"But you don't know the man's character," protested Hench. "He may have been a very harmless person."
"A very cunning and plotting person, anyhow," said Vane quickly. "Else, why the carefully worded advertisement and the strange place chosen for the meeting. No, Owain, my conjecture may be wild, but there is some truth in it, I am sure. Madoc intended to get rid of you, and your lucky stars led some one to get rid of him, before you appeared on the scene."
"My lucky stars," said Hench, rising. "How can you say that, when I am in danger of being arrested for his death?"
"There is no danger just now, until Madame Alpenny moves. And when she does move we may be able to counterplot her."
"She will move as soon as I enter into my inheritance."
"I know that. Therefore, if I were you, I should not take up my inheritance just yet."
"How can I prevent that? Gilberry & Gilberry will take immediate steps to place me in possession, and the business is sure to get into the newspapers. Then Madame Alpenny will see that I am rich and come to bother me."
"Of course. But you can tell Gilberry & Gilberry to hold over action until you learn who murdered your uncle. Once you find the true assassin you will be safe from the malice of Madame Alpenny and all other people."
"Oh, there is no one can spot me but Madame Alpenny," said Owain confidentially.
"Not even Spruce?" asked Vane significantly.
"Certainly not. He knows nothing about my affairs."
"You told me that he knew about the papers you were to see on your twenty-fifth birthday?"
"Oh, yes. But those papers won't connect me with Uncle Madoc's death. Only the advertisement can do that, and I don't suppose Spruce has set eyes on it."
"Let us hope not," said Vane uneasily. "But since he heard the name Rhaiadr when the meeting with your father was explained by Madame Alpenny, he certainly might put two and two together if he did see the advertisement. And if the old woman saw it, why shouldn't Spruce see it?"
"My dear Jim, why manufacture trouble, when we have enough to deal with as things stand? If Spruce does get on the trail, I shall deal with him very promptly, I assure you. I'm not afraid of that little rat."
"Rats can be dangerous, Owain, and Spruce is a meddlesome animal always on the make. You with your ten thousand a year would be a god-send to him. Now, if you will take my advice----"
"What is it?"
"This. Tell Gilberry & Gilberry to let things remain as they are, until you tell them to place you legally in possession of your property. They can look after the ten thousand odd pounds coming to you and allow your cousin the four or five hundred a year to which she is entitled. Then go down to Cookley as Owain Hench and look about for any possible person who might have knifed your uncle."
"But Gilberry & Gilberry will think it queer."
"What the devil does it matter what they think? So long as they get their fees all they have to do is to execute your orders. And if you like, you can make a romance out of the business and tell them that you are going down to Cookley to see your cousin under your false name, so as to find out what she is like. Of course, you can hint that you may fall in love----"
"Oh, rats!" interrupted Hench inelegantly. "I'm not likely to fall in love. I don't believe that I understand what love is, seeing what a hash I made of my attentions to Zara."
"You made a hash because you didn't love her, old son. But you may fall in love with your cousin."
"Don't anticipate the worst," said Owain dryly. "Anyhow, your advice is good, Jim. I shall tell Gilberry & Gilberry to hold over and will give them to understand that I wish to see the beautiful heiress I have dispossessed. As Hench, I shall go to Cookley and look round for the criminal. With my changed appearance I don't suppose I'll be spotted."
"No, I think you are safe so far," said Vane, looking at his friend in a critical manner, "but don't risk seeing that girl at the Bull Inn. She may recognize your voice. And I'll tell you what, Owain, I'll give you an introduction to an old aunt of mine, Mrs. Perage, who is a great swell in those parts. Her respectability may help you to hold your own amongst the very suspicious, narrow-minded people one finds in the country."
"Jim, you're a brick."
"Oh, fudge! I'll loot you when you enter into your kingdom," and Vane laughed uproariously at his small joke. "See if I don't make you pay up!"
CHAPTER IX
GWEN
Naturally, Gilberry & Gilberry were extremely astonished when the heir to Cookley Grange refused to enter into his kingdom immediately. Such a wonderful reluctance to enjoy a large income and a splendid position had never before come under their notice. Fortunately, however, Mr. Samuel Gilberry, the senior partner, who attended particularly to the business of the estate, was of a romantic turn of mind, unusual in a lawyer, and Owain's suggestion of acting the part of a disguised prince rather appealed to him. Adopting Vane's suggestion, Hench--as he persisted in calling himself for the time being--artfully pointed out that it would be just as well to make the acquaintance of his cousin as a stranger before revealing himself. He did not wish her, as he put it, to be biassed by the fact that he was the son of his father. "For you see, sir," he said to the old gentleman, who was a white-bearded benevolent person, somewhat like the traditional Father Christmas, "so far as I can gather from the papers which my father left behind him, these brothers, who are the parents of Gwen and myself, were not friends."
"They hated one another fervently, if you don't mind my saying so," was the emphatic response of the old lawyer, as he took a pinch of snuff.
