Dulcie's voice and her flushed smile, too, faded, died out. She looked
down at the keyboard, where her white hands rested idly; she bent
lower--a little lower; laid her arms on the music-rest, her face on
her crossed arms. And, slowly, the tears fell without a tremor,
without a sound.
He had leaned over her shoulders; his bowed head was close to hers--so
close that he became aware of the hot, tearful fragrance of her
breath; but there was not a sound from her, not a stir.
"What is it, Sweetness?" he whispered.
"I--don't know.... I didn't m-mean to--cry.... And I don't know why I
should.... I'm very h-happy----" She withdrew one arm and stretched it
out, blindly, seeking him; and he took her hand and held it close to
his lips.
"Why are you so distressed, Dulcie?"
"I'm not. I'm happy.... You know I am.... My heart was very full; that
is all.... I don't seem to know how to express myself sometimes....
Perhaps it's because I don't quite dare.... So something gives way....
And this happens--tears. Don't mind them, please.... If I could reach
my handkerchief----" She drew the tiny square of sheer stuff from her
bosom and rested her closed eyes on it.
"It's silly, isn't it, Garry?... W-when a girl is so heavenly
contented.... Is anybody coming?"
"Westmore and Thessa!"
She whisked her tears away and sat up swiftly. But Thessa merely
called to them that she and Westmore were off for a walk, and passed
on through the hall and out through the porch.
"Garry," she murmured, looking away from him.
"Yes, dear?"
"May I go to my room and fix my hair? Because Mr. Skeel will be here.
Do you mind if I leave you?"
He laughed:
"Of course not, you charming child!" Then, as he looked down at her
hand, which he still retained, his expression altered; he inclosed the
slender fingers, bent slowly and touched the fragrant palm with his
lips.
They were both on their feet the next second; she passing him with a
pale, breathless little smile, and swiftly crossing the hall; he dumb,
confused by the sudden tumult within him, standing there with one hand
holding to the piano as though for support, and looking after the
slim, receding figure till it disappeared beyond the library door.
His mother and sister returned from their morning ride, lingered to
chat with him, then went away to dress for luncheon. Murtagh Skeel had
not yet arrived.
Westmore and Thessalie returned from their walk in the woods by the
second lake, reporting a distant view of Barres senior, fishing madly
from a canoe.
Dulcie came down and joined them in the library. Later Mrs. Barres and
Lee appeared, and luncheon was announced.
Murtagh Skeel had not come to Foreland Farms, and there was no word
from him.
Mrs. Barres spoke of his absence during luncheon, for Garry had told
her he was coming to talk to Dulcie about her mother, whom he had
known very well in Ireland.
Luncheon ended, and the cool north veranda became the popular
rendezvous for the afternoon, and later for tea. People from
Northbrook drove, rode, or motored up for a cheering cup, and a word
or two of gossip. But Skeel did not come.
By half-past five the north veranda was thronged with a gaily
chattering and very numerous throng from neighbouring estates. The
lively gossip was of war, of the coming elections, of German
activities, of the Gerhardts' promised moonlight spectacle and dance,
of Murtagh Skeel and the romantic interest he had aroused among
Northbrook folk.
So many people were arriving or leaving and such a delightful and
general informality reigned that Dulcie, momentarily disengaged from a
vapid but persistent dialogue with a chuckle-headed but persistent
youth, ventured to slip into the house, and through it to the garden
in the faint hope that perhaps Murtagh Skeel might have avoided the
tea-crush and had gone directly there.
But the rose arbour was empty; only the bubble of the little wall
fountain and a robin's evening melody broke the scented stillness of
the late afternoon.
Her mind was full of Murtagh Skeel, her heart of Garry Barres, as she
stood there in that blossoming solitude, listening to the robin and
the fountain, while her eyes wandered across flower-bed, pool, and
clipped greensward, and beyond the garden wall to the hill where three
pines stood silver-green against the sky.
Little by little the thought of Murtagh Skeel faded from her mind;
fuller and fuller grew her heart with confused emotions new to
her--emotions too perplexing, too deep, too powerful, perhaps, for her
to understand--or to know how to resist or to endure. For the first
vague sweetness of her thoughts had grown keen to the verge of
pain--an exquisite spiritual tension which hurt her, bewildered her
with the deep emotions it stirred.
To love, had been a phrase to her; a lover, a name. For beyond
that childish, passionate adoration which Barres had evoked in
her, and which to her meant friendship, nothing more subtly mature,
more vital, had threatened her unawakened adolescence with any
clearer comprehension of him or any deeper apprehension of herself.
