While three members of the party had thus been walking and talking, the
principal subject of their discussion, Bubbles Dunster, had gone through
an exciting and unpleasant experience.
When starting out for a solitary walk to give Span a run, she saw, with
annoyance, James Tapster following her, and to her acute discomfiture he
managed to stammer out what was tantamount to an offer of marriage.
Though, in a sense, she had certainly tried to attract him, she felt,
all at once, miserably ashamed of her success. So much so, indeed, that
she pretended at first not to understand what he meant. But at last she
had to leave such pretence aside, and then it was she who surprised Mr.
Tapster, for, "You must let me have time to think over the great honour
you have done me," she said quietly. "If you want an answer now, it must
be _no_."
He protested sulkily that of course he would give her as much time as
she wanted, and then she observed, slyly, "I am sure that you yourself
did not make up your mind to be married all in a minute, Mr. Tapster.
You weighed the pros and cons very carefully, no doubt. So you must give
me time to do so too."
Bubbles' measured words, the feeling that she was, so to speak, keeping
him at arm's length, took the hapless Tapster aback, and frightened him
a little. He had felt so sure that once he had made up his own mind she
would eagerly say "Yes!" Often, during the last few days, he had told
himself, with a kind of mirthless chuckle, that _he_ was not going to be
"caught"; but when, at last, he had made up his mind that Bubbles would
make him, if not an ideal, then a very suitable, wife, it seemed strange
indeed that she was not eager to "nail him." That she was not exactly
eager to do so was apparent, even to him.
Calling Span sharply to her, the girl turned round, and began making her
way towards the house again; finally she disappeared with Span in the
direction of the servants' quarters.
James Tapster, walking on by himself, began to feel unaccountably
frightened. He asked himself, uneasily, almost uttering the words aloud
in his agitation, whether, after all, he had been "caught"; and whether
Bubbles was only "making all this fuss" in order to "bring him to heel"?
But two could play at that game. He toyed seriously, or so he believed,
with the idea of ordering his motor and just "bolting"; but of course he
did nothing of the kind. The more Bubbles hung back, the more he wanted
her; her coldness stung him into something nearer ardour than he had
ever felt.
And Bubbles? Bubbles felt annoyed, uneasy, even obscurely hurt. It often
happens that an offer of marriage leaves a girl feeling lonely and
oppressed. Deep in her heart she knew she would never, never, _never_,
become Mrs. Tapster. On the other hand, she was aware that there were
many people in the London set among whom she now lived and had her
being, who would regard her as mad to refuse a man who, whatever his
peculiarities, possessed enormous wealth. If only she could have had a
tenth part of James Tapster's money without James Tapster, what a happy
woman she would have been!
As it was, Bubbles told herself fretfully that she had no wish to be
married. She was not yet tired of the kind of idle-busy life she led; it
was an amusing and stimulating life; and though she had her dark hours,
when nothing seemed worth while, up to the present time there had been
much more sunshine than shadow. The girl was sufficiently clever and
sensitive to realize her good fortune in the matter of Bill Donnington.
Sometimes, deep in her heart, she told herself that when she had drunk
her cup of pleasure, amusement, and excitement to the dregs--perhaps in
ten years from now--she would at last reward Donnington's long faithful
love and selfless devotion. And rather to her own surprise, during the
half-hour which followed Tapster's uninspired proposal, Bubbles thought
far more of Donnington than she did of the man who had just asked her to
become his wife.
Sitting all alone in the hall, crouching down on a footstool close to
the fire, for somehow she felt tired--tired, and exhausted--she made one
definite resolution. She would give up, as far as she was able, the
practice of those psychic arts which she knew those who loved her
believed to involve a real danger to her general well-being. What had
happened the afternoon before had frightened her. She had been entirely
unconscious of the awful phenomena which had taken place, and she was
becoming seriously alarmed at her own increasing power of piercing the
veil which hangs between the seen and the unseen. What she had told
Donnington during their talk in the old darkened church had been true:
she often felt herself companioned by entities who boded ill, if not to
herself, then to those about her. Since yesterday, also, there had hung
heavily over her mind a premonition that she, personally, was in danger.