"I don't mind your stating the truth, Mr. Gilberry, which is what I want to get at," replied Hench readily. "Well then, admitting that the two hated one another, it is more than likely that Uncle Madoc had no great love for me."
"He had not, my young friend. I pointed out to him frequently that as he had never set eyes on you, he could scarcely form any judgment, good, bad or indifferent. But he declared that you were the son of your father and that no good could come out of Nazareth."
"Quite so. And doubtless he passed on his opinion to his daughter."
"I think it is extremely likely, although I cannot speak positively, Mr. Owain," said the solicitor. "By the way, I may as well call you by that name, since you refuse to take your proper appellation, and I don't like to call you Mr. Hench."
"I don't mind what you call me," Owain assured him, "so long as you don't let the cat out of the bag. My cousin is sure to have a bad opinion of me, since her father was so bitter. This being the case, I shall have no chance of becoming friendly with her if I present myself as her cousin. I do not wish to carry on the feud, so it is necessary for me to gain Gwen's good opinion. Therefore, under the name my father adopted, I shall make her acquaintance as a stranger, and win her friendship entirely on my own merits."
"It is rather a fantastical way of acting, and is scarcely business-like," was Gilberry's reply. "All the same the idea is not without merit. I am quite ready to help you, and can do so, by saying that you are abroad."
"I don't think it is even necessary to say as much. Let Gwen know that I have communicated with you, and have decided to wait for a time before taking over the estate. She can put it down to eccentricity, or to my late father's influence, if she likes. Anyhow, I don't suppose she will trouble to search very deeply into the matter, and will probably be pleased that I don't take possession of Cookley Grange immediately. She can continue to live there until I give her notice to quit."
Gilberry laughed and shook his head. "Miss Evans is a very decided young lady, Mr. Owain," he remarked in a judicial manner, "and having her own income of five hundred a year, she has already quitted the Grange."
"Because she expected me to take possession?"
"Yes."
"There!" cried Hench triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you that she was biassed by her father. Has she left Cookley?"
"No. She has gone to stay with a very charming old lady in the neighbourhood, called Mrs. Perage."
"Better and better. That will enable me to make her acquaintance without unduly forcing myself upon her. My friend, Mr. Vane, who is a barrister----"
"Yes! Yes! I know the name. I have heard that he is clever. Well?"
"Well, he has given me a letter of introduction to Mrs. Perage, who is his aunt."
Mr. Samuel Gilberry rubbed his hands and chuckled. "Very good--very good indeed, my young friend. It is quite a romance. Now, to carry the same to a proper conclusion, may I suggest that you should fall in love with Miss Evans?"
Hench shook his head doubtfully. "Private feelings can't be ordered about like private soldiers," he remarked dryly. "I am not the kind of man to fall in love, Mr. Gilberry."
"Pooh! Pooh! A handsome young fellow like you is sure to experience the grand passion. And let me tell you that Miss Evans is a beautiful girl, both clever and sensible. If you could manage to marry her," went on the lawyer coaxingly, "think how delightfully you would end the family feud. And after all, poor girl, it is rather hard for her to be reduced to five hundred a year after enjoying, through her father, ten thousand per annum."
"Oh, as to that," said Owain promptly, "you can allow her two or three thousand out of my income."
"She wouldn't take it, seeing that your consent is necessary."
"Yet you talk about my marrying her," was Hench's retort. "I have about as much chance of doing that as the man in the moon. However, I shall make her acquaintance as Hench, and see what comes of it. By the way, doesn't she know the name my father took in place of Evans?"
"No. Your late uncle never mentioned it. As Owain Hench you are quite safe in making her acquaintance. She will never think that you are her cousin, unless you let her see how you spell your Christian name. The Welsh spelling may give her a hint, and she is very sharp, remember."
"If I have occasion to write it, I shall spell the name in the English way. I don't suppose that will be necessary, anyhow. Well, that's all right. Act as we have decided and I shall go down to Cookley to carry out my romance, as you call it, Mr. Gilberry. One question I should like to ask you, however, before leaving."
"And that is, Mr. Owain---?"
"Who murdered my uncle?" Mr. Gilberry took a pinch of snuff and shook his venerable head. "Really, it is hard to say, unless it was that tramp who asked the way to the Gipsy Stile, Mr. Owain. I suppose you saw all about that in the papers?"
Hench winced, but recovered himself immediately. "Yes, I did, Mr. Gilberry. But what reason could that tramp have had to murder my uncle. Not robbery, if the report of the inquest is to be believed, for then it was said that neither the money, nor the watch, nor the jewellery had been taken."
"Exactly. So far as I can see, there was no reason why this man should have murdered Mr. Evans." Mr. Gilberry knitted his brows and looked perplexed. "Maybe it was revenge," he concluded doubtfully.
"Revenge. Then my uncle had enemies?"
