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CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE Hydra did not reach Plymouth until between eight and nine on the following morning. Mr. Hume had arrived by train some hours previously, but supposing that there vas no special need to hurry, as he was well aware that the great liner would remain for several hours, he went first to his hotel, ordered a good breakfast, and having partaken of it lay down to sleep until between ten and eleven o'clock.

Meanwhile things that he little guessed were happening on board theHydra. Half-an-hour before she reached her destination, Kate Henley, who had been lying perfectly still in her berth all night, her face turned away from Marryat, slowly opened her eyes and rose. Marryat, worn out with much watching, had dropped into a deep sleep. Kate glanced at the sleeping woman: she herself was absolutely quiet and collected. Just for a moment, however, a queer expression came into her eyes. She dressed swiftly, putting on an old waterproof cloak and a black felt hat. She tied a thick veil over her face, and then softly took up a little bag which Marryat had laid on the table at the foot of her berth. Kate opened the bag. She removed from it the bundle of notes and gold which Marryat had got from the bank the day before. Opening this, she softly removed about two hundred pounds' worth of money, slipped a few sovereigns into her purse, and put the rest into a little bag, | | 359 which she wore round her neck. She then returned the remainder of the money to Marryat's bag.

"They will make up to her, she sins for gold alone," thought the girl. She looked steadily, as the thought came to her, at the sleeping woman, and then turning left her state cabin. She ran up the companion and found herself on deck. Some other passengers who were to meet friends at Plymouth were at the same time making their appearance, and just as Kate arrived on the scene a tender was swiftly running up alongside the Hydra. A weather-beaten sailor appeared, and Kate asked him an eager question.

"Can I go ashore in that boat?" she said, "I want to do so for a little, I have some things to buy that I forgot before I started. How long will the Hydra remain in Plymouth?"

"Until six o'clock this evening, ma'am," replied the man.

Kate thanked him and hurried towards the tender; some other passengers were also going ashore. No one specially remarked her in her quiet dress, and her thick veil disguised her face. She took her seat, and in ten minutes time had landed on one of the quays. She then walked quickly in a direction where a vast lot of shipping was lying at anchor. As she got rapidly over the ground she came face to face with a sailor, looked full at him, and suddenly stopped.

"I am in great trouble," said Kate, "can you help me? I want help very badly; I can pay for anything you are willing to do."

"The man looked her all over. Even in the midst of her trouble and in her plain dress she looked dainty and graceful.

"I'll do anything in my power for you, Miss," he | | 360 answered, and a look of sympathy filled his blue eyes.

Kate hastily opened her purse.

"Here are a couple of sovereigns," she said; she slipped the money into his palm as she spoke. "Now this is what I want you to do. I am anxious to get to France with as little delay as possible; I have not a moment to lose. Do you happen to know of any vessel going to France to-day--going at once, I mean?"

The sailor scratched his head in perplexity, and looked along the line of shipping, then he glanced again at Kate, and suddenly a sparkle of intelligence came into his eyes.

"I don't know much about the vessels along here, Miss, but doubtless some of them will be putting out to sea; but I wonder, Miss, if--"

"What?" asked Kate; she almost stamped her foot in her eagerness.

"I belong to Mr. Johnson's yacht, Miss, the Sea Fowl. I wonder if he would let me take you on board. I might say, for instance, Miss, you was my young woman; you wouldn't mind, would you? We are going straight to Cherbourg."

"Oh, I don't mind what you call me," replied Kate; "do ask him, I won't trouble him in any way. I'll make it worth your while," she added.

"Very well, Miss, then I'll have a try. I have a young woman of my own, and I can pass you off for her as easy as possible. You won't betray me, Miss, that's all I ask?"

"Of course not."

The man and Kate walked quickly together; they found themselves on a certain quay. The sailor | | 361 pointed to a bench, told her to sit there and wait for him, and went away. He returned in a quarter of an hour; his eyes were now sparkling.

"It's all right, Miss; I said that you was my sweetheart; you didn't mind."