Now she told herself that perhaps the peculiar, disturbing sensation had
only been a forerunner of James Tapster's unexpected offer of marriage.
* * * * *
"What would you say to our all going out for a walk?" Luncheon was just
over, and Varick was facing his guests. The only one missing was Dr.
Panton, who had gone up to his room, saying he had some work to do.
"I'm afraid it must be very wet and slushy," said Blanche Farrow
dubiously. It had snowed in the night, and now a thaw had set in.
She had an almost catlike dislike of wet or dirt; on the other hand, she
was one of those people who are generally willing to put aside their own
wishes in favour of what those about them wish to do; and she saw that
for some reason or other Lionel Varick wanted this suggestion of his to
be carried out.
"I can take you to a place," he exclaimed, "where I think we shall find
it dry walking even to-day. It's a kind of causeway, or embankment"--he
turned to Helen Brabazon--"which some people say was built by the
Romans."
"I think a walk would be very nice," she agreed.
Helen did not look like her usual cheerful, composed self. The
experience which had befallen her the day before still haunted her mind
to the exclusion of everything else. Perhaps a good long walk would make
her feel a different creature, and chase that awful image of Milly
Varick in her grave-clothes from her brain.
And so in the end the whole party started off, with the exception of
Miss Burnaby and Dr. Panton. Bubbles tried hard to get out of going on
what she frankly said seemed to her "a stupid expedition," but
Donnington had a theory that the open air would do her good, and as for
Varick, he exclaimed in a good-humoured but very determined tone: "If
_you_ won't come, Bubbles, I give the whole thing up!" In a lower voice
he added: "Naughty as you are, you're the life and soul of the party."
And thus it was to please Varick, rather than Donnington, that Bubbles
started on what was to be to all those that took part in it a memorable
walk.
Poor Donnington! The young man felt alarmed and perplexed concerning
Bubbles' general condition. He knew something that had shocked and
startled her had happened the day before, but when he had tried to find
out what it was, she had snubbed him.
Like so many people wiser and cleverer than himself, Donnington found it
impossible to make up his mind concerning psychic phenomena. When
kneeling by Bubbles' side in the dimly-lit church he had accepted,
almost without question, her own explanation of her strange and sinister
gift, but by now he had argued himself out of the belief that such
things could be in our work-a-day world.
There was someone else of the party who was also giving a great deal of
anxious thought to Bubbles' uncanny powers. Blanche Farrow, like Helen
Brabazon, could not banish from her mind the experience which had
befallen her in the hall last evening. Every time she looked at Lionel
Varick there rose before her that terrible vision of the two unquiet
spirits who had stood, sentinel-wise, on either side of him....
Again and again in the long watches of a wakeful night, Blanche
had-assured herself that what she had seen was no more real than is a
vivid dream. She had further told herself, taking comfort in the
telling, that the power possessed by Bubbles was now understood, and
accounted for, by those learned men who make a scientific study of
hypnotism. Yet, try as she would, she could not banish from her mind and
from her memory the unnerving experience.
They were crossing the moat bridge when there came a shout from the
house. They all stopped, to be joined, a minute later, by Dr. Panton.
"It's an extraordinary thing," he exclaimed, "I fully intended to give
up this afternoon to writing, but somehow I suddenly felt as if I _must_
look out of the window! You all looked so merry and bright that I have
thrown my work to the winds, and here I am, coming with you."
"I was rather counting on you to keep Miss Burnaby company."
Varick's tone was not very pleasant, and Panton for a moment regretted
he had come; but as he had passed through the hall he had seen the old
lady nodding over a book, and he was well aware that had he stayed
indoors, it would have been to work up in his own room.
Bill Donnington suddenly discovered that Bubbles was wearing absurd,
high-heeled, London walking shoes. "Go back and put on something more
sensible," he said shortly; "I'll wait for you--we'll soon pick up the
others."
But Bubbles answered sullenly: "My heavy walking boots got wet this
morning."
Even as she spoke, she stood irresolute. Why not make her unsuitable
foot-gear an excuse for staying at home? She told herself discontentedly
that she hated the thought of this walk. But Donnington would have none
of it. "Never mind," he said firmly, "you can change your shoes and
stockings the minute you come in."
Bubbles submitted with an ill grace, and after the whole party were
clear of the islet on which stood Wyndfell Hall, she refused pettishly
to walk anywhere near him. She hung behind, even rejecting the company
of James Tapster, to whom, however, she was for the most part fitfully
gracious; and when, at length, the whole party were sorting themselves
into couples, she found herself walking last with Varick, the others
being all in front of them.
Varick was disagreeably conscious that with his present companion his
charm of manner--that something which drew to him all women and most
men--availed him not at all. Still, to-day, he was determined to get on
good terms with Bubbles. So well did he succeed that at last something
impelled her to say rather penitently: "I want to tell you that what
happened yesterday afternoon was not my fault, and that I'm very sorry
it happened, Lionel."
Donnington, who was just in front, heard Varick answer, lightly: "You
can hardly expect me to believe that, Bubbles! But I would give a good
deal to know how you do it?" As she made no answer, he went on: "It's a
remarkable thing to be able to will people into seeing something which
is not there!"
Donnington strained his ears to hear the low, defiant answer: "I give
you my word of honour that I knew nothing, _nothing_, till you came and
woke me up!"
What was it that had happened yesterday? The young man felt almost
unbearably anxious to know. All he knew was that it had greatly
affected, surprised, and disturbed those who had been there.
Suddenly Varick's tones floated again towards the listener: "I'll take
your word for it, my dear girl. After all, it's all in the picture. What
with our ghosts, our practical jokes, and so on, we're having a regular
old-fashioned Christmas! Still, when I heard Miss Brabazon give that
dreadful cry, I did feel that one could have too much of a good thing."
Even Donnington detected the false _bonhomie_ in Varick's voice.
Bubbles laughed back, not very pleasantly. "I did you a good turn when I
got rid of Mr. Burnaby. I thoroughly scared him! Your nice young
doctor's a very good exchange for that disagreeable old man."
"Yes, and Panton's a very clever fellow, as well as one of the best,"
said Varick heartily. "I am glad he managed to get out this afternoon."
"I thought you didn't want him to come," said Bubbles sharply.
"I knew he had some important work to finish."
Varick felt annoyed. Somehow Bubbles always seemed to be convicting him
of insincerity.
They were now close to the embankment, of which their host had drawn an
attractive picture. But Blanche looked up at it with some dismay. The
scene under the wintry sky looked wild and singularly dreary. Many of
the fields were under water, and stretches of the marshy land were
still covered with wide streaks of snow. Across the now sullen-looking,
cloudy sky there moved a long processional flight of cawing rooks.
The whole party closed up for a few moments. Then they walked up the
steps which led to the high causeway along which Varick had promised his
friends a dry walk. Sure enough, once they had reached the top, they
found that the melting snow had already drained off the narrow brick
path. Even so, it was slippery walking, and for her part Blanche Farrow
felt sorry that they had left the muddy road.
The party soon separated into couples again, Miss Farrow and Dr. Panton
leading, while Bubbles and Varick came last, behind all the others. "We
must look just like the animals going into the ark," said the girl
disagreeably.
Whatever the others might be feeling, Dr. Panton was thoroughly enjoying
this muddy walk. He found it singularly pleasant to be with agreeable,
well-bred people, who were all so fit that not one of them, with the
exception of James Tapster, had even asked him a question bearing on
health--or the lack of it. It had been pleasant, too, to meet Miss
Brabazon again, for they had become friends, rather than acquaintances,
over poor Mrs. Varick's deathbed.
Behind Dr. Panton and Miss Farrow--for the brick path which formed the
crest of the embankment only held two walkers comfortably--were the
least well-assorted couple of the party, Bill Donnington and James
Tapster. They just plodded along side by side, now and again exchanging
a laconic word or two. Tapster's half-formed hope had been that he would
walk with Bubbles this afternoon; but, when it came to the point, he
had made no real effort to secure her company.
The unfortunate man was feeling very nervous and uneasy--afraid lest he
had been too precipitate in his wooing, for Bubbles frightened as well
as fascinated him. Even he half realized that, as her husband, he would
be tolerated rather than welcomed in a world of which he was anxious to
form part, though in his heart he at once despised and feared its
denizens.
At times he was even tempted to wish that she had said "No" at once--and
that although he knew that he would have been very surprised and
disappointed had she done so. On the whole he thought that after a
period of maidenly hesitation she would say "Yes"; and, having inherited
from an acquisitive father a positive, concrete kind of mind, as he
trudged along he began ruminating over the question of Bubbles' marriage
settlements. On one thing he was determined. Nothing should induce him
so to arrange matters that in the event of his death Bubbles should be
able to dower some worthless fortune-hunter with his, Tapster's, wealth!
He felt certain that her father's solicitors would try and arrange that
this might come to pass--"lawyers are such cunning devils"--and he grew
purple with rage at the thought.
How surprised Donnington would have been could he have looked into his
dull companion's mind!
In addition to Dr. Panton, two other people were really enjoying this
uncomfortable walk, for Helen Brabazon and Sir Lyon Dilsford had plenty
to say to one another. It was very seldom that Sir Lyon found a young
woman interested in the subjects he himself had most at heart. He found
it a curiously pleasant experience to answer her eager, ignorant
questions on sociological and political subjects. It was clear that Miss
Brabazon only regarded herself as the trustee of her vast wealth, and
this touched her companion very much. Also, what had happened
yesterday--that sudden, intimate confession of what had taken place in
the hall--had made their relations to one another much closer. But
neither of them had alluded to it again.
As for Lionel Varick and Bubbles Dunster, they were now lagging some way
behind the others. More than once the girl suggested that she should
slip away and go back to Wyndfell Hall alone, but her host would not
hear of it. He declared good-humouredly that soon they would all be
homeward bound; so, apathetically, Bubbles walked on, her feet and her
head aching.
The old Roman embankment now formed part of the works connected with a
big reservoir, and at last the walkers reached a kind of platform from
whence they could see, stretching out to their right, a wide,
triangular-shaped piece of water.
Blanche Farrow was for turning back; but Helen Brabazon, Sir Lyon, and
Varick were all for going on, the more so that Varick declared that at a
cottage which formed the apex of the reservoir they would be able to get
some tea. So off they started again, in the same order as before, to
find, however, that the narrow brick-way, instead of being drier--as one
would have expected it to be above the water--was more slushy and
slippery than had been the path running along the top of the older part
of the embankment. Yet the steep bank leading down to the sullen,
half-frozen surface of the reservoir had been cleared of the grass and
bushes which covered the slopes of the rest of the causeway.
They had all been walking on again for some minutes when Donnington
turned round. "Take care, Bubbles! It's very slippery just here."
"I'm all right," she called back pettishly. "Mind your own business,
Bill. I wish you wouldn't keep looking round!"
Donnington saw Varick put out his right hand and grasp the girl's arm
firmly; but even so it struck him that they were both walking too near
the edge on the side to the water. Still, he didn't feel he could say
any more, and so he turned away, and again began trudging along by the
silent Tapster's side.
For a while nothing happened, and then all at once there occurred
something which Donnington will never recall--and that however long he
may live--without a sensation of unreasoning, retrospective horror
welling up within him.
And yet it was only the sound--the almost stuffless sound--of a splash!
It was as if a lump of earth, becoming detached from the wet bank, had
rolled over into the deep water.
At the same moment, or a fraction of a moment later, Varick laughed
aloud; it was a discordant laugh, evidently at something Bubbles had
just said, for Donnington heard the words, "Really, Bubbles!" uttered in
a loud, remonstrating, and yet jovial voice.
