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CHAPTER XXXVI

MARY determined not to return to her aunt, Mrs. Stirling. She felt more assured than ever that things were coming to a real crisis. She was very proud of her discrimination. A fiendish sense of cruelty possessed her. When Kate returned she would accuse her openly. In the meantime, she must not desert her post, she must watch.

The day passed away slowly. Kate did not come back. Mary knew all about the trains. When passengers from any train might be expected to arrive she walked down the avenue, but no Kate returned.

Meanwhile the sick man was better. The doctor and the nurse scarcely left him. Hour by hour the heavy pall of awful illness began to be lifted. Hour by hour the chance of recovery became more assured. He opened his eyes restlessly several times, and on each of these occasions he asked for his wife.

Mary went upstairs and met Nurse Bryan.

"How is Mr. Henley?" she asked, in her somewhat careless off-hand tone.

"Oh, better," replied the woman, "decidedly better, but I do wish Mrs. Henley would return."

"Has he been asking for her?" said Mary.

"Asking for her! He never asks for any one else, but he is almost too weak to speak, poor dear; it's his eyes that ask for her, his eyes keep looking at the door. It's a pity that beautiful young lady is so cold-hearted as to leave him in a crisis of this kind."

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"But is it bad for him her being away?" asked Mary.

"It is decidedly very bad."

"You think that it may imperil his life?"

"Well, of course he is not out of danger yet," said Nurse Bryan, "nor anything like. We had no hopes at all last night, and we have some hopes now, that's about the difference. Whether he pulls through depends altogether on whether he does not get any shock and whether he has nothing to worry him. He is too weak yet to be seriously worried, but when his strength returns Mrs. Henley ought to be here."

"Thank you," replied Mary. She turned away. On the stairs she met Dr. Thornton.

"How is your patient?" she said, stopping for a moment as she was going downstairs.

"I have not seen him for the last hour," replied the doctor; "he was doing better then, much better than I dared to hope."

"Then you think he will get over this?"

"There is a possibility."

"Last night you had no hope," said Mary.

"I had no hope," replied Dr. Thornton, "but in these fever cases," he added, "no physician ought to say that. The old saying that while there is life there is hope invariably applies to fever cases."

"Then now you have hope?"

"I have said so."

"I have just seen Nurse Bryan," continued Mary after a pause. "She says Mr. Henley is fretting for his wife."

"Has not Mrs. Henley come back yet?" asked Dr. Thornton, raising his brows; "it is very extra-ordinary."

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"It is extraordinary," said Mary, "that is exactly what I think. You want her back, do you not?"

"She ought to be here," said Dr. Thornton.

"You think we ought to try and find her and bring her back?"

"I do, undoubtedly."

"Will you say so, if necessary, to my mother and father?"

"I will certainly say so, but I am going up to see the patient now."

"As in all probability there is not a moment to lose," continued Mary, "may I say it for you?"

"If you will be so kind."

Mary ran downstairs. Her mother was in the morning room. The relief from the terrible strain of the day before had made the good lady more tired than usual. She was lying down.

"You will be knocked up, as well as everybody else, on account of that wretched, miserable girl," said Mary, when she came into the room.

"Oh don't, Mary, don't abuse poor Kate now," said Ethel, who was seated near her mother.

"I don't want to listen to you, Ethel; you are a perfect goose," exclaimed Mary. "Mother, it is my opinion--of course, I know exactly what you and Ethel think of my opinion, but, nevertheless, I shall state it. It is my opinion that Kate has gone, never to return."

"You are talking absolute nonsense," said Mrs. Hume. "Why should not Kate come back?"

"She is afraid to come back; she feels that her game is up. Now I have not the slightest idea of allowing her to escape the consequences of her crime; she must return in order to face it. I have | | 345 got the doctor's orders that we are to send for her immediately, as otherwise her husband cannot recover. I mean to go and look for her."

"Where do you mean to go?" said Mrs. Hume. "Oh, Mary, Mary dear, that chimera in your brain gets worse and worse."

"Never mind about my brain at present," said Mary, "when I bring Kate back you will cease to think that I have got a chimera in my brain; you will turn your attention to the real culprit, you will not waste your pity on me. Meanwhile, I want to go and look for Kate."

