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CHAPTER XXXIII

MRS. HENLEY and Marryat stole softly from the Grange under shadow of the darkness. Kate felt as if she were fleeing from Death himself; she might even meet his grim form on the threshold--even now he might be entering the house to carry her husband away. She was possessed by a mad fear in which all natural feeling was forgotten, or overcome. Her terror was so great that she was doing unconsciously the very worst thing for herself; she was drawing down suspicion upon her own actions in a way she had never done before; she was letting the reins loose, she was letting herself go.

Marryat, however, had no intention of allowing herself to go; she had all her wits about her; she knew a house where she could take Kate, and as soon as they reached London Marryat conveyed her mistress in a cab to the house of a friend of hers in Great Marlborough Street. This woman, a Mrs. Cunliffe, let lodgings. She had known Marryat for a long time, and a few hurried words which the maid spoke put her sufficiently into possession of facts to cause her to bustle about and make herself agreeable.

"Poor young lady!" she said, "I quite understand; there's no one occupying the drawing-room floor now, Miss Marryat."

"Have a fire lighted," said Marryat in a determined voice: "the lady is very tired and will want | | 321 some breakfast." She took Kate upstairs. The drawing-room floor was well furnished in the true lodging-house style. There were two rooms, one opening with folding doors into the other. Marryat conducted her mistress into the front drawing-room, shut the folding doors, and then proceeded to take off Kate's boots and to warm her frozen feet.

"Now, my love, you shall have your tea, and afterwards you will lie down and I will hold your hands," said Marryat; "you must confide in me now, my dear, I am all you have left. You have given up everybody else, but your Marryat will be faithful to you. Now, shut your weary eyes and go off into a bit of a sleep."

Kate was so dazed that she was glad even to be guided by Marryat. All her old spirit and defiance had left her. She felt like a hunted thing torn by hundreds of furies.

"Is it to-day the Hydra sails?" she asked, and she raised herself on her elbow and fixed her eyes on Marryat's face.

"At two o'clock," said Marryat--"between two and three to-day the Hydra sails--at least so I am told."

"You and I will go in her, our berths are taken," said the girl.

"Just as you please, dear madam. Now, here is your tea. Thank you, Mrs. Cunliffe, this is just what we wanted."

Curious Mrs. Cunliffe had brought up the tea herself and stared full at Kate, who, notwithstanding her sorrow, her disarranged locks, and her untidy dress, still bore traces of some of the most remarkable beauty the good woman had ever seen.

"Well, to be sure, she's quite a picter," she ex | | 322 claimed, throwing up her hands and apostrophising Kate's recumbent figure.

Marryat motioned to her to leave the room.

"I have no notion of Cunliffe sharing in this thing," she thought. "It will be me and my mistress against the world from this out. Well, I believe we can defy the world, that I do."

Accordingly, when her mistress had taken what tea she could, and even had tried to swallow a spoonful of some Brand's Essence which the landlady happened to have in the house, the maid sat down and made a hearty breakfast herself. She drank a couple of cups of tea and ate some poached eggs and bacon. This meal made Marryat feel quite refreshed. She then went and faced her mistress.

"And now, my dear," she said, "the time has come for full confidence."

"For what?" said Kate. She was lying on the sofa with her eyes half closed, "for full what?"

"Confidence, dearie--the reposing of that secret, which worrits and frets you almost past enduring, in the breast of your faithful Marryat. Ah, my dear, there's no one will be truer to you than I'll be, but you must tell me all, that you must, my love."

Kate gazed at her at first vacantly, then her eyes brightened--a gleam even of her old sunshiny, cheerful humour twinkled in the depths of her dark eyes. She sat up on her elbow.

"And you really think--" she began.

"I think, dear, that either you or Miss Mary Hume is to be my mistress in the future, and the one who pays me best is to be chosen. I have got the choice. Remember, I can tell things about you, Mrs. Henley, which, joined to Miss Hume's suspicions, | | 323 will make uncertainty certainty. There is a secret beyond doubt. You can confide in me or you need not; it all rests with yourself."

"And suppose I do confide in you," said Kate; "supposing I do, what will you expect?"

"I will expect, my love, that you will provide for me handsomely out of that fortune which doubtless, darling, you have no right to possess."

"Now, what can you mean?" said Kate, taken off her guard by Marryat's words. In truth the woman had shot a bow at a venture.