"Dozens, I should think," said the lawyer coolly. "Mr. Madoc Evans was a very cantankerous person. I may say that much ill of the dead. He quarrelled with many people, and, moreover, was very severe on poaching both as a magistrate and as a landowner. This tramp, for all I know, may have been a poacher who had a grudge against him."
"Do the police think so?"
"The police say nothing, because they have no evidence to go upon," said the lawyer sharply. "The sole person they suspect is the tramp who came to the Bull Inn. But he has disappeared, and they can't find him. However, in the village it is said that the tramp was a poacher, who murdered the Squire out of revenge. You can take or leave that opinion, as you like. The whole thing is a mystery to me, Mr. Owain."
"And to me," said Hench, in all good faith. "I shall never be satisfied until I learn who murdered my uncle."
"That wish does you credit, Mr. Owain," said Mr. Gilberry approvingly, and again the young man winced. "Considering how unfriendly the late Squire was towards your father."
"Well, my father was just as unfriendly towards him," returned Hench with a shrug. "And, as I say, I don't wish to carry on the feud. Good-bye, Mr. Gilberry. When I am settled in Cookley I shall let you know my address and will write you if necessary. You are sure that no one knows my name of Hench as having anything to do with the family at the Grange?"
"I am quite sure, although I don't call one solitary girl a family," chuckled the old man, walking with his client towards the door. "Good-bye, good-bye. I hope--I sincerely hope--that the feud will be ended by your marriage to my late friend's daughter."
"You might as well expect water to run up hill," retorted Hench sceptically, and went on his way, certain that he was not likely to lose his heart.
Consequent on the necessity of preserving the secret of his identity carefully, Hench requested Vane to introduce him by letter to Mrs. Perage as Mr. Hench, suppressing the Christian name, which might have given Gwen a clue, if only from the oddness of the spelling. Vane, on learning that the girl had gone to stay with his aunt, quite approved of this, and both in his letter of introduction and his private epistle to the old lady made all things safe. As Mr. Hench, the young man went down to Cookley, and if he was forced to state what his Christian name was, he resolved to spell it in the English way. That would provoke no remark from Gwen, as "Owen" was not a particularly unusual designation. All the same, Hench felt that he was treading on thin ice. He determined to stay at Cookley as short a time as possible, and to see no more of his cousin than he could help. After all he was going down not to meet her, as Mr. Gilberry believed, but to learn if possible who had murdered the unfortunate Squire.
While reading a newspaper entitled The Setting Sun in the train, Hench received a distinct shock, although by this time he was growing accustomed to being startled. Some amateur detective had written a letter to the editor of this halfpenny evening journal, drawing attention to the advertisement in The Express with reference to the meeting at the Gipsy Stile. Of the name "Rhaiadr" nothing was said, as such was Greek to the writer of the letter. But the fact that some one was invited to meet Squire Evans at the very place and on the very evening when he was murdered was largely commented upon. The very officious person who wrote suggested that the police should try and learn to whom the advertisement was addressed, "when without doubt"--the letter went on to say--"the assassin will be captured."
Although it was rather like asking the authorities to look for a needle in a bottle of hay, seeing that there were eight million people in London to any one of whom the advertisement might have been addressed, Owain felt cold water running down his spine. Not on account of the Hungarian lady, because he agreed with Vane that she would not give information to the police until she learned if he was prepared to marry her daughter. It was Spruce he feared--the little rat who was meddlesome and secretive, and unscrupulous, and who could do much mischief once he got on the trail. From what Vane had said, it was plain that the Nut had rendered his position in the West End untenable owing to his cheating, and the sole chance he had of becoming even tolerable to his former associates--and perhaps not even then--was to return with his pockets full of money. Then, for the sake of winning the same, they might overlook his fault. Probably they would not, but Hench was quite sure that Spruce believed that money would do anything. Naturally, he would do much to get money, being anything but an honourable man as had been ample proved. In Bethnal Green there were few opportunities of making a fortune, and Spruce was not sufficiently clever to take advantage even of what chances there were. Consequently, he would be quite prepared--Hench was certain of this--to get what he could by blackmail. Already he believed that there was some mystery about Hench, and if he saw the advertisement, or the letter which had drawn attention to the same, he would be certain to get at the truth. Having been present at the conversation between Hench and Madame Alpenny when the woman's meeting with his father--Hench's father that is--had been discussed, the word "Rhaiadr" would certainly come again into his mind. Connecting the same with Hench, the young man was convinced that Spruce would venture to accuse him of keeping the appointment and murdering the advertiser. Then if it came out that the dead man was Hench's uncle, so strong a motive was provided that arrest would certainly follow.