"Where are you going to look for her?"

"She will return of course by the next train," said Ethel. "I have been talking to Nurse Bryan and she says that Kate was in a very nervous over-strained condition last night, and it is my opinion the poor darling just went away because she could not stand the terrible strain of seeing her husband die."

"Very wrong of her," interrupted Mrs. Hume, "very wrong and selfish. I have a high opinion of Kate. I do not believe my dear Kitty would do such a heartless thing for a minute."

"Nevertheless, mother," said Mary, "your dear Kitty, as you call her, has done it, for in the house she is not. Marryat has also gone. I intend to follow them."

"Where?" said Mrs. Hume.

"To Plymouth."

"Plymouth, my dear child! What would take Kate to Plymouth?"

"She goes on board the Hydra to Plymouth. She is on board the Hydra now, I feel certain of it. If I take the next train to Plymouth I shall overtake the boat. I shall go on board when the Hydra stops at | | 346 Plymouth to-morrow, and face Kate. I want father to come with me. Anyhow, she must be brought back."

Just at that moment Mr. Hume came into the room.

"Father," said Mary, turning to him, "can you come to Plymouth with me immediately?"

"Why so?" asked Hume. "What is the matter with you, Mary? I thought you were staying with your Aunt Maud."

"My place is here," said Mary, "or rather, my place is at Plymouth. If we catch the night train we shall get there early to-morrow morning before the Hydra arrives. I want to go on board in order to confront Kate Henley."

Mr. Hume asked for an explanation. Mary gave it in terse tones.

"You shall do nothing of the kind; you would not be so mad. I forbid you to do it," he said. "Kate will come back at any moment, of course she will come back."

"Very well," said Mary, "if she returns by the last train, the seven o'clock this evening, well and good, but if she does not return, you and I will take the night train to Plymouth. Either you and I, father, or I by myself, for confront Kate I will."

"There can be nothing whatever in this," said Mrs. Hume.

"It is very odd," said Mr. Hume, "where can those tickets have gone? I certainly left them in the study and they have completely vanished."

Mary gave a little laugh.

"Of course Kate had them," she said; "you are finely deceived in that girl, but your eyes will be opened yet."

She went out of the room. Her parents' and | | 347 Ethel's attitude of unbelief tried her almost beyond endurance.

"It is a very painful part I have got to play," she said to herself, "but nevertheless I shall go on to the bitter end. That adventuress shall be exposed, she shall be seen in her true colours."

Mary consulted her watch, and remembering that another train was about due at the little station, once more walked up the avenue. She looked along the dusty road. If she could see two figures, the figure of Marryat and the figure of Kate coming back, she would go to meet them. She would confront Kate face to face, confront this impostor she would, and soon, the sooner the better. Her heart was burning with rage. She felt as she had never thought to feel in the days of her happy and innocent girlhood.

"I am wicked over this," she said to herself, "but wicked or not I am going on straight to the bitter end."

Her eyes travelled along the road--the figures of two women resembling Kate and Marryat did not appear, but a man was coming down the road. He was walking slowly, uncertainly. He paused now and then to look around him. Presently he drew up outside the gates of the Grange and looked full at Mary. The man was shabby in appearance, with a flushed face and rough hair, but notwithstanding his dusty and patched boots, his ill-fitting trousers, his general get-up, there was something about him which showed that long, long ago, in a dim far-away age, he must have posed as a gentleman. Those days were over, but the shadow of them still remained.

He drew up in front of Mary. Mary said--

"Do you want anything? Have you lost your way? You seem to be a stranger in these parts."

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"All the same I have come here before," said the man. "My name is Rogers. I have come to see a young lady of the name of Marryat. I saw her here once before--a nice young lady. I should be very pleased to see her again. Can you tell me, Miss--?"

"Hume is my name," said Mary, "Miss Hume."

"Can you tell me, Miss Hume, if Miss Marryat is at the Grange?"

"Miss Marryat, as you are pleased to call her," said Mary, "is maid to Mrs. Henley. She is not at the Grange at present."

"And Mrs. Henley is not at the Grange?" said the man, raising his brows with a gesture of despair.

"Nor is Mrs. Henley at the Grange. Do you want to see Miss Marryat very badly?"

