Uncle Max Part 55

Barton promise not to betray me.'

'When did you come back?' I asked, bewildered. 'Why did you not write and tell me you were coming?'

'Oh, it was decided all in a hurry. The Maberleys heard that their daughter, Mrs. Egerton, would arrive in England this week, a whole month before they expected her, so they have gone down to Southampton, and left me to find my way home alone. I arrived last night, much to Giles's astonishment. You know Dora is their only surviving child, and she has been in India the last five years. She is bringing her two boys home.'

'Last night. Then you did not get my letter?'

'No; but it will follow me. How good you have been to write so often, Ursula! I have quite lived on your letters.'

'Let me see how you look,' was my answer to this; and indeed I thought she had never looked more beautiful. There was a lovely colour in her face, and she seemed bright and animated, though I could not deny that she was still very thin.

'You have not grown fatter,' I went on, pretending to grumble; 'you are still too transparent, in my opinion; but Jill's snow-maiden has a little life in her.'

'Does Jill call me that?' she returned, in some surprise. 'Oh, I am quite well: even Giles says so. He declares he is glad to have me back, and poor little Lady Betty quite cried with joy. It was nice, after all, coming home.'

'I am so glad to hear you say that.'

'Etta is away, you know: that makes the difference. Gladwyn never seemed so homelike before. By the bye, Ursula, Giles has sent you a message; he--no, we all three, want you to spend a long evening with us to-morrow.

He has been called away to Brighton, and will not be back until mid-day; but we all three agreed that it would be so nice if you came early in the afternoon, and we would have tea in the little oak avenue. Etta never cares about these _al fresco_ meals, she is so afraid of spiders and caterpillars; but Lady Betty and I delight in it.'

I wish Jill could have heard Gladys talk in this bright, natural way. I am sure she would not have recognised her snow-maiden. There was no weary constraint in her manner to-night, no heavy pressure of unnatural care on her young brow: she seemed too happy to see me again to think of herself at all.

When we had talked a little more I began to approach the subject of Eric very gradually. At my first word her cheek paled, and the old wistfulness came to her eyes.

'What of Eric?' she asked quickly. 'You look a little strange, Ursula.

Do not be afraid of speaking his name: he is never out of my thoughts, waking or sleeping.'

I told her that I knew this, but that I had something very singular to narrate, which I feared might excite and disappoint her, but that I could a.s.sure her of the certainty that he was alive and well.

She clasped her hands almost convulsively together, and looked at me imploringly. 'Only tell me that, and I can bear everything else,' she exclaimed.

But as she listened her face grew paler and paler, and presently she burst into tears, and sobbed so violently that I was alarmed.

'It is nothing,--nothing but joy,' she gasped out at length. 'I could not hear you say that you had seen him, my own Eric, and not be overcome.

Oh, Ursula, if I had only been with you!' And she hid her face on my shoulder, and for a little while I could say no more.

When she was calmed I finished all that I had to tell, and read her the advertis.e.m.e.nts, but they seemed to frighten her.

'How dreadful if Etta or Giles should see them!' she said nervously.

'Etta is so clever, she finds out everything. I would not have her read one of them for worlds. Why did you put your name, Ursula?--it is so uncommon.'

'No one will connect me with Jack Poynter. I did not think there would be any risk,' I replied soothingly. 'I put "for Gladys's sake" in the _Daily Telegraph_. You see, we must try to attract his notice.'

'Giles never takes in the _Daily Telegraph_. We have the _Times_ and the _Standard_, and the _Morning Post_ for Etta. Which did you put in the _Standard_?'

I repeated the advertis.e.m.e.nt: 'Jack Poynter's friends believe him dead, and are in great trouble: he is entreated to undeceive them. One word to the old address will be a comfort to his poor sister.'

'That will do,' she answered, in a relieved tone. 'Etta cannot read between the lines there. Oh, Ursula, do you think that Eric will see them?'