"I mind nothing," answered Kate.

"Mr. Johnson says you can certainly come on board, Miss, and that I may look after you during the voyage. I said you were going to see your sick mother at Cherbourg. It's all right, it's as trim and neat as ever it can be."

"Thank you," answered Kate, "you shall have five pounds to give to your real sweetheart when you land me at Cherbourg."

"That's very generous of you, Miss, and will hurry on our wedding day. Now will you come this minute? The Sea Fowl is to start in half-an-hour, the wind being favourable."

Kate eagerly followed the sailor. In a short time she found herself on board the Sea Fowl, the man secured a sheltered nook for her where she could remain quite unnoticed, and in half-an-hour the gay little yacht was under full white sail towards Cherbourg.

There was a large party on board, and Kate, from the retirement of her sheltered corner, could hear their merry laughter floating on the breeze. No one molested her, no one noticed her. The sailor, James Harris by name, came constantly to ask her if she required anything.

"I must be attentive to you, Miss, in case any one should suspect," he said, and Kate faintly smiled through her thick veil and told him that he was treating her as a gentleman should.

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In the afternoon the yacht reached Cherbourg. Kate landed, paid the good-natured sailor his money, who thanked her heartily and said he wished he could do something for her. Finally he added, "If I hadn't a sweetheart of my own I'd like well to have you, Miss; but there, I'm glad I've done you a service."

Kate held out her slim hand which he wrung, but she had no words for him; indeed she had few words for any one just then. Her whole condition can only be described as that of a stunned person. She had just sufficient presence of mind to inquire for the necessary trains which would take her to the South of France, and when she finally found herself in an empty compartment she sat with her eyes closed, not eating, not even sleeping, only enduring.

In process of time, at the end of many dreary hours--how many she could never remember--Kate found herself once more in the old familiar places. There was not a stone of the old half-French, half-Italian town which she did not remember with a sort of passionate mingling of love and longing. She walked rapidly through the streets of Mentone, and at last entered the hotel which she had helped her mother to start.

Mrs. Mildmay had made a very good thiag out of her Hotel Pension. The winter season would presently begin, and already the pension was filling with guests.

Kate entered the outer hall and inquired for Mrs. Mildmay. She asked to be shown immediately into her presence. The concierge hesitated, but presently yielded to her entreaties, and took her into a small parlour at the end of a long passage. Mrs. Mildmay was sitting with her back to the door. She was | | 363 busily engaged summing up accounts. Kate watched her for half a moment without speaking. She saw very little change in her mother. Her slim figure looked just as it always did. There was a half mournful, half piteous, shrug of the shoulders, which the widow had always been in the habit of indulging in. She shrugged her shoulders now, then, seeming to realise that there was another presence in the room, turned her head. She saw Kate, and her face grew white as death.

"Child!" she said, "child, you have come back. What is it?" Then she suddenly recovered herself. "Oh, Mrs. Henley, ma'am, I am pleased to see you," she cried, and she let both her hands drop to her sides, looking like one who has got her death-blow.

Kate ran quickly up to her.

"I have come back, mother; you need not speak of me as any other but what I really am. It is all up, everything is a dismal failure, and he is dead. If you listen hard you will hear the church bells; they are tolling for him; they ring in my ears all the time. I have come back to you; I want you to hold your hands tightly over my ears; I want you to shut out the sound of the bells. I have come back to you, to you."

Mrs. Mildmay stared at Kate for a moment without speaking, then she flung her arms round her, pressed her down into a chair, and clasped her tightly to her bosom.

"Oh, my child," she said, "oh, thank God, thank God!" She clasped the girl tighter and tighter to her, and the slow tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. "Oh, my child, oh, my darling!" she kept repeating.

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Kate did not utter a sound. She enjoyed for a full moment the joy of this close embrace; she pressed her face against her mother's bosom, but her lips were shut as tightly as if they would never open again.

"What is it, what is it?" began Mrs. Mildmay. She was in raptures at first, but rapture was quickly followed by anxiety.

"Shut and lock the door first, mother," answered poor Kate. She flung off her hat and pressed her hands to her eyes.

"Don't you hear the bells, mother?"

"No, no, my darling, but you look ill; you are dreadfully ill; what is it, Kitty?" she said.

"I am glad I look ill, mother, for I want so terribly to die; it is the only good thing that can happen to me now. I am a failure, everything else a failure, and he--he is dead. I never, never, when I thought of all possible horrors, imagined that he could die. I loved him, oh, how much, how much! I loved him desperately, but God has punished me, and mother, I have come back to you."

"And you are really Kate Mildmay once more?" said the elder woman.

"No, I am Kate Henley, but I was Kate Mildmay. Let Kate Bouverie lie in her grave; we will put a fresh headstone up with her real name."

"But Kitty, Kitty," said the elder woman in alarm, "they will punish you; the arm of the law will arrest you; they will put you in prison!"

"I don't care," answered Kate, "where they put me; for to-night at least I am safe, and I shall rest in your dear arms, that is the only thing I want for to-night. After all, you are my mother, and in time | | 365 of great trial there is no one, no one like a mother. I have been so starved, so hunted, so wretched, and now it seems as if I were going to be rested. Oh, mother, it was not worth while, it is never, never, never worth while to do wrong, mother."

Mrs. Mildmay rose softly. She unpinned Kate's hat and took off her travelling cloak, then she went into the kitchen near by and presently returned with hot water, and towels and soap, and she washed the tired dusty face of the worn-out girl, and brushed out her long, thick hair, and finally made her lie down on the little sofa in the tiny sitting-room.

"Nobody will guess that you are here," she said. "When you have got over this, if you still wish to go on acting the part you have acted for so long, you can do so, but to-night you can relieve yourself by not acting at all, you can just be your own self to-night."

"That is so nice, mother," answered Kate. She looked at her mother with half-closed eyes. "How have you got on, mother?"

"Very well indeed," answered Mrs. Mildmay; the place flourishes, I have put by money. I will tell you all presently."

"Yes, thank you, mother, I'd like to hear."

"Now I am going to get you a cup of tea."

"That would be nice," replied Kate. To each remark of her mother's during the rest of the evening she always made the same answer, "That would be nice." Everything seemed nice to her at that moment. She had been tossing about so long, but at last she had entered into the best haven of all, the haven of her mother's faithful love.

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Mrs. Mildmay made toast and English tea, and brought them to her daughter.

"Now you are to sleep," said the widow.

"I could sleep, oh, so soundly, mother, if those bells would stop ringing."

"Let me hold your hand, and you won't listen to the bells any more," said Mrs. Mildmay.

"Yes, I must listen to them; I hear them in my dreams; they have followed me all the way from the Grange, near London. I thought when I left the Grange that, of course, I should not hear them, but I heard them in the London lodgings, and on board the ship. Oh, that awful night on board the Hydra! and when I was running away from Mary Hume, and from the rest of the family, and from his dead body, mother,his dead body--I heard those bells ringing. They rung slowly, they rung out his life, they measured his age--one--two--three--four--the years of his life, mother, up to twenty-eight they rung, then they stopped. I heard them ringing out his age on board the yacht that brought me to Cherbourg, and I heard them in the many trains I took to come to you, and I hear them now that I am with you. Mother, do listen; can't you hear? They're so distinct. He is dead--dead--and I don't care for anything else."

"My poor child, my poor child, it is your mind that is disturbed. Your nerves have given way. I will give you a little bromide; that will quiet you.

"Do, mother, but I don't think anything will quiet me; only I will take whatever you give me. It is nice to have you close to me again. Oh, mother, mother, it was not worth while. All the time I have | | 367 had no pleasure, no happiness; I have been flying, flying from one danger to another, and I have had no rest and no joy. It was the way of the transgressor, and it was hard, bitter hard. But kiss me, mother, kiss me once again."