It was a very uncomfortable journey for Owain, and he alighted at Cookley Station with the firm idea that he was about to have a trying time. Madame Alpenny was dangerous and so was Spruce, as both wanted cash and both were wholly unscrupulous. However, if either went to the police they were not likely to get what they wanted, so Hench comforted himself with the idea that before taking any action they would find him out and offer to treat. On what he discovered at Cookley would depend his attitude, as if he could only get at the truth he could place the matter in the hands of the police without danger to himself. On the other hand, if he made no discovery likely to prove who was the assassin, it would be necessary to come to some arrangement or risk the consequence. And Hench could not disguise from himself that on the face of it his defence was weak, since the strongest point--that of being a stranger to the dead man--was removed. Certainly, as he had never met Squire Evans, the deceased _was a stranger to him, but the fact that the dead man was his uncle, whose demise would give him ten thousand five hundred a year, assuredly provided a strong motive for the commission of the crime. It was all puzzling and difficult, and dangerous and highly unpleasant. All that Hench could do was to wait and see what Madame Alpenny, and possibly Spruce, would do. Any one who has experienced suspense will understand what agonies this unfortunate young man underwent. It required all his courage and all his nerve to endure the anxiety of the next few days. And to make matters worse, Vane was not at hand to relieve the tension by listening to Owain's fears.
It was with an odd feeling, and not one of safety, that Hench again set foot in Cookley. As he walked down the crooked street he noted how many eyes of both men and women followed his movements, and for the moment believed that he was recognized. But that was impossible, considering the contrast between the rough-bearded tramp who had visited the Bull Inn and the smart, fashionable, clean-shaven young gentleman now strolling complacently through the little town. What the people looked at, especially the women, were his handsome face and distinguished appearance. From a muttered remark or so which his ear caught, Owain understood that they took him for a tourist, who had come to see the lions of the place. Therefore, in this character the young man asked one or two where he could find lodgings. Of course he was at once directed to the inn, but here, for obvious reasons, he did not wish to go. With the idea of finding quiet rooms he had left his portmanteau at the railway station, so as to seek the same unhampered by luggage. For some time he was unsuccessful in his search, until on the outskirts of the village and no great distance from the church he saw a notice in a cottage window of "Apartments to Let." At once he knocked at the door, since the place seemed clean and quiet. A delicate, slender little woman answered his inquiries by stating that she was called Mrs. Bell and had rooms to let. An inspection of these satisfied the young man, although they were rather poorly furnished and decidedly small. At once he took them at the very moderate sum demanded, and Mrs. Bell at his request sent her nephew to the station to get her new lodger's portmanteau. The little woman, who was meek and fragile, at once took a great interest in Hench, as he had kind eyes and a gentle manner. In a short time the two were good friends, and Mrs. Bell congratulated herself that for one month she had such a pleasant-spoken gentleman under her homely roof. She said as much to her big burly nephew when he returned with the portmanteau on his shoulder, and her nephew thoroughly agreed with her, which was natural, seeing that the new lodger had given him half a crown for his trouble. So Hench was made very comfortable by the two, who approved of him more and more every day. Mrs. Bell was a busy bee in the way of looking after household affairs, and Giles her nephew, who was a labourer, brushed Owain's boots and clothes for him. Also--and this was a great point--Mrs. Bell was no gossip and kept very much to herself, so the neighbours heard little about Hench from her. On the whole, the young man decided that he was very well placed.
Hench did not present his letter of introduction to Mrs. Perage straight away, but busied himself in learning what he could of the geography of Cookley. He examined the church, explored the village,--never going into the Bull Inn, by the way,--and even ventured to look at the Gipsy Stile. It gave him a qualm when he found himself on the well-remembered spot, and saw beyond the old brick wall the picturesque Grange, which was now his property. Mrs. Bell, who knew everything about the place and talked freely enough when asked, although she was no scandal-monger, told him how Miss Evans had gone to stay with Mrs. Perage since the death of her father.
"And they do say," said Mrs. Bell, who always prefaced her remarks with this phrase, "that she ain't going to rest until she finds out who killed him."
"Is there any clue?" asked Owain, keeping his face turned away.
"No, there ain't, sir, unless you can call that tramp a clue. He did ask Betsy Jane at the Bull where the Gipsy Stile was, and the old Squire was found there some hours later as dead as mutton. But since then no one's clapped eyes on him, and I don't suppose, sir, as any one ever will."
"Do you think the tramp murdered the Squire?"
"Lord, sir, how do I know!" cried Mrs. Bell in a panic. "I hev enough to do in the house without thinking of murders. But they do say as Squire Evans was a hard man on poachers, as Giles knows, he having got into trouble over a pheasant. It might be, sir, as that tramp was one of them poachers, and done for the Squire. Though to be sure," added the woman, rubbing her nose in a perplexed way, "if he was a poacher hereabouts some one would hev knowed him, and he wouldn't hev had to ask Betsy Jane of the Bull where the stile was. It's my opinion, that for all Miss Gwen's trying she'll never find out who killed her father. And they do say as if the murderer ain't found it won't be any great grief to them as knowed old Mr. Evans."
"What kind of a girl is Miss Evans?" asked Hench irrelevantly.
