Helbeck of Bannisdale Volume Ii Part 22

The word was Laura's. She had been busy in her room, and had come hurriedly downstairs to fetch her work-bag from the drawing-room. As she crossed the threshold, she saw that the picture had been taken down.

Indeed, the van containing it was just driving through the park.

White and faltering, the girl came up to the wall whence the beautiful lady had just been removed, and leant her head against it. She raised her hand to her eyes. "Good-bye," said the inner sense--"Good-bye!" And the strange link which from the first moment almost had seemed to exist between that radiant daughter of Bannisdale and herself snapped and fell away, carrying how much else with it!

About an hour before Laura's departure there was a loud knock at her door, and Mrs. Denton appeared. The woman was pale with rage. Mrs.

Fountain, in much trepidation, had just given her notice, and the housekeeper had not been slow to guess, from what quarter the blow had fallen.

Laura turned round bewildered. But she was too late to stop the outbreak.

In the course of five minutes' violent speech Mrs. Denton wiped out the grievances of six months; she hurled the gossip of a country-side on Laura's head; and in her own opinion she finally avenged the cause of the Church and of female decorum upon the little infidel adventuress that had stolen away the wits and conscience of the Squire.

Miss Fountain, after' a first impatient murmur, "I might have remembered!"--stood without a word, with eyes cast down, and a little scornful smile on her colourless lips. When at last she had shut the door on her a.s.sailant, a great quivering sigh rose from the girl's breast. Was it the last touch? But she said nothing. She brushed away a tear that had unconsciously risen, and went back to her packing.

"Just wait a moment!" said Miss Fountain to old Wilson, who was driving her across the bridge on her way to the station. "I want to get a bunch of those berries by the water. Take the pony up the hill. I'll join you at the top."

Old Wilson drove on. Laura climbed a stile and slipped down to the waterside.

The river, full with autumn rain, came foaming down. The leaf was falling fast. Through the woods on the further bank she could just distinguish a gable of the old house.

A moan broke from her. She stooped and buried her face in the gra.s.s--his gra.s.s.

When she returned to the road, she looked for the letter-box in the wall of the bridge, and, walking up to it, she dropped into it two letters.

Then she stood a moment with bent brows. Had she made all arrangements for Augustina?

But she dared not let herself think of the morrow. She set her face to the hill--trudging steadily up the wet, solitary road. Once--twice--she turned to look. Then the high trees that arched over the top of the hill received the little form; she disappeared into their shadow.

BOOK V

CHAPTER I

"My dear, where are the girls?"

The speaker was Dr. Friedland, the only intimate friend Stephen Fountain had ever made at Cambridge. The person addressed was Dr. Friedland's wife.

On hearing her husband's question, that lady's gentle and benevolent countenance emerged from the folds of a newspaper. It was the "first mild day of March," and she and her husband had been enjoying an after-breakfast chat in the garden of a Cambridge villa.

"Molly is arranging the flowers; Laura has had a long letter from Mrs.

Fountain, and is now, I believe, gone to answer it."

"Then I shan't enjoy my lunch," said Dr. Friedland pensively.

He was an elderly gentleman, with a short beard and moustache turning to white, particularly black eyes, and a handsome brow. His wife had put a rug over his shoulders, and another over his knees, before she allowed him the "Times" and a cigarette. Amid the ample folds of these draperies, he had a Jove-like and benignant air.

His wife inquired what difference Miss Fountain's correspondence would or could make to her host's luncheon.

"Because she won't eat any," said the doctor, with a sigh, "and I find it infectious."

Mrs. Friedland laid down her newspaper.

"There is no doubt she is worried--about Mrs. Fountain."

"_E tutti quanti_" said the doctor, humming a tune. "My dear, it is surprising what an admiration I find myself possessed of for Sir John Pringle."

"Sir John Pringle?" said the lady, in bewilderment.

"Bozzy, my dear--the great Bozzy--amid the experiments of his youth, turned Catholic. His distracted relations deputed Sir John Pringle to deal with him. That great lawyer pointed out the worldly disadvantages of the step. Bozzy pleaded his immortal soul. Whereupon Sir John observed with warmth that anyone possessing a particle of gentlemanly spirit would sooner be d.a.m.ned to all eternity than give his relations so much trouble as Bozzy was giving his!"

"The application is not clear," said Mrs. Friedland.

"No," said the doctor, stretching his legs and puffing at his cigarette; "but when you speak of Laura, and tell me she is writing to Bannisdale, I find a comfort in Sir John Pringle."

"It would be more to the purpose if Laura did!" exclaimed Mrs. Friedland.

The doctor shook his head, and fell into a reverie. Presently he asked:

"You think Mrs. Fountain is really worse?"

"Laura is sure of it. And the difficulty is, what is she to do? If she goes to Bannisdale, she exiles Mr. Helbeck. Yet, if his sister is really in danger, Mr. Helbeck naturally will desire to be at home."

"And they can't meet?"

"Under the same roof--and the old conditions? Heaven forbid!" said Mrs.

Friedland.

"Risk it!" said the doctor, violently slapping his fist on the little garden table that held his box of cigarettes.

"John!"

"My dear--don't be a hypocrite! You and I know well enough what's wrong with that child."

"Perhaps." The lady's eyes filled with tears. "But you forget that by all accounts Mr. Helbeck is an altered man. From something Laura said to Molly last week, it seems that Mrs. Fountain even is now quite afraid of him--as she used to be."

"If she would only die--good lady!--her brother might go to his own place," said the doctor impatiently.

"To the Jesuits?"

The doctor nodded.

"Did he actually tell you that was his intention?"