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CHAPTER XXXV

MARRYAT went straight back to Kate.

"I have got the money," she said. "I have got it here; it is a small parcel to mean so much wealth, is it not?" And as Marryat spoke she laid the neatly folded paper parcel on the table.

Kate had been dozing. She had gone through so much that, notwithstanding her present misery, sleep had overpowered her. But she started up now with a wild light in her eyes.

"Yes," she said, "the money! What about it?"

"Don't you remember, dear madam. Now rouse yourself, poor dear; we can talk over things quietly when we get on board."

"On board? Where?" asked Kate.

"Where, child? On board the Hydra, of course. Are you dreaming? What is it, Mrs. Henley?"

"I do not know, I feel confused," said Kate. "I do not seem to remember anything. Where is Ralph? If we are going on board the Hydra Ralph ought to be here. Where is he?"

"But don't you know anything?" said Marryat. She went straight up to the bewildered-looking girl and taking her by her two shoulders shook her. "Can't you remember? Do pull yourself together."

"Yes, yes," said Kate. She passed her hand across her eyes. "I am dazed," she said. "Things are beginning to come back. I am running away; that's it, is it not, Marryat?"

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"Yes, dear, that is just it, but only say those words to me."

"Yes, Marryat, only to you, I am running away."

"And I am going with you, dear, and we have three thousand pounds in that little parcel. You had best let me manage things for the present, that is until we have steamed out of the Channel. Now then, dear, now then, do rouse yourself. We will take a cab and go to Fenchurch Street, and take the train for Tilbury at once. That will be our best course. There is no use in delaying, and mischief might follow."

"What mischief? Is there any danger?" asked Kate, still in that vacant stunned sort of voice.

"Well," answered Marryat briskly, trying to control her temper, for Kate's present mood exasperated the poor woman almost beyond her endurance. "I strikes me there's a deal of mischief; there's Miss Mary Hume watching and spying, and thinking, and suspecting, and I met her at the bank, my dear--at your bank--and she wanted me to go back to the Grange with her. What is it now, Mrs. Henley? How queer you are--white as death one minute, red as a rose the next. I declare, I declare, the trouble this affair is giving me, the palpitations, the uneasiness, make it scarcely worth going on with. The game isn't worth the candle. Now then, dear, what is it?"

"Only that I remember," said Kate. "Yes, we will go as fast as possible to the Hydra. And Ralph is dead, quite dead, is he not, Marryat?"

"That I do not know, love. I have not heard."

"Oh, but he must be, I saw him. I looked at him last night; he was breathing so fast, and his face was so white, I should scarcely have known him. And he did not know me--he didn't know anybody | | 337 --he was going back to his God. In one way, Marryat, you know it is a relief. He will never reproach me now, never, but in another way it is a horror beyond all endurance, so I shall go, and you will come with me. Yes, I will go at once."

"That is right, my dear, that is right. I bought a bottle of brandy on my way back, a small bottle, and you shall have a little mixed in water before you start."

"No, I could not touch it," said Kate. She turned away shuddering. Marryat, however, insisted. She made some weak brandy and water, and held it before her mistress's lips.

"Now drink it up, dear. I know you hate all intoxicants, but the more reason you should have this now. It will pull you together wonderfully."

"Hark!" said Kate, holding up her hand, "are not those bells tolling. Are the bells near the Grange tolling on account of my Ralph?"

"Dear heart, how fanciful you are! as if you could hear the bells of the Grange Church here! Dear, dear heart, the sooner you are out of this the better."

Kate drank off the brandy and water, and put down the glass with a hand which trembled. The next moment, however, the spirit had taken effect, and she walked across the room. Marryat followed her.

"You will put on your hat now, love. Here, let me arrange it for you. What is the good of being maid, faithful, fond, devoted maid to a dear young lady, if I cannot do what she wants? I am going to wash your face and hands, and you'll feel much more chirpy. There's a bedroom here; we'll go in. Yes, and I'll dress your hair over again; you don't know how | | 338 refreshed you'll be. Then, if we go to the Hydra, we'll just be in time to take possession of that very pleasant four-berth cabin before anybody comes looking for us."