And then, all at once, some instinct caused the young man to wheel
sharply round, to see, a long way back from the others, Varick standing
solitary on the brick path.
His companion had vanished. It was as if the earth had swallowed her up.
"Where's Bubbles?" shouted Donnington.
But Varick, still standing in the middle of the path, did not look as
if he heard Donnington's question. The young man set off running towards
him.
"What's happened?" he cried fiercely. "Where's Bubbles, Varick?"
Varick was ashen; and he looked dazed--utterly unlike his usual
collected self.
"She stumbled--and went over the side of the embankment. She's in the
water, down there," he said at last, in a hoarse, stifled voice.
Donnington turned quickly, and stared down into the grey water. He could
see nothing--nothing! He threw off his coat.
"Was it just here?"
He looked at Varick with a feeling of anguished exasperation; it was as
if the horror and the shock had congealed the man's mental faculties.
Suddenly Varick roused himself.
"Can you swim?" He gripped Donnington strongly by the arm. "If not,
it's--it's no good your going in--you'd only drown too."
Donnington wrenched himself free from the other's hold, and, rushing
down the bank, threw himself into the icy cold water....
Suddenly he saw, a long way off, a small, shapeless, mass rising ... he
swam towards it, and then he gave a sobbing gasp of relief. It was
Bubbles ... Bubbles already unconscious; but of that he was vaguely
glad, knowing that it would much simplify his task.
Very soon, although he was quite unaware of it, the affrighted, startled
little crowd of people gathered together just above the place where he
was painfully, slowly, swimming about, looking for a spot where he
could try and effect a landing with his now heavy, inert burden.
Dr. Panton threw himself down flat across the path and held out a
walking stick over the slippery mud bank, but the stick was hopelessly,
grotesquely out of Donnington's reach.
All at once Blanche Farrow detached herself from the others and began
running towards the cottage which formed the apex of the reservoir. "I'm
going for a rope," she called out. "I'll be back in three or four
minutes." But, thanks to Dr. Panton's ingenuity, the man in the water
had not to wait even so short a time as that.
"Have any of you a good long scarf?" asked the doctor, and then, quite
eagerly for him, James Tapster produced a wonderful scarf--the sort of
scarf a millionaire would wear, so came the whimsical thought to Sir
Lyon. It was wide and very long, made of the finest knitted silk. When
firmly tied to the handle of the walking stick, the floating end of the
scarf was within reach of Donnington. With its help he even managed to
secure a foothold on the narrow one-brick ledge which terminated the
deep underwater wall of the reservoir.
The doctor called down to him with some urgency: "I wish you could
manage to hoist her up, Donnington. _Time_ is of the utmost importance
in these cases!"
But Donnington, try as he might, was too spent to obey; and it seemed an
eternity to them all before Blanche Farrow reappeared, helping an old
man to drag a short ladder along the muddy path.
And then, at last, after many weary, fruitless efforts, the inert,
sodden mass which had so lately been poor little Bubbles Dunster was
pushed and hoisted up the slippery bank, and stretched out on to the
narrow brick way.
Mr. Tapster, who had shown much more agitation and feeling than any of
those present would have credited him with, had taken off his big loose
coat and laid it on the ground, and at once Varick had followed his
example. But as Bubbles lay there, in the dreadful immobility of utter
unconsciousness, both Blanche Farrow and Helen Brabazon believed her to
be dead.
A tragic, fearfully anxious time of suspense followed. Blanche looked
on, with steady, dry eyes, but Helen, after a very little while, turned
away and hid her face in her hands, sobbing, while the doctor was
engaged in the painful process of trying to bring the apparently drowned
girl to life. More than once Blanche felt tempted to implore him to
leave off those terribly arduous efforts of his. It seemed to her so--so
horrible, almost degrading, that Bubbles' delicate little body should be
used like that.
Everyone was too concerned over Bubbles to trouble about her rescuer.