"Very badly indeed," said the man, and he closed his hand and then opened it, and looked down at his empty palm.

"What do you want to see her for?"

The man raised his furtive eyes and fixed them on Mary's face. Mary's heart began to beat hard.

"I want to see Miss Marryat," he said then, slowly, "because--well I have got no money. Miss Marryat can give me money."

"Are you a relation of hers?"

"No, Miss."

"Then why do you expect that Miss Marryat, who is only a poor woman--a servant--should give you money?"

"That is my secret," said the man. He laughed and turned his face aside.

Mary got more excited than ever.

"You may as well come in," she said, then. "If | | 349 you go down to the kitchen they will give you something to eat and drink."

"Miss, I am afraid; you keep dogs."

"Then I will walk with you," said Mary. "I will take you as far as the kitchen premises and ask the cook to be kind to you. You can sit in the servants' hall until Miss Marryat returns."

"Oh, then she is likely to come back?"

"I do not know; I am quite in the dark. We are expecting her and Mrs. Henley at any moment. They may come or they may not. Will you come to the house or will you go away?"

The man looked again at Mary.

"I will come to the house, Miss, and I am very much obliged to you," he said.

Mary opened the gate and he passed through. She closed it again.

"We will take this short cut," she said, "across the fields." The man followed her. She waited until he came up to her side.

"You say you have been here before?" she said.

"Yes, Miss."

"And yet I do not remember your face."

"I did not see you that time, Miss, but I remember the date well."

"How long ago was it?"

"A good bit ago, Miss, in the spring of this year. It was the day before Mrs. Henley's wedding."

"Did you come to see Mrs. Henley or Miss Marryat?"

"It doesn't matter," said the man, "that's my secret."

"I see," answered Mary. "Then you and Miss Marryat and Mrs. Henley have a secret between you."

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"That's about it," said Rogers. He moistened his lips with his tongue. He began to see daylight. He looked attentively at Mary.

"Secrets are often of value," said Mary. "I presume yours is?"

"It is of the greatest possible value," answered the man.

"Indeed? Shall I guess what you want to see Miss Marryat about?"

"Just as you like, Miss. Of course I'm not bound to tell you if your guess is correct."

"Come round this way, through the plantation," said Mary. "We won't meet the dogs this way, and we can go in by the side entrance. You want to see Miss Marryat because you expect her to give you money?"

"Ah, Miss, I hinted that a moment ago."

"She gives you money which she gets from Mrs. Henley," pursued Mary. "Mrs. Henley has a secret which you know something about, and she pays you not to reveal it; is not that so? You are one of those who levy blackmail; is not that so?"

"Blackmail is an ugly word," said the man, flushing deeply. "It does not sound very pretty from the lips of a young lady like yourself, Miss Hume, and you have no right to say that I levy blackmail. Miss Marryat is a friend of mine."

"Don't talk nonsense," answered Mary. She suddenly turned and faced the man. "I presume from your appearance that you want money?"

"Ay," he said, "I want money as the penniless want it. You don't know what that means."

"I don't, but I can guess. Suppose I were to give you money instead of Miss Marryat? Suppose I paid more for your secret than Miss Marryat does?"

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"In that case," said Rogers very briskly, "we can do business."

"I understand; I shall not ask you much now, but I want you to stay here. I will arrange with the cook to give you some dinner and some supper, and I will give you the price of your bed at the village inn. I want you to remain here for the next couple of days and when you have done what I wish, you shall have--" Mary paused for a moment; she quickly thought over her account at the bank. How much had she to her credit? "You shall have a hundred pounds," she said briefly. "Do you follow me?"

"I think so, Miss."

"Will you stay here, and when the time comes will you be my friend instead of Miss Marryat's?"

The man thought again. After all, Miss Marryat had only given him doles--three pounds here, and five pounds there. Once, indeed, he had extracted as much as fifteen pounds from her--but a hundred pounds, never! Never even in moments of the keenest danger to Kate Henley had he received as large a sum of money as that, and, after all, he only knew a little of Kate's secret, only a little.

"Done, Miss," he said, turning to Mary. "I will do what you want for a hundred pounds, and I will stay at the inn as long as you wish me to stay."