Mr. Achilles Part 6

The child's face fell. "I wanted to see Mr. Achilles," she said simply.

She sat very quiet, her eyes on the lake. When she looked up, the eyes had brimmed over.

"I didn't mean to," said the child. She was searching for her handkerchief and the little cherries bobbed forward. "I didn't know they would spill!" She had found the handkerchief now and was wiping them away, and she smiled at Miss Stone--a brave smile--that was going to be happy--

Miss Stone smiled back, with a little head-shake. "Foolish, Betty!"

"I didn't expect them," said the child, "I was just thinking about Mr. Achilles and they came--just came!--They just came!" she repeated sternly. She gave a final dab to the handkerchief and stowed it away, sitting very erect and still.

Miss Stone's eyes studied her face. "We cannot go to-day," she said, "--and to-morrow we start for the country. Perhaps--" she paused, thinking it out.

But the child's eyes took it up--and danced. "He can make us a visit,"

she said, nodding--"a visit of three weeks!" She smiled happily.

Miss Stone smiled back, shaking her head. "He could not leave the fruit-shop--"

But the child ignored it. "He will come," she said quickly, "and we shall talk--and talk--about the G.o.ds, you know--" She lifted her eyes, "and we shall go in the fields--He will come!" She drew a deep sigh of satisfaction and lifted her head.

And Miss Stone, watching her, had a feeling of quick relief. She had known for a day or two that the child was not well, and they had hurried to get away to the fields. This was their last drive. To-morrow the horses would be sent on; and the next day they would all go--in the great touring car that would eat up the miles, and pa.s.s the horses, and reach Idlewood long before them.

No one except Betty and Miss Stone used the horses now. They would have been sold long ago had it not been for the child. The carriage was a part of her--and the clicking hoofs and soft-s.h.i.+ning skins and arching necks. The sound of the hoofs on the pavement played little tunes for Betty. Her mother had protested against expense, and her father had grumbled a little; but if the child wanted a carriage rather than the great car that could whir her away in a breath, it must be kept.

It made a pretty picture this morning as it turned into the busier street and took its way among the dark, snorting cars that pushed and sped. It was like a delicate dream that s.h.i.+mmered and touched the pavement--or like a breath of the past... and the great cars skimmed around it and pushed on with quick honk and left it far behind.

But the carriage kept its way with unhurried rhythm--into the busy street and out again into a long avenue where great houses of cement and grey stone stood guard.

No one was in sight, up and down its clear length--only the morning sun s.h.i.+ning on the grey stones and on the pavement--and the little jingling in the harness and the joyous child and the quiet grey woman beside her.

"I shall not be gone a minute, Betty," said Miss Stone. The carriage had drawn up before the great shadow of a house. She gave the child's hand a little pat and stepped from the carriage.

But at the door there was a minute's question and, with a nod to Betty, she stepped inside.

When the door opened again, and she came out with quick step she glanced at her watch--the errand had taken more than its minute, and there were others to be done, and they were late. She lifted her eyes to the carriage--and stopped.

The coachman, from the corner of his eye, waited for orders. But Miss Stone did not stir. Her glance swept the quiet street and came back to the carriage--standing with empty cus.h.i.+ons in the shadow of the house.

The coachman turned a stolid eye and caught a glimpse of her face and wheeled quickly--his eye searching s.p.a.ce. "There wa'n't n.o.body!" he said. He almost shouted it, and his big hands gripped hard on the reins.... His face was grey--"There wa'n't n.o.body here!" he repeated dully.

But Miss Stone did not look at him. "Drive to the Greek's. You know--where she went before." She would not give herself time to think--sitting a little forward on the seat--of course the child had gone to the Greek--to Mr. Achilles.... They should find her in a minute.

There was nothing else to think about--no shadowy fear that had leaped to meet the look in James's face when it turned to her. The child would be there--

The carriage drew up before the shop, with its glowing lines of fruit under the striped awning, and Miss Stone had descended before the wheel sc.r.a.ped the curb, her glance searching the door and the dim room beyond.

She halted on the threshold, peering in.

A man came from the rear of the room, his hands outstretched to serve her. The dark, clear face, with its Greek lines, and the eyes that looked out at her held a welcome. "You do me honour," he said. "I hope Madame is well--and the little Lady--?" Then he stopped. Something in Miss Stone's face held him--and his hand groped a little, reaching toward her--"You--tell me--" he said.

But she did not speak, and the look in her face grew very still.

