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CHAPTER XXXIV

As Marryat spoke she approached the centre table and opening a bag produced Kate's cheque-book. She tore a cheque away from its counterfoil and brought it to her mistress with pen, ink, and blotting-paper.

"Now then, dear," she said, "fill in. Why, poor love, you are not fit for anything. I never saw any one so washed out and worn."

Kate indeed was almost past listening to Marryat. All this talk about money, money, cheques, cheques, seemed to go in at one ear and out at the other. What was happening to her? What was the matter? Where was she? Back again at Mentone with the girl whom she loved, and who was dying--the girl whose name she took, whose fortune she took, whose personality she took? Or was she at Mentone before she had ever heard of that girl, and her mother was poor and in trouble, and the handsome, badly fed, badly dressed girl scarcely knew what to do with herself? Or was she in the first blush of her success in London and Ralph by her side--he was telling her how very much he loved her? Or was she at his house at Castellis and the first grey fears were beginning to assail her, or was she by his death-bed leaning over him, listening to his hurried breathing, terrified at the thought that at any moment that breathing would stop? She uttered a sharp cry.

"What is it, Mrs. Henley, what is it?"

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"Nothing, nothing, only for God's sake tell me what I am to do, and leave me alone."

"Write your name here, dear, and I won't trouble you further."

Kate took up a pen and filled in the cheque, writing her name, "Kate Henley," in large characters at the foot.

Marryat took the cheque tenderly, blotted it with skill, and slipped it into her own purse.

"Now, my dear," she said, "you will go to sleep. I will draw down the blinds. Rest assured that nothing can happen to you here. I will tell the land-lady that you are not going to see a soul, and I will be back as soon as possible. There's not much time to lose if we are to be on board the Hydra to-day at two o'clock."

Kate made no response. Already she was back in that queer dream-world where things were cloudy and unreal and phantom-like. She heard Marryat bustling about the room, and was glad when she finally departed, closing the door softly after her.

Meanwhile, Marryat in her own room took the signed cheque, looked at it with covetous eyes, and went off to the bank. She arrived there soon after it was opened; the place was not very full, and the clerks were sufficiently unemployed to stare at her. She went up to one of them and asked him to cash the cheque.

"I want it in notes and gold," she said--"not too much gold, for it would be heavy to carry, and be as quick as you can, for I must hurry back to my mistress."

The cheque being for such a large sum the man went away and consulted one of his chiefs. No difficulty was made. Marryat's story was perfectly straight | | 329 forward, and the money was handed to her. She put it into a small bag, clasped it tightly to her side, and was about to leave the bank when she suddenly found herself face to face with no less a person than Mary Hume.

"Well, Marryat?" said Miss Mary Hume. She was entering the bank just as Marryat was going out.

"Yes, Miss, I hope I find you well," said Marryat, by no means disconcerted, although the colour had come into her cheeks for a moment and then faded.

"You find me quite well," replied Mary. "Don't waste time talking about my appearance. I want to cash five pounds; come back with me while I am doing my business, I have one or two questions to ask you."

"Oh, Miss, you'll excuse me, but I really cannot wait. I have got to go back to my mistress at once."

"It is impossible that Mrs. Henley can be in a hurry for you just now. I will not let you go--I shall make a fuss. Here, come back with me." Mary laid her hand authoritatively on Marryat's arm. She drew her back into the bank.

It did not take long to get her five pounds cashed. She went out again into the street with the five sovereigns in her purse.

"You also have been drawing money," she said, "and doubtless for a larger sum."

"A slightly larger sum," replied Marryat in a dubious, carefully modulated voice.

"You are still altogether on the side of Mrs. Henley?"

"Of course I am on the side of that dear, wronged, and innocent lady."

"And how is Mr. Henley--is he still alive?"

"When I left home he was very ill indeed," replied Marryat. "I won't tell her any more," thought the | | 330 woman. "I have got three thousand pounds of Mrs. Henley's, and it will be a long time before Miss Mary Hume could supply me with an equal sum of money. For the present I am altogether on the side of Mrs. Henley--altogether on her side. I must get rid of Miss Hume, and as quickly as possible."

"Well, Miss," she said,"what else have you to say?"

"I am going in a hansom as far as Russell Square," said Mary. "After attending to one or two small matters there I am going down to the Grange, as I want to see Ethel and my father. You may as well come back with me by the same train."

"No, Miss, I could not possibly do that. I must return to the Grange by the very next train."

"There won't be a train until half-past eleven, and it is half-past ten now," said Mary. "You do no good by not coming with me. I insist upon your doing so."

"And I insist upon having my own way, Miss. I am not your servant and I won't be ordered by you. There, Miss, that will do, I'm in a hurry. I have different things to transact for my mistress."

Marryat suddenly slipped her hand from Mary's arm, and the next moment had turned down a side street and disappeared.