"Ah," thought Marryat, "that went home. I was right so far. I think I will name a big sum--in for a penny, in for a pound."

"Well, darling, if I can see you through this I'll expect to be a rich woman. You don't object, do you?"

"I will make you comfortable, but I am too distracted and wretched to think out any plans at present," said Kate. "It is impossible that I should really confide in you, Marryat."

"Nonsense, my love, you don't stir from this room until I know all. I have but to telegraph to Mr. Hume to the Grange and he will come here, and I have but to telegraph to Miss Mary Hume in Russell Square and she will come here, and it is only to say what I have observed with my own eyes, that funny little woman who came to see you yesterday, and all the rest. There are a few things I have got to say, and I will say them, love. You have but to choose, I will be faithful to you if you are faithful to me, but not otherwise."

"You have said that very often," said Kate, "but what does faithfulness to you mean?"

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"It means that I am to know everything, my darling."

"I wish you would not call me your darling. Why you treat me as if--as if we were in the same walk of life."

"Which we very much are, surely, dear, only I don't hold any disgraceful secret, and have done nothing that I could be ashamed of. If you were not ashamed of something you had done you would not act in the queer way you are now doing, and with your poor husband, so to speak, on the brink of the grave, if indeed he has not crossed the gulf; it is certain sure that he can do nothing for you now."

"Oh, my Ralph, my Ralph!" said the miserable girl. "Oh, I have left you, left you when you were so ill. Oh, Marryat, what must they think of me at the Grange? I think I will go back."

"Too late now; you have got to tell," said Marryat. She stood in front of Kate, her eyes grew large and big. It seemed to the tired excited girl that Marryat's whole frame developed and strengthened in power.

"Oh, what shall I do?" she said with a little gasp.

"Just do what I tell you and all will be well," said Marryat. "Now, that's right, lie back and you'll whisper it to me."

"But I cannot, I cannot. If you told again I--I should be ruined."

"I will never tell while you pay me enough," said Marryat.

Kate hesitated. After all, should she tell? It would be a relief to impart that secret to another, and Marryat of all people under the sun was the least likely to betray her. Kate was sure to be a | | 325 better mistress to her, to pay her more than Mary Hume would.

Mary Hume was all for justice being done. If Marryat helped her to discover her secret she would pay her something, but not a great deal, not more than she could possibly help. Kate lay and thought. The words were almost trembling on her lips. Suddenly, however, a complete revulsion of feeling came over her, she started suddenly to her feet.

"I cannot and will not tell you at present," she said. "But I will do this. When we are safe on board the Hydra, far away from England on our way to Australia, then I will tell you, but not before. You may do your worst, you may telegraph to my uncle and Mary Hume, I can scarcely be more wretched than I am, but I will not tell you that which troubles me until we are safe on board and out at sea."

Marryat looked at her mistress for some time.

"And you'll faithfully promise to tell me then?"

"Yes, I will faithfully promise."

"And you'll give me something to make it worth my while to go with you?"

"Oh, what do you mean?"

"A hundred pounds will do," said Marryat, "a hundred pounds in my pocket and all expenses paid, and I to make my own special terms when I know your secret."

"Very well."

"Then we had best go straight to the bank," said Marryat, "that is, as soon as it opens. You'll want to draw money to take away with you, my dear, and you'll want me to help you. I thought of your cheque-book when you were in such a state yesterday, and I have brought it with me. If you like I'll go straight | | 326 to the bank and draw the money for you. How much will you want?"

"Oh, I scarcely dare to draw very much, for I took a big sum yesterday."

"But you will want at least a thousand pounds," say Marryat in a determined voice, "and for that matter you might as well have two or three thousand, if you are going to Australia. You will want your money; don't you see that you will?"

"I suppose I shall. Oh, I don't know what to do. I suppose they would send it to me afterwards."

"I will manage it," said Marryat. "You just give me a cheque for three thousand pounds--that will leave a fair balance, and then if the worst comes to the worst you and I can enjoy ourselves in Australia. It strikes me, my pretty lady, that secret of yours will get out whether you wish it or not before long, and you and I may as well be away with our three thousand pounds."

"Oh, I wish I might die, I wish my miserable life might end," said poor Kate.

"It's no good your wishing, dear. As you made your bed so you must lie on it. Now then, just fill in a cheque for the money, and I'll go and fetch it and come back to take you to Tilbury."