"Ah!" cried Mrs. Bell, nursing her hands under her apron. "Now they do say, sir, as I knows myself, as she's as nice a young lady as you ever set eyes on. Lovely I call her, and small like me, though quite a lady, which I ain't. She's as loved as her father was hated, and they do say as that's saying a great deal. I do assure you, sir, as we'd rather hev Miss Gwen for the head of the place than this new young Squire, as comes from no one knows where!"
Hench had many conversations about these matters with Mrs. Bell, and gradually came to know a great deal during the next few days. His uncle, it appeared, had been very unpopular, while Gwen was the reverse. Generally, it was quite believed amongst the ancients of the village that the Squire had been murdered by the unknown tramp, who was a poacher, and the verdict was that it served the dead man right, because he was always so hard on the poor. Owain was tolerably sure that the Cookley people would have been quite sorry had the presumed criminal been arrested. But as he was the person in question, he was glad that they had not been troubled to mourn in this way. All the same, in spite of all his questioning, he was unable to learn anything likely to show who had met Squire Evans in Parley Wood. So far his mission to Cookley had proved a complete failure.
Then Destiny intervened to conduct him a step further on the dark path, which was leading him he knew not where. Towards the end of the week, and when he was beginning to feel safer and more at home in the village, he had an adventure, the consequences of which were far-reaching. Owain had gone for a long walk into the surrounding country, and was returning leisurely under the many-coloured glories of the sunset. The weather was warm, the road was dusty, and he paused by a stile to remove his straw hat and allow the breeze to cool his heated brow. Before him was the church, round the square ivy-clothed tower of which the jackdaws were flying; to the right was the road, melting almost imperceptibly into the narrow village street, while to the left ran the same road curving abruptly round a corner into the agricultural lands. So dangerous was this bend in the highway that it was marked with one of those red triangles elevated on a post to warn motorists and cyclists not to move at too great a pace. The injunction was very much needed, and never more so than in the present instance.
Hench leaned idling against the stile enjoying the beauty of the evening and the picturesque character of the landscape. He could not see very far, as the place was muffled with hawthorn hedges and tall trees, but there was a quiet domestic loveliness about the prospect which soothed his tormented soul. Suddenly his eye was caught by a moving figure in the porch of the church, which was under the west window. It was that of a slender girl, not very tall, but singularly graceful. As she came down the path towards the lychgate, he saw that she had a beautiful face, aristocratic in its looks and rather pensive in its expression. Arrayed in white, and with a white sunshade, she stepped daintily through the gate and out on to the dusty road, turning her face towards the village, whither she was evidently going. But scarcely had she taken three steps when a motor-car, without warning, swept swiftly round the dangerous corner. The girl was directly in his path, and although Hench shouted at once, she did not step aside. In fact she seemed to be puzzled by his cry, until the noise of the approaching machine struck her ear. Then she wheeled suddenly and stood where she was, paralysed with fright. Hench saw that in a second she would be cut down and be crushed under those cruel wheels, so plunged suddenly forward and dashed across the roadway to thrust her out of the way. So impetuous was his onset that she was tumbled back into the hedge girdling the churchyard, and Hench himself fell sprawling in the dust. With a whirr, the motor passed and he felt a sharp pain in his ankle. The next moment the car was buzzing at top-speed through the village, its driver evidently afraid of prosecution for neglecting to sound his horn. Meanwhile the girl gathered herself up out of the hedge, and Owain lay still on the highway. The whole event lasted less than a minute--the girl being saved, the man being hurt in the twinkling of an eye. And in the same twinkling of an eye the car had vanished into the unknown.
"Oh!" The young lady hurried towards her preserver. "Are you hurt?"
"My ankle," gasped Hench, sitting up with an effort; "it's giving me a warm time--a wheel went over it, I think--probably it is broken!" and he winced with the pain.
"You have saved my life!"
"Oh, that's all right," replied the young man, speaking with difficulty, for the suffering was great. "You can repay me by helping me home, or by getting assistance. I can't walk by myself."
"Give me your hand," said the girl quickly, quite cool and mistress of herself. "There! Can you get on to your feet?"
"On to one foot, anyhow," gasped Hench, smiling to reassure her, and managed to stand upright. "But my ankle is not so very bad. I don't think it is broken--only crushed."
"That's bad enough. Lean on me. Where do you live?"
"At Mrs. Bell's."
"That's not far away. Come. What a hero you are to save me. My name is Evans."
"Evans!" repeated Owain, and then knew that he had at last met his cousin.
CHAPTER X
VANE'S AUNT
"I should have been killed to a certainty but for the way in which he got me out of the way," said Gwen to Mrs. Perage, when recounting her adventure, and speaking rather incoherently, for the same had shaken her nerves.
Mrs. Perage growled. She was a gaunt, dark-brewed old lady, with a formidable frown and a very determined character. "All's well that ends well," she said in a deep contralto voice, which suggested that of a man. "It might have been worse but for this hero of yours. Did you take the number of the car?"