But all at once Varick exclaimed: "We don't want you down with rheumatic
fever. I'll just march you back to the house, my boy!"
"Not as long as she's here," muttered Donnington, his teeth chattering.
"I'm all right; it doesn't matter about me."
He alone of the people gathered there believed that Dr. Panton's
perseverance would be rewarded, and that Bubbles would come back to
life. It did not seem to him possible that that which he had saved, and
which he so loved and cherished, could die. Though he was beginning to
feel the reaction of all he had gone through, his mind was working
clearly, and he was praying--praying consciously, in an agony of
supplication.
And at last, with a sensation of relief which brought the tears starting
to his eyes, Dr. Panton saw that his efforts were to be successful;
Bubbles, after a little choking gasp, gave a long, fluttering sigh....
It was then that the doctor had to thank Sir Lyon and Helen Brabazon.
One of them, or both of them together, had thought of going back to the
house and of getting an invalid chair which Helen remembered having seen
in a corner of one of the rooms when she had been shown over the house
by her host.
Even so, it was a very melancholy little procession which followed the
two men carrying the chair on which Bubbles now lay in apathetic
silence.
* * * * *
But everything comes to an end at last, and, after having seen Bubbles
put to bed, Dr. Panton turned his attention to Donnington, and he did
not leave his second patient till the young man felt, if still shivery
and queer, fairly comfortable in bed. Then the doctor went down to find
the other three men in the dining-room, having hot drinks.
Of the three Varick and Sir Lyon showed on their faces traces of the
emotion and anxiety which they had been through; but James Tapster
looked his normal, phlegmatic self.
"I wonder what exactly happened?" exclaimed Panton at last. "I suppose
the whole thing was owing to these high-heeled shoes which women _will_
wear."
Varick nodded, and, as he saw that Panton expected him to say
something, he muttered: "Yes, it must have been something of the kind
that made her trip."
"It was a near thing," went on the doctor thoughtfully. "She was very
far gone when we got her out at last. I don't mind admitting now that,
when I began, I had hardly any hope of being able to bring her round."
He waited a moment and then added, as if to himself: "In fact, there
came a time when I would have left off, discouraged, but for the look on
that boy's face."
"What boy?" asked Tapster, surprised.
"Donnington, of course! I felt I must bring her back to life for his
sake."
James Tapster opened his mouth. Then he shut it again. He told himself
that it would, of course, have been very disappointing for Donnington to
have plunged into that icy water all for nothing, as it were.
The four men remained silent for awhile, and then Varick said slowly:
"She can't have been in the water more than a minute before Donnington
was in after her--for of course I gave the alarm at once."
Sir Lyon looked at him quickly. "I thought Donnington turned round and
missed her?"
"Donnington must have heard me call out." Varick was lighting a
cigarette, and Sir Lyon saw that his hand shook; "and yet when I saw her
roll down the bank I was so paralyzed with horror that my voice seemed
to go."
He looked appealingly at his friend Panton.
"Yes, I can well understand that," said the doctor feelingly. "I have
known shock close the throat absolutely." He added: "Did you see her
sink and rise again twice before Donnington got at her, Varick? I have
always wondered whether drowning people always come up three times--or
if it's only an old wives' tale."
"Yes, no, I can't remember--"
Varick put his hand over his eyes, as if trying to shut out some
dreadful sight. Then he groped his way to a chair, and sat down heavily.
"I say, Varick, I _am_ sorry."
Dr. Panton looked really concerned. "We've been thinking so much of Miss
Bubbles and of her rescuer that we have forgotten you!" he exclaimed.
Their host leant forward; he buried his face in his hands. "I shall
never forget it--never," he muttered brokenly. "The horror that seized
me--the awful feeling that I could do nothing--nothing! I felt so
absolutely distraught that I seemed to see _myself_, not Bubbles,
floating down there--on the surface of the water."
He looked up, and they were all, even Tapster, painfully impressed by
his look of retrospective horror. Dr. Panton told himself that Lionel
Varick was an even more sensitive man than he had hitherto known him to
be.