"Now what does this mean?" thought the angry girl. "She was drawing a large sum from the bank, she had a packet in her hand, and she certainly looked confused when she saw me. She was here on Kate's business. I wonder what I shall discover when I go back to the Grange. I wish I had not let her go. Well, anyhow, I shall take the half-past eleven home. I told Aunt Maud to expect me back when she saw me. I am more certain than ever that we are on the eve | | 331 of a terrible dénouement, and I cannot rest until I learn myself the tidings at the Grange. It is very odd Marryat being in London, and at so early an hour in the morning. It seems like a sort of Providence my meeting her."

Accordingly, Mary, pleased at being able to act, and act quickly, got into her hansom and drove straight to Russell Square.

"Well," said her aunt when she saw her, "have you heard from the Grange yet?"

"No, and I am so anxious at not hearing that I am going down there at once," said Mary.

"I would not do that if I were you, dear," said the good lady. "You will find yourself rather in the way."

"In the way or not it is my home, Aunt Maud, and I am going back just to see how things are," replied Mary. "I may or may not return to dinner. Don't wait meals for me. I can have a cup of tea whenever I come in, I suppose?"

"Certainly," was Mrs. Stirling's reply.

Mary took another hansom and drove to the railway station. She was just in time to catch her train, but there was no sign of Marryat at the station.

"So she has not taken this train. How queer it all is!" thought Mary. She sat back in her carriage. She was not filled with sorrow with regard to Ralph, although she had known him all her life. Every faculty of her mind, every power within her, was absorbed in one thing. Was she or was she not on the eve of a discovery which would prove Kate Henley to be an adventuress--an impostor? If so, she and Ethel were rich beyond their wildest dreams. The | | 332 thought of all the money that might be hers, that in all probability was hers, filled Mary's soul with the most curious, terrible, overweening sense of avarice. She was an affectionate girl by nature, she could love well and truly those who really happened to suit her or took her fancy. At school she had been a good girl, working industriously, striving to get to the head of her class, but now everything was altered, all her nature seemed turned upside down. She was in the mood to be cruel, to be hard, to be unjust.

The train drew up at the wayside station nearest to the Grange, and Mary got out. There was no cab waiting and no carriage from the Grange, as she had not announced her intended visit, but it did not take her long to walk the two miles from the station, and she arrived at the house just before lunch. Mrs. Hume was crossing the wide hall when she was suddenly startled by feeling Mary's hand on her arm. She turned round in some perplexity. When she saw her daughter, and caught a glimpse of her face, she started and changed colour.

"What is it, Mary? Oh, I beseech of you, don't talk too loudly."

"How is he?" said Mary. "Is he still alive?"

"He is, and the strange thing is he is a little better," said Mrs. Hume.

"Why should not he be better?"

"Oh, my dear, if you had been here last night and this morning you would not ask that question. The doctor gave him up; he thought there was not the ghost of a chance for him. All last night he sat up with him expecting him to breathe his last every moment, but between five and six o'clock the crisis came. He fell asleep and slept for a couple of hours; | | 333 he is, of course, still in great danger, but certainly slightly on the mend. If nothing adverse occurs, nothing to worry him, he may revive."

"What should worry him? He has every care. This whole house has been turned topsy-turvy for his benefit," said Mary in a bitter tone.

"Mary, I cannot understand you. Don't you even love our poor dear Ralph?"

"Oh yes, I am fond enough of Ralph, but when I see a man making such an arrant, absolute fool of himself I cannot quite admire him," said Mary. "But that is neither here nor there. He has every comfort. Why do you speak in that despairing tone?"

"I am in great trouble, and so is your uncle--and so for that matter is the doctor. We do not know what to think."

"What about?" asked Mary.

"It is Kate."

"Kate, what of her?" Mary grasped her mother's arm so tightly that Mrs. Hume pulled herself away.

"Don't, child, don't," she said. "Mary, you hurt me."

"Oh, mother, you know I don't mean to do that," said Mary in a softer tone. "But come in here and tell me. Kate--what about her?"

"Well, Ralph is asleep now, but he has been asking for her. She ought to be present. The slightest agitation just now may have a fatal effect. We don't know where Kate is."

"You--don't--know--where--Kate--is?" repeated Mary slowly, pausing between each word, her dark eyes lit up with a fierce light. "You don't know where Kate is--but surely she is here?"

"That's just it; she is not here. She must have | | 334 left here early this morning, but we know nothing about her. She and Marryat have both gone."

"Gone! Oh, surely they will be back any moment. I thought Marryat was coming back by this train with me. Perhaps she has already arrived."

"I fear not, child, but I will ring and inquire."

Mrs. Hume approached the bell, rang it, and when the servant appeared inquired if Marryat had come back.

"No, ma'am," was the reply. "Neither Mrs. Henley nor Marryat have yet returned."

"Then they will come by the next train," said Mary. "There is no use worrying about them."

"Yes, but there is, for they have evidently gone away with some sort of design, and Ralph's chance of life depends on his wife being with him. He has asked for her twice already, and only that he is so overpowered by the effects of his illness, mischief might have already ensued."