"Oh, could anybody come and look for us? If so--?"

"No, love, they could not; I have managed that; not time enough, dear. Otherwise Miss Mary Hume would have her finger in this pie as well as all the other pies where you are concerned. That's all right, dear, now then."

Kate allowed herself to be led into the adjoining room. She came out again in a quarter of an hour considerably refreshed. Her glossy beautiful hair was well arranged, her hat was put on straight, her veil was tied, she was drawing on a pair of new gloves which Marryat had provided.

A moment later the two young women had left the lodgings and were driving in a hansom to Fenchurch Street. When they got there they took the next train to Tilbury, and about one o'clock that day Kate and Marryat were on board the Hydra.

"She will sail in an hour?" said Marryat, turning to one of the sailors who stood near.

"Yes," he answered, "sharp at two. Are you expecting any friends on board?"

"No and yes," said Marryat. "I will just stand near the gangway and watch."

"And will that pretty young lady, your mistress, like to watch, too?" asked the Jack Tar, surveying Marryat with a curious expression--half of wonder, half of admiration.

"No, no, my pretty young lady is going to lie down. She is not very well," said Marryat. She had already conducted Kate to her cabin; Kate stood | | 339 there with clasped hands. She gazed out at the little porthole window. She could see the shore--she could see the people hurrying towards the great liner. She could hear voices, troubled voices, melancholy voices, and business-like voices on deck. There was the tramp of feet, there was the hurry which is always incidental to the start of a steamer on one of its long voyages. Kate felt apart from it all, and yet there was a curious sense of relief.

"When we leave England the danger must be past," she thought, "and I shall never, never see Ralph's dead face. That is the thing that I cannot bear--that is the last, last straw." Then she sank down on the side of her berth. The cabin was a very roomy one; only the two lower berths were arranged for occupation, the upper berths not being required. Kate gazed vacantly round her. A few days ago she had thought that she and Ralph would be here; now Ralph was gone from her for ever. She wondered she felt it so little, and yet she knew that it was breaking her heart, and that nothing else really mattered. The knowledge of all that discovery meant no longer troubled her.

Marryat came down once or twice to look at her mistress.

"It's all going splendidly," she said. "We'll be off in no time, and then, my dear, you can cast your care from you like a mantle."

Kate looked at her.

"I hear those bells still," she said. "They haunt me."

"What bells, dear, what bells?"

"The church bells, they're tolling. Ralph was very young to die, was he not, Marryat?"

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"Oh, my love, it is most bitter sorrowful, but you must keep up your courage for the present. There are no bells, dear, it is all imagination. Now I must go back again to my watching, for there's no saying what that Miss Mary Hume might do, but I do truly think she has no time."

Kate scarcely responded. She rose restlessly. Again her eyes sought the narrow view which she alone could see from the porthole.

The stewardess bustled in to know if she could do anything for the new passenger. Marryat turned round sharply.

"Thank you, Mrs. Seymour," she said--she had already discovered the woman's name--"I am lady's-maid to this dear lady, and will look after her during the voyage."

"Then my services won't be specially required," said Mrs. Seymour, "but if you do want anything, madam--" she looked from Kate to Marryat and from Marryat to Kate again--

"This lady's name is Mrs. Henley, and I am Miss Marryat," replied the maid with a toss of her head. "Now then, Mrs. Henley, I will leave you."

She turned once more to her post by the gangway. The stewardess lingered for a moment.

"You don't look well, madam," she said to Kate.

"It is the noise in my head," replied Kate. She put up her hand to her forehead.

"Dear, dear, you are very poorly," said Mrs. Seymour, gazing at the lovely face with undisguised admiration and a certain sense of pity.

"It's the bells," continued Kate, "they keep on ringing, ringing, ringing."

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"What bells, madam? There are no bells ringing near here."

"Oh no, they are not these bells, they come from a good way off, from my home; it is the bells that ring because my husband is dead."

"Dear heart, queer in the head," thought Mrs. Seymour. She said something soothing and presently left Kate.

Sharp at two o'clock the Hydra weighed anchor and steamed slowly down the river.