He turned sharply--calling into the shop behind him, and a boy came running, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng a quick laugh, his teeth glinting.

"I go," said the man, with quick gesture--"You keep shop--I go." He had taken off his white ap.r.o.n and seized a hat. He touched the woman on the shoulder. "Come," he said.

She looked at him with dazed glance and put her hand to her head. "I cannot think," she said slowly.

He nodded with steady glance. "When we go, you tell--we find her," he said.

She started then and looked at him--and the clear colour came to her face. "You know--where--she is!"

But he shook his head. "We find her," he repeated. "You tell."

And as they threaded the streets--into drays and past clanging cars and through the tangle of wheels and horses and noise--and she told him the story, shouting it above the rumble and hurry of the streets, into the dark ear that bent beside her.

The look in Achilles's face deepened, but its steady quiet did not change. "We find her," he repeated each time, and Miss Stone's heart caught the rhythm of it, under the hateful noise. "We find her."

Then the great house on the lake faced them.

She looked at him a minute in doubt. Her face broke--"She may have come--home?" she said.

"I go with you," said Achilles.

There was no sign of life, but the door swung open before them and they went into the great hall--up the long stairway that echoed only vacant softness, and into the library with its ranging rows of perfect books.

She motioned him before her. "_I_ must tell them," she said. She pa.s.sed through the draperies of another door and the silence of the great house settled itself about the man and waited with him.

XI

TWO MEN FACE EACH OTHER

He looked about the room with quiet face. It was the room he had been in before--the day he spoke to the Halcyon Club--the ladies had costly gowns and strange hats, who had listened so politely while he told them of Athens and his beloved land. The room had been lighted then, with coloured lamps and globes--a kind of rosy radiance. Now the daylight came in through the high windows and filtered down upon him over brown books and soft, leather-covered walls. There was no sound in the big room. It seemed shut off from the world and Achilles sat very quiet, his dark face a little bent, his gaze fixed on the rug at his feet. He was thinking of the child--and of her face when she had lifted it to him out of the crowded street, that first day, and smiled at him... and of their long talks since. It was the Child who understood. The strange ladies had smiled at him and talked to him and drank their tea and talked again... he could hear the soft, keen humming of their voices and the flitter of garments all about him as they moved. But the child had sat very still--only her face lifted, while he told her of Athens and its beauty... and he had told her again--and again. She would never tire of it--as he could never tire. She was a child of light in the great new world... a child like himself--in the hurry of the noise. A sound came to him in the distant house--people talking--low voices that spoke and hurried on. The house was awake--quick questions ran through it--doors sounded and were still. Achilles turned his face toward the opening into the long wide hall, and waited. Through the vista there was a glimpse of the stairway and a figure pa.s.sing up it--a short, square man who hurried. Then silence again--more bells and running feet. But no one came to the library--and no one sought the dark figure seated there, waiting. Strange foreign faces flashed themselves in the great mirror and out. The outer door opened and closed noiselessly to admit them--uncouth figures that pa.s.sed swiftly up the stairway, glancing curiously about them--and dapper men who did not look up as they went.

The house settled again to quiet, and the long afternoon, while Achilles waited. The light from the high windows grew dusky under chairs and tables; it withdrew softly along the gleaming books and hovered in the air above them--a kind of halo--and the shadows crept up and closed about him. Through the open door, a light appeared in the hall. A moving figure advanced to the library, and paused in the doorway, and came in. There was a minute's fumbling at the electric b.u.t.ton, and the soft lights came, by magic, everywhere in the room. The servant gave a quick glance about him, and started sternly--and came forward. Then he recognised the man. It was the Greek. But he looked at him sternly. The day had been full of suspicion and question--and the house was alive to it--"What do you want?" he said harshly.

"I wait," said Achilles.

"Who told you to come?" demanded the man.

"I come. I wait," said Achilles.

The man disappeared. Presently he returned. "You come with me," he said. His look was less stern, but he raised his voice a little, as if speaking to a child, or a deaf man. "You come with me," he repeated.

Achilles followed with quick-gliding foot--along the corridor, through a great room--to a door. The man paused and lifted his hand and knocked.

His back was tense, as if he held himself ready to spring.

A voice sounded and he turned the handle softly, and looked at Achilles.

Then the door opened and the Greek pa.s.sed in and the man closed the door behind him.

A man seated at a table across the room looked up. For a minute the two men looked at each other--the one short and square and red; the other thin as a reed, with dark, clear eyes.