"My goodness!" cried the girl pettishly. "How could I, when I was lying on my back in the ditch under the churchyard hedge? The car passed like a flash."
"Daresay," sniffed Mrs. Perage aggressively. "Having done wrong, the chauffeur got out of the way. We'll make inquiries and prosecute. I'd hang every one of those road-hogs if I had my way."
"Oh, I don't think it is worth making a fuss about," said Gwen quickly. "I am all right, and his ankle will soon be quite well. I fetched the doctor as soon as I got him to Mrs. Bell's, and there are no bones broken. He will be out and about in a few days."
"His--him--he," said Mrs. Perage sharply. "How indefinite you are. What's the name of your Achilles?"
"Hench. Mr. Hench. So Mrs. Bell told me, and he's been with her for nearly a whole week."
"Hench!" Mrs. Perage rubbed her beaky nose and reflected. "Why, that's the name of Jim's friend he wrote me about. There was a letter of introduction given. Hum! And he's been a week in Cookley without calling. That doesn't look as if he wished to make my acquaintance, Gwen."
"Perhaps he's down here on business," suggested the girl, "and did not wish to call on any one until he was free."
"Well, if he doesn't call on me, I'll call on him," said the old dame grimly; "if only to thank him for saving your life. Hum! Quite romantic the way in which the man's come into your little world, my dear. Quite romantic, I call it." Then, being very much the woman, in spite of her masculine appearance, Mrs. Perage asked a leading question. "Good-looking?"
"Oh!" Gwen clasped her hands. "He's a Greek god."
"So was Vulcan. Anything like that heavenly blacksmith?"
"No. He's tall and splendidly built, with brown hair and brown eyes; clean-shaven with clearly-cut features."
"Hum!" Mrs. Perage brought out the ejaculation with a boom. "You examined him pretty closely, young lady."
"Well, I had plenty of time to do so," retorted Miss Evans pertly. "I helped him to hobble to Mrs. Bell's house, and saw him again to thank him after the doctor had examined his poor ankle. I'm sure you will like him."
"That has yet to be seen. I don't like many people. However, Jim says that Mr. Hench is a thoroughly good fellow, and----"
"I'm sure he is. He saved my life."
"Consequently you intend to tumble head over heels in love with him?"
Gwen grew red. "I certainly don't. All the same he's very nice, and I'm sorry he's suffering pain."
"Pity is akin to love," quoted Mrs. Perage, apparently to the ceiling. The girl laughed and shook her head. "In spite of your matter-of-fact ways and the common-sense you pride yourself upon, you have an imaginative vein, Mrs. Perage. I am sure you see in this accident the beginning of a romance."
"If the young man is handsome, as you say, and a good sort as Jim Vane says, why not?" asked the old lady, smiling. "Besides, I don't believe in chance, as everything is ordained by Providence. I shouldn't be at all surprised if, in the long run, it was proved that Mr. Hench tumbled out of the clouds to be your husband. However, it's early days yet to talk. Wait and see!"
As the result of long experience, dating from the time when she was a small child in short frocks, Gwen knew that it was useless to argue with Mrs. Perage, so she left the room and went upstairs to change her dress. And as a matter of fact, she had been extremely struck with Hench's good looks, as a woman naturally would be. Also, he seemed to be excessively agreeable, and likewise she owed him her life, not forgetting that she was just at that age when girls begin to dream of marriage. Poor Gwen had not passed a very happy time with her cantankerous father, and was not averse to having a pleasant home and an aggressively devoted lover. So she looked at herself in the glass, pondering over Mrs. Perage's remarks, and blushed crimson to find that Hench was taking up much more of her thoughts than she considered altogether proper. That it was a case of love at first sight she would not admit, but on the whole her feelings had a great deal to do with the oft-quoted proverb.
On his side, Owain had no doubts whatever on the subject, strange as it may seem, considering that hitherto he had never been in love. His cousin's lovely face, her sympathetic kindness, together with the undeniable fact that he had saved her life, created in him a number of tumultuous feelings, which he spent the night in analysing. To be sure, he told himself that he did so because the pain of his ankle kept him wide awake, and because thoughts in this direction took his mind off his aching bones. But when the dawn came, he was tolerably certain that he was in love. The feeling he now experienced was wholly different to that with which he had regarded Zara. He had admired the dancer in a cool, reflective, judicious way, seeing that she had faults as well as virtues. But in Gwen he could see no faults, and never paused to consider that he could scarcely know her character from the little he had seen of her.
Sensible as Hench usually was, some power--he presumed it was the power of love---swept him off his feet, and he credited the girl with all the virtues of the angels, and with their beauty also. He was glad that he had saved her, as she would be grateful; he was glad that he had hurt himself, as she would pity him; and he was decidedly glad that he had concealed the relationship. Now, at least, there was every chance that he would be able to make a friend of her. Not that he wanted to halt at friendship. He was now firmly bent upon making her his wife, and thus would be able to fulfil Mr. Gilberry's prophecy and end the family feud in quite an agreeable and romantic way. All the night Owain was building castles in the air, and when the dawn came they were still firm. Only on the arrival of the doctor to examine his ankle did the young man descend from these Olympian heights. Then, with a sudden and very natural reaction, he began to think that he had been too premature in his building.
The result of this was disastrous to Gwen. She called at mid-day to see how he was getting on, and he received her coldly, while lying on the slippery horse-hair sofa in Mrs. Bell's tiny sitting-room. The girl, flushed with the romance of the whole adventure and struck anew with the splendid looks of her preserver, felt chilled by his calm politeness. The two talked in a more or less formal way and parted very soon. Gwen went back to tell Mrs. Perage that her hero was horrid, and her hero remained on his sofa trying to assure himself that he had rescued only an ordinary girl. But it was all of no use, for Nature would have her way. During the next few days the two met under the chaperonage of the widow Bell, and gradually became aware that the feelings they entertained towards one another were more than those of mere friendship. Of course this knowledge made them more stiff and formal than ever in their intercourse, as their conversation was confined to commonplace subjects, not likely to awaken emotion. Hench was anxious to ask his cousin about her father, but as she said nothing, he did not venture to broach the matter. Still, remembering that she had been clothed in white on the day of the accident, and seeing that her frocks since, beyond black ribbons, did not suggest mourning in any great degree, he came to the conclusion that she had not been particularly attached to her father, although he could not be quite sure. But all doubts on this question were set aside by Mrs. Perage, who placed matters very plainly before him, according to her somewhat grim custom.
The old lady did not call for a few days, although she sent creams and jellies, books and flowers, by the hands of Gwen. Owain was very grateful for these kind attentions, and asked Miss Evans to take back his letter of introduction, which she did. Etiquette thus having been complied with, one day, instead of the fairy vision of Gwen, the patient beheld a tall and lean old dame stalk into his room. By this time he was able to get about with a crutch, and rose to greet her, upon which she thrust him back into his armchair with a pair of very capable hands.
"Not so," said Mrs. Perage, when he was again seated and taking a chair opposite, where she kilted her black stuff dress to show a pair of large boots. "Stay where you are, young man. Hum! You look better than I expected."
"I'm quite well now, thank you, Mrs. Perage. And I must apologise for not having presented Jim's letter before."
"Jim sent another letter, and I know all about you," said the old lady sharply.
"Oh, I don't think you do," said Hench, rather alarmed, as he feared that Vane might have been indiscreet.
"Why not?" Mrs. Perage bent her sharp old eyes on his perturbed face, the good looks of which she secretly approved of. "There's nothing wrong about you, I hope and trust?"
"Not what you would call wrong," said Hench evasively.
"Pooh, young man. How do you know anything about my standard of morality. I don't suppose it's what you'd call a high one," added Mrs. Perage, rubbing her nose. "I always make allowance for fools, and most of those who dwell in this world, which is much too good for them, are fools."
Hench laughed. He liked Mrs. Perage, who was quite a character. In her young days she had been a great beauty, although she was now old and weather-beaten, careless of her attire, and quite manly in her manner. Since the death of her husband, some thirty years ago, she had managed her estates herself, for being childless she had little else to do, and had long since outgrown the toys which amuse Society. For a woman she was uncommonly tall, and with her aquiline nose, her swart complexion and dark eyes, she resembled a gipsy. In spite of her coarse dress so carelessly worn, there was an air of good-breeding about her, and also a shrewd look on her fierce face. Owain stared hard at her Amazonian looks, considering that here was a woman who should have been the mother of heroes to gird armour on them and send them forth to the fray. She was quite out of place in a peaceful community.
"Well, young man," said Mrs. Perage roughly, "you'll know me again, I daresay, if staring goes for anything. What are your thoughts?"
Hench told them and suggested how unfit she was for a peaceful world where a policeman stands at every corner. "I can't see you anywhere, Mrs. Perage, but in some Norse hall, worshipping Odin and urging men to battle."
"Perhaps going to battle myself," said the old dame grimly, yet very pleased with the strange compliment. "Hum! You are right, the world is tame now-a-day, and a long life has bored me with the petty concerns of baby folk. You seem to have ideas in your head, Master Owain." Hench stared and fear clutched at his heart. If she knew this much, she might know more. "Who told you my Christian name?" he faltered.
"My own common sense, man alive! I have lived here all my life and knew your grandfather, Mynydd Evans, aye and your father, and Madoc also. Hench was the name Owain took when he was outlawed. See, my boy, how naturally I use the Norse word, after your suggestions of my being a modern Valkyrie."
"Does my cousin know who I am?" asked the young man anxiously. "No. I wanted to see you first before I told her."
"Don't tell her, Mrs. Perage."
"Why not. Hum!"--her eyes were as piercing as spears--"there is some reason for you masquerading as Hench."
"Hench was the name adopted by my father, and until a few days ago I quite believed that it was my true name. But certain papers which he left with our family lawyers explained matters."
"Did they explain that you inherit Cookley Grange and ten thousand a year?"
"Yes."
"Hum!"--Mrs. Perage rubbed her nose again and looked puzzled. "Then, knowing that you were the heir, why did you not come and see your uncle after the death of your father? I know he died in Paris five years ago, as Madoc told me."
"I did not know that I was the heir until my twenty-fifth birthday on the tenth day of this month. My father left instructions with Gilberry & Gilberry that they were not to give the papers to me until then. I have already told you, Mrs. Perage, that only lately did I learn my true name."
The old dame nodded absently, thinking deeply for a few minutes. "I think your father was wise to keep you thus in ignorance until you were older and had some experience of the world. A man of twenty-five could have managed Madoc better than a boy of twenty. Yes, Owain was wise, knowing Madoc's character."
"The late Squire does not appear to have had a very good one," remarked Hench dryly. "He was unpopular, I am told by Mrs. Bell."
"He was a wicked, selfish, greedy, miserly old scoundrel," retorted Mrs. Perage, aggressively blunt. "And if that's speaking evil of the dead, I don't care. I am quite sure that Madoc fed your grandfather's anger when it was directed towards Owain, who, after all, was not so very evil, although selfish enough. Still, your father would never have been cut out of the will but for Madoc. And if Madoc had met you, young man, he would have tried to settle your hash in some way, you may be certain."
"Oh!" Hench started, and was on the point of revealing the story of the advertisement and his adventure, when he checked himself prudently and made quite a different remark. "But if Uncle Madoc was such a rotter, why is Gwen such a nice girl, and I am sure a good girl?"
"She is all that," endorsed Mrs. Perage heartily. "And if your father was such a selfish profligate--I don't wish to hurt your filial feelings, but he was--why are you such a nice young man?"
Hench coloured at the compliment. "I may be a profligate also."
"Pooh!" said Mrs. Perage with supreme contempt, "don't you think that I am able to read faces? Yours is a good one and so is Gwen's. The decency of you both comes in each case from the mother's side, I expect, for both your fathers were--what they were. Children of Old Nick, I call them. You had a bad time with that father of yours, I'll be bound?"
"Well"--Hench winced--"he was not a very amiable parent, I must admit, although I wouldn't say that to any one save you."
Mrs. Perage bent her keen old eyes on him, read between the lines, and laughed in a short rasping manner after the style of a fox barking. "Just as I thought, young man. Owain was a selfish, cruel animal, and so was Madoc. He gave you as bad a time as Madoc did Gwen."
"I rather gathered from Gwen's absence of mourning that she had no great love for her father," remarked Hench musingly. "Your powers of observation are great, Owain. Gwen and her father got on about as well together as a ferret and a rabbit; she being the last and he the first. But for me I don't know what the poor girl would have done. She would have run away from home, I expect. However, she always came to me when her father was particularly trying, and now she has come to me altogether. With me she will stay, until you take her away."
Hench raised himself on his elbow and blushed in a delightfully youthful manner. "What makes you say that?" he asked confusedly.
"Am I a fool?" queried Mrs. Perage grimly. "Doesn't a cat love cream, and is not a young man likely to fall in love with one whose life he has saved, provided that one is charming and good. Go to, my boy." She spoke quite in the style of her nephew Jim. "I can see through a brick wall, I suppose. But all this doesn't explain why you are masquerading here under your father's false name. Come now, tell me all about it."
Hench did not do as she asked him, even though she was such a sensible old lady, for he thought that the time was not yet ripe for him to speak freely about his Gipsy Stile adventure. Therefore he told her the same story that he had told to Mr. Gilberry. "And you see I was right to meet my cousin under a feigned name," he concluded, "for had I come as Owain Evans she would have been prejudiced against me."
"Well, I don't know." Mrs. Perage again rubbed her nose thoughtfully. "As you may guess, Madoc always spoke ill of you, saying you were the true son of your wicked father, which was a case of the pot calling the kettle black, I rather think. But, you see, Madoc hated the idea of your getting the property."
"He wanted Gwen to get it?"
"Not a bit. So long as you didn't succeed he would have been content to let an hospital have it. He cared nothing for his daughter, and being such a bad father she naturally disbelieved anything he said. Far from thinking you the rascal Madoc said you were, Gwen fancied that you were quite a nice agreeable young man, which you are. I think she would have welcomed Owain Evans just as kindly as she has welcomed Owain Hench. All the same, if you win her heart as a disguised prince the romance of it will appeal to her when she learns the delightful truth."
Hench laughed, feeling greatly relieved. "Mrs. Perage, I don't believe you are a Norse goddess. You are much too romantic."
"Perhaps, young man. I am an old fool."
"You are one of the most charming people I have ever met," said Hench warmly.
"