesborough.

"How _can_ I go on lying to him--now--and all my life?" It was the same

cry as before, but more intense, more passionate with every day's living.

The need for lying had now doubled; yet her will could less and less

steel itself to it, because of sheer love and remorse towards the man who

loved her.

"He would forgive me. I know he would--I know he would!" she kept on

murmuring to herself, while her eyes rained in the semi-darkness.

Yes, but it would change everything! Their love--his feeling towards

her--could never be the same again. After Roger Delane--Dick Tanner. Why

not another--and another? Would he not always be watching her, dreading

some new discovery! Suspecting her, even while he loved her?

No. She must choke off Delane--with money--the only way. And invent some

story--some bribe, too--for that odious young man who had caught her

unawares.

So again she hardened herself, despairingly. It could not be allowed

her--the balm and luxury of confession! It was too dangerous. Her all

was in it.

Meanwhile, the singing continued below. Janet had struck up "Tipperary,"

and the small flute-like voices of the girls, supported by her harsher

one, mounted joyously through every crevice of the slightly-built house.

"It's a long, long way to Tipperary,

And my heart's right there."

The beautiful tune, interwoven for our generation with all that is most

poignant in its life, beat on Rachel's nerves. It was being sung all over

England that Armistice Day, as it had been sung in the first days of the

war, joyously, exultingly, yet with catching breath. There was in it more

than thousands of men and women dared to probe, whether of joy or sorrow.

They sang it, with a sob in the throat. To Rachel, also, sunk in her own

terrors, it was almost unbearable. The pure unspoilt passion of it--the

careless, confident joy--seemed to make an outcast of her, as she sat

there in the dark, dragged back by the shock and horror of Delane's

appearance into the slime and slough of old memories, and struggling with

them in vain. Yes, she was "damaged goods"--she was unfit to marry George

Ellesborough. But she would marry him! She set her teeth--clinging to him

with all the energy of a woman's deepening and maturing consciousness.

She had been a weak and self-willed child when she married Delane--when

she spent those half miserable, half wild days and nights with Dick

Tanner. Now she trusted a good man--now she looked up and adored. Her

weakness was safe in the care of George Ellesborough's strength. Well,

then, let her fight for her love.

Presently Janet knocked at the door. The singing downstairs had ceased.

"Are you tired, Rachel? Can't I help you?"

"Just a bit tired. I'm resting. I'll be down directly."

* * * * *

But the interruption had started fresh anxieties in her mind. She had

paid the most perfunctory attention to the few words Janet had said about

Dempsey's call at the farm, two nights before. She understood at the time

that he had come to chatter about the murder, and was very glad that she

had been out of the way.

But now--what was it that he had said to Janet--and why had Janet said so

little about his visit?

Instead of resting she walked incessantly up and down. This uncertainty

about Janet teased her; but after all it was nothing to that other

mystery--how did Roger know?--and to the strange and bewildering effect

of the juxtaposition of the two men--their successive appearance in the

darkness within--what?--ten minutes?--a quarter of an hour?--while the

cloud was on her own brain--without apparently any connection between

them--and relevance to each other. There must have been some connection!

And yet there had been no sign of any personal knowledge of Roger Delane

in Dempsey's talk; and no reference whatever to Dempsey in Delane's.

She went down to supper, very flushed and on edge. Little Jenny eyed her

surreptitiously. For the first time the child's raw innocence was

disturbed or jealous. What did John Dempsey want with calling on Miss

Henderson--and why had he made a rather teasing mystery of it to her,

Jenny? "Wouldn't you like to know, Miss Inquisitive?" Yes, Jenny would

like to know. Of course Miss Henderson was engaged to Captain

Ellesborough, and all that. But that was no reason why she should carry

off Jenny's "friend," as well as her own. Jenny's heart swelled within

her as she watched Miss Henderson from the other end of the table. Yes,

of course, she was nice-looking, and her clothes were nice. Jenny thought

that she would get a new best dress soon, now that peace was come; and a

new hat with a high silk crown to match the dress. Dempsey had admired a

hat like that on a girl in the village. He had said it was "real smart."

And to be "smart" Jenny thought was to be happy.

After supper, Janet and the girls washed up and put all tidy for the

night. Rachel worked at accounts in the sitting-room. She had sold the

last hay she had to spare wonderfully well, and potatoes showed a good

profit. Threshing charges were very high, and wages--appalling! But on

the whole, they were doing very well. Janet's Jersey cow had been

expensive, but they could afford her.

They had never yet drawn out so good an interim balance sheet without

delight, and rosy dreams for the future. Now her mood was leaden, and she

pushed the papers aside impatiently. As she was sitting with her hands

round her knees, staring into the fire, or at the chair where

Ellesborough had sat while she told her story, Janet came into the room.

She paused at the door, and Rachel did not see her look of sudden alarm

as she perceived Rachel's attitude of depression. Then she came up to the

fire. The two girls could be heard laughing overhead.

"So my cow's a good one?" she said, with her pleasant voice and smile.

"A beauty," said Rachel, looking up, and recapitulating the points and

yield of the Jersey.

Janet gave a shrug--implying a proper scepticism.

"It doesn't seem to be quite as easy to tell lies about cows as about

horses," she said, laughing; "that's about all one can say. We'll hope

for the best." Then--after a moment,--

"I never told you much about that man Dempsey's visit. Of course he came

to see you. He thought when he saw you at Millsborough that you were a

Mrs. Delane he had seen in Canada. Were you perhaps a relation of hers? I

said I would ask you. Then I inquired how often he had seen Mrs. Delane.

He said twice--perhaps three times--at her home--at a railway

station--and at a farm belonging to a man called Tanner."

"Yes," said Rachel, indifferently. "I knew Lucy Tanner, his sister. She

was an artist like him. I liked them both."

There was silence. In Rachel's breast there was beating a painful tide of

speech that longed to find its way to freedom--but it was gripped and

thrust back by her will. There was something in Janet as in Ellesborough

that wooed her heart, that seemed to promise help.

But nothing more passed, of importance. Janet, possessed by vague, yet,

as they seemed to herself, quite unreasonable anxieties, gave some

further scornful account of Dempsey's murder talk, to which Rachel

scarcely listened; then she said, as she turned to take up her

knitting,--

"I'm going over to-morrow to a little service--a Thanksgiving service--at

Millsborough. I took the girls to church to-day--but I love my own

people!" Her face glowed a little.

"Unitarian service, you mean?"

"Yes--we've got a little 'cause' there, and a minister. The service will

be about six, I think. The girls will manage. The minister and his wife

want me to stay to supper--but I shall be back in good time."

"About ten?"

"Oh, yes--quite by then. I shall bicycle."

Through Rachel's mind there passed a thrill of relief. So Janet would be

out of the way. One difficulty removed. Now, to get rid of the girls?

* * * * *

Rachel scarcely slept, and the November day broke grey and misty as

before. After breakfast she went out into the fields. Old Halsey was

mole-catching in one of them. But instead of going to inspect him and his

results, she slipped through a tall hedge, and paced the road under its

shelter, looking for Dempsey.

On the stroke of eleven she saw him in the distance. He came up with the

same look, half embarrassed, half inclining to laugh, that he had worn

the day before. Rachel, on the other hand, was entirely at her ease, and

the young man felt her at once his intellectual and social superior.

"You seem to have saved me and my horse from a tumble into that ditch

last night," she said, with a laugh, as she greeted him. "Why I turned

faint like that I can't imagine. I do sometimes when I'm tired. Well, now

then--let us walk up the road a little."

With her hands in her pockets she led the way. In her neat serge suit and

cap, she was the woman-farmer--prosperous and competent--all over.

Dempsey's thoughts threw back in bewilderment to the fainting figure of

the night before. He walked on beside her in silence.

"I wanted to tell you," said Miss Henderson calmly--"because I'm sure

you're a nice fellow, and don't want to hurt anybody's feelings--why

I asked you to hold your tongue about Mrs. Delane. In the first

place, you're quite mistaken about myself. I was never at Mr. Tanner's

farm--never in that part of Canada; and the person you saw there--Mrs.

Delane--was a very favourite cousin of mine, and extraordinarily like me.

When we were children everybody talked of the likeness. She had a very

sad story, and now--she's dead." The speaker's voice dropped. "I've been

confused with her before--and it's a great trouble to me. The confusion

has done me harm, more than once, and I'm very sensitive about it. So, as

I said last night, I should be greatly obliged if you would not only not

spread the story, but deny it, whenever you can."

She looked at him sharply, and he coloured crimson.

"Of course," he stammered, "I should like to do anything you wish."

"I do wish it, and--" she paused a moment, as though to think--"and

Captain Ellesborough wishes it. I would not advise you, however, to say

anything at all about it to him. But if you do what we ask you, you may

be sure we shall find some way--some substantial way--of showing that we

appreciate it."

They walked on, she with her eyes on the ground as though she were

thinking out some plan for his benefit--he puzzled and speechless.

"What do you want to do, now the war's over?" she said at last, with a

smile, looking up.

"I suppose I want to settle down--somewhere--on land, if I had the

money."

"Here?--or in Canada?"

"Oh, at home."

"I thought so. Well, Mr. Dempsey, Captain Ellesborough and I shall be

quite ready to help you in any scheme you take up. You understand?"

"That's awfully kind of you--but--"

"Quite ready," she repeated. "Let me know what your plans are when you've

worked them out--and I'll see what can be done." Then she stopped. There

was a gate near into one of her own fields. Their eyes met--hers

absolutely cool and smiling--his wavering and excited.

"You understand?" she repeated.

"Oh, yes--I understand."

"And you agree?" she added, emphasizing the words.

"Oh, yes, I--I--agree."

"Well, then, that's all right--that's understood. A letter will always

find me here. And now I must get back to my work. Good-morning."

And with a nod, she slipped through the gate, and was half way across the

fallow on the other side of it before he had realized that their strange

conversation was at an end.