And even now it was not knowledge that pierced her, lighting little
confusing flashes in her mind and heart. For her heart was still a
child's heart; and her mind, stimulated and rapidly developing under
the warm and magic kindness of this man who had become her only
friend, had not thought of him in any other way.... Until to-day.
What had happened in her mind, in her heart, she had not
analysed--probably was afraid to, there at the piano in the
music-room. And later, in her bedroom, when she had summoned up
innocent courage sufficient for self-analysis, she didn't know how to
question herself--did not realise exactly what had happened to her,
and never even thought of including him in the enchanted cataclysm
which had befallen her mind and heart and soul.
Thessalie and Westmore appeared on the lawn by the pool. Behind the
woods the sky was tinted with pale orange.
It may have been the psychic quality of the Celt in Dulcie--a pale
glimmer of clairvoyance--some momentary and vague premonition
wirelessed through the evening stillness which set her sensitive body
vibrating; for she turned abruptly and gazed northward across the
woods and hills--remained motionless, her grey eyes fixed on the far
horizon, all silvery with the hidden glimmer of unlighted stars.
Then she slowly said aloud to herself:
"He will not come. He will never come again--this man who loved my
mother."
Barres approached across the grass, looking for her. She went forward
through the arbour to meet him.
"Hasn't he come?" he asked.
"He is not coming, Garry."
"Why? Have you heard anything?"
She shook her head:
"No. But he isn't coming."
"Probably he'll explain this evening at the Gerhardts'."
"I shall never see him again," she said absently.
He turned and gave her a searching look. Her gaze was remote, her face
a little pale.
They walked back to the house together in silence.
A servant met them in the hall with a note on a tray. It was for
Barres; Dulcie passed on with a pale little smile of dismissal; Barres
opened the note:
"The pot has boiled over, mon ami. Something has scared Skeel. He
gave us the slip very cleverly, leaving Gerhardt's house before
sunrise and motoring north at crazy speed. Where he will strike
the railway I have no means of knowing. Your Government's people
are trying to cover Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. On the Canada side
the authorities have been notified and are alert I hope.
"Gerhardt's country house is a nest of mischief hatchers. One in
particular is under surveillance and will be arrested. His name is
Tauscher.
"Because, mon ami, it has just been discovered that there are
_two_ plots to blow up the Welland Canal! One is Skeel's. The
other is Tauscher's. It is a purely German plot. They don't intend
to blow themselves up these Huns. Oh no! They expect to get away.
"Evidently Bernstorff puts no faith in Skeel's mad plan. So, in
case it doesn't pan out, here is Tauscher with another plan, made
in Germany, and very, very thorough. Isn't it characteristic? Here
is the report I received this morning:
"'Captain Franz von Papen, Military Attache on the ambassadorial
staff of Count von Bernstorff, and Captain Hans Tauscher, who,
besides being the Krupp agent in America, is also, by appointment
of the German War Office, von Papen's chief military assistant in
the United States, have plotted the destruction of the Welland
Canal in Canada.
"'Captain Hans Tauscher will be arrested and indicted for
violation of Section 13 of the United States Criminal Code, for
setting on foot a military enterprise against Canada during the
neutrality of the United States.
"'Tauscher is a German reserve officer and is subject to the
orders of Captain Franz von Papen, Military Attache of Count von
Bernstorff. His indictment will be brought about by reason of an
attempt to blow up parts of the Welland Canal, the waterway
connecting Lakes Erie and Ontario. A small party of Germans, under
command of one von der Goltz, have started from New York for the
purpose of committing this act of sabotage, and, incidentally, of
assassination of all men, women and children who might be involved
in the explosion at the point to be selected by the plotters.
"'Tauscher bought and furnished to this crowd of assassins the
dynamite which was to be used for the purpose. The fact that
Tauscher had bought the dynamite has become known to the United
States authorities and he will be called upon to make an
explanation.
"'Captain Tauscher is said to be an agreeable companion, but
he had the ordinary predilection of a German officer for
assassinating women and children.'
"Now, then, mon ami, this is the report. I expect that United
States Secret Service men will arrest Tauscher to-night. Perhaps
Gerhardt, also, will be arrested.
"At any rate, at the dance to-night you need not look for Skeel.
But may I suggest that you and Mr. Westmore keep your eyes on
Mademoiselle Dunois. Because, at the railway station to-day, the
German agents, Franz Lehr and Max Freund, were recognised by my
men, disguised as liveried chauffeurs, but in whose service we
have not yet been able to discover.
"Therefore, it might be well for you and Mr. Westmore to remain
near Mademoiselle Dunois during the evening.
"Au revoir! I shall see you at the dance.
"RENOUX."