I a.s.sured her that there was no doubt on the subject. All the better cla.s.s of workmen had access to some club or society, where they saw the leading papers. I thought the _Daily Telegraph_ the most likely to meet his eyes, and should continue to insert an advertis.e.m.e.nt from time to time. 'We must be patient and wait a little,' I continued. 'Even if our appeals do not reach him, there is every probability that Joe Muggins or one of the other workmen will come across him. We want to find out where Jack Poynter lives. I mean to write to Joe in a few days, and offer him a handsome sum if he can tell me his address.'

'That will be the best plan; but, oh, Ursula, how am I to be patient?

To think of my dear boy becoming a common workman! he is poor, then; he wants money. I feel as though I cannot rest, as though I must go to London and look for him myself.'

Gladys looked so excited and feverish that I almost repented my confidence. I did all I could to soothe her.

'Surely, dear, it is not so difficult to wait a little, knowing him to be alive and well, as it was to bear that long suspense.'

'Oh, but I never believed him to be dead,' she answered quickly. 'I was very anxious, very unhappy, about him, often miserable, but in my dreams he was always full of life. When I woke up I said to myself, "They are wrong; Eric is in the world somewhere; I shall see him again."'

'Just so; and now with my own eyes I have seen him, evidently in perfect health and in good spirits.'

'Ah, but that troubles me a little,' she returned, and her beautiful mouth began to quiver like an unhappy child's. 'How can Eric, my Eric who loved me so, be so light-hearted, knowing that all these years I have been mourning for him? I remember how he used,' she went on plaintively, 'to whistle over his work, and how Giles used to listen to him. Sometimes they kept up a duet together, but Eric's note was the sweeter.'

'We must be careful not to misjudge him even in this,' was my answer: 'how do you know, Gladys, that he has not a.s.sured himself that you are all well, and, as far as he knows, happy? Or perhaps his heart was very heavy in spite of his whistling. A young man does not show his feelings like a girl.'

'No doubt you are right,' she replied, sighing, and then she turned her head away, and I could see the old tremulous movement of her hands.

'Ursula,' she said, in a very low voice, 'have you told Mr. Cunliffe about this?'

'Uncle Max!' I exclaimed, concealing my astonishment at hearing her mention his name of her own accord. 'No; indeed, he is away from home: we have not met for the last three weeks. Would you wish me to tell him, Gladys?'

She pondered over my question, and I could see the curves of her throat trembling. Her voice was not so clear when she answered me:

'He might have helped us. He is kind and wise, and I trusted him once.

But perhaps it will be hardly safe to tell him: he might insist on Giles knowing, and then everything would be lost.'

'What do you mean?' I asked hastily. 'Surely Mr. Hamilton ought to know that his brother is alive.'

'Yes, but not now--not until I have seen him. Ursula, you are very good; you are my greatest comfort; but indeed you must be guided in this by me.

You do not know Giles as I do. He is beginning to influence you in spite of yourself. If Giles knows, Etta will know, and then we are lost.'

Her tone troubled me: it was the old keynote of suppressed hopeless pain: it somehow recalled to me the image of some helpless innocent bird struggling in a fowler's net. Her eyes looked at me with almost agonised entreaty.

'If Etta knows, we should be lost,' she repeated drearily.

'She shall not know, then,' I returned, pretending cheerfulness, though I was inwardly dismayed. 'You and I will watch and wait, Gladys. Do not be so cast down, dear. Remember it is never so dark as just before the dawn.'

'No,' she replied, with a faint smile, 'you are right there; but it is growing dark in earnest, Ursula, and I must go home, or Leah will be coming in search of me.'

'Very well; I will walk with you,' I replied; and in five minutes more we had left the cottage.

We walked almost in silence, for who could tell if eaves-droppers might not lurk in the dark hedgerows? I know this feeling was strong in both our minds.

At the gate of Gladwyn we kissed each other and parted.

'I am happier, Ursula,' she whispered. 'You must not think I am ungrateful for the news you have given me, only it has made me restless.'

'Hus.h.!.+ there is some one coming down the shrubbery,' I returned, dropping her hand, and going quickly into the road. As I did so, I heard Leah's smooth voice address Gladys: