A SUBSTANTIAL GHOST
Monsieur Jules, of the _Lion d'Or,_ was in a state of excitement
bordering upon frenzy. Events were happening indeed with him, this placid
August weather. First the occupancy of the château by the mysterious
lady, and the subsequent edict of the steward against all strangers; then
the coming of this tourist yesterday, who had gone for an evening stroll
without paying his bill, and was now a prisoner of the law, Heaven only
knew on what charge! Added to this--a matter of excitement enough
surely--the giant Englishman, who had been his guest for nearly three
weeks--a model guest too,--had departed at a minute's notice, though not,
the saints be praised, without paying his bill. And now, though the hour
was yet scarcely nine o'clock, a carriage with steaming horses was
standing at his door, and the beautiful young English lady was herself
inside his inn. He was indeed conducting her down the grey stone passage
out on to the rose-bordered garden, which was the pride of his heart, and
where monsieur, the remaining Englishman, was smoking his morning
cigarette.
She barely waited until Monsieur Jules had bowed himself out of hearing
distance. She looked at Wrayson, at the table laid for one only, and at
the empty garden.
"Where is he--your friend?" she demanded breathlessly.
"Gone," Wrayson answered. "I am sorry, but I did my best. He went away
at daylight. I saw him off, but I could not keep him."
"Where to?" she asked. "You know that, at least."
He pointed towards the distant coast line.
"In that direction! That is all I know."
"He told you nothing before he went?" she asked eagerly.
"Nothing at all," he answered. "He refused to discuss what had happened.
Sit down, Louise," he added firmly. "I want to talk to you."
He placed a chair for her under the trees. She sank into it a
little wearily.
"A certain measure of ignorance," he said, "I am willing to put up with,
but when you exhibit such extraordinary interest in another man, I
really feel that my limit has been reached. Who is he, Louise? You must
tell me, please!"
"I wish I could tell you," she answered. "I wish I could say that I knew.
Half the night the three of us have talked and wondered. I have heard
plenty of theories as to a second life on some imaginary planet, but I
never heard of the dead who lived again here, in this world!"
He looked puzzled.
"Do you mean," he asked, "that he was like some one whom you believed
to be dead?"
She was silent for a moment. The sun was hot even where they sat, but he
fancied that he saw her shiver. She looked into his face, and something
of the terror of the night before was in her eyes.
"To us," she said slowly, "to Madame de Melbain and to me, he was a
ghost, an actual apparition. He spoke to us with the voice of one whom
we know to be dead. He came to us, in his form."
Wrayson looked across at her with a quiet smile.
"There was nothing of the ghost about Duncan!" he remarked. "I should
consider him a remarkably substantial person. Don't you think that we
were all a little overwrought last night? A strong likeness and a little
imagination will often work wonders."
"If it was a likeness only," she said, "why did he leave us so abruptly,
why has he left this place at a moment's notice to avoid us?"
Wrayson was silent for a few seconds.
"Look here," he said, "this is a matter of common sense after all. If you
were _not_ deceived by a likeness, it was the man himself! That goes
without saying. What reasons had you for supposing that he was dead?"
"The newspapers, the War Office, even the return of his effects."
"From where?" Wrayson asked.
"From South Africa. He was shot through the lungs in Natal!"
"Men have turned up before, after having been reported dead," he remarked
sententiously.
"But he was in the army," she replied. "Don't you see that if he was
alive now, he would be a deserter. He has never rejoined. He was
certified as having died in the hospital at Ladysmith!"
Wrayson looked steadily into her agitated face.
"Supposing," he said, "that he turned out to be the man whom you have in
your mind, what is he to you?"
"My brother," she answered simply.
Wrayson's first impulse was of surprise. Then he drew a long breath of
relief. He looked back upon his long hours of anxiety, and cursed himself
for a fool.
"What an idiot I have been!" he declared. "Of course, I know that you
lost a brother in South Africa. But--but what about Madame de Melbain?"
"Madame de Melbain and my brother were friends," she said quietly. "There
were obstacles or they would have been more than friends."
Wrayson nodded.
"Now supposing," he said, "that, by some miracle, your brother
still lived, that this was he, is there any reason why he should
avoid you both?"
She thought for a moment.
"Yes!" she said slowly, "there is."
"I suppose," he continued tentatively, "you couldn't tell me all
about it?"
"I couldn't," she answered. "It isn't my secret."
Wrayson looked for a moment away from her, across the valley with its
flower-spangled meadows, parted by that sinuous poplar-fringed line of
silver, the lazy, slow-flowing river stealing through the quiet land to
the sea. The full summer heat was scarcely yet in the air, but already a
faint blue haze was rising from the lowlands. Up on the plateau, where
they were sitting, a slight breeze stirred amongst the trees; Monsieur
Jules had indeed some ground for his pride in this tiny sylvan paradise.
"I think," he said, "that for one day we will forget all this tangle of
secrets and unaccountable doings. What do you say, Louise?" he whispered,
taking her unresisting hand into his. "May I tell Monsieur Jules to serve
breakfast for two in the arbour there?"
She laughed softly into his face. There was the look in her eyes which
he loved to see, half wistful, half content, almost happy.
"But you are never satisfied," she declared. "If I give you a day, a
whole precious day out of my valuable life--"
"They belong to me, all of them," he declared, bending over her till his
lips touched her cheek. "Some day I am very sure that I shall take them
all into my charge."
She disengaged herself from his embrace with a sudden start. Wrayson
turned his head. Within a yard or two of them, Madame de Melbain had
paused in the centre of the little plot of grass. She was looking at them
from underneath her lace parasol, with faintly uplifted eyebrows, and the
dawn of a smile upon her beautiful lips. Louise sprang to her feet, and
Wrayson followed her example. Madame de Melbain lowered her parasol as
though to shut out the sight of the two.
"May I come on?" she asked. "I want to speak to Louise, although I am
afraid I am shockingly _de trop._"
Wrayson had an idea, and acted upon it promptly.
"Madame de Melbain," he said, "I believe that you have some influence
with Louise, I am sure that you are one of those who sympathize with the
unfortunate. Can't I bespeak your good offices?"
She lowered her parasol to the ground, and leaned a little forward upon
it. Her eyes were fixed steadily upon Wrayson.
"Go on," she said briefly.
"I love Louise," Wrayson said, "and I believe she cares for me.
Nevertheless, she refuses to marry me, and will give no intelligible
reason. My first meeting with her was of an extraordinary nature. I
assisted her to leave a house in which a murder had been committed,
since which time I think we have both run a risk of trouble with the
authorities. Louise lives always in the shadow of some mystery, and when
I, who surely have the right to know her secrets, beg for her confidence,
she refuses it."
"And what is it that you wish me to do?" Madame de Melbain asked softly.
"To use your influence with Louise," Wrayson pleaded. "Let her give me
her confidence, and let her accept from me the shelter of my name."
Madame de Melbain was silent for several moments. She seemed to be
thinking. Louise's face was expressionless. She had made one attempt to
check Wrayson, but recognizing its futility she had at once abandoned it.
From below in the valley came the faint whir of the reaping machines,
from the rose garden a murmur of bees. But between the two women and the
man there was silence--silence which lasted so long that Monsieur Jules,
who was watching from a window, called softly upon all the saints of his
acquaintance to explain to him of what nature was this mystery, which
seemed to be developing, as it were, under his own surveillance.
At last Madame de Melbain appeared to come to a decision. She moved
slowly forward, until she stood within a few feet of him. Then she raised
her eyes to his and looked him long and earnestly in the face.
"You look," she said, half under her breath, "like a man who might be
trusted. I will trust you. I will be kinder to you than Louise, for I
will tell you all that you want to know. But when I have told you, you
will have in your keeping the honour of an unfortunate woman whose name
alone is great."
Wrayson looked her for a moment in the eyes. Then he bowed low.
"Madame," he said, "that trust will be to me my most sacred possession."
She smiled at him faintly, nodding her head as though to keep pace with
her thoughts.
"I believe you, Mr. Wrayson," she said. "Yes, I believe you! Let me tell
you this, then. I count it amongst my misfortunes that my own troubles
have become in so large a manner the troubles of my friends. You will
appreciate that the more, perhaps, when I tell you that Madame de Melbain
is not the name by which I am generally known. I am that unfortunate
woman the Queen of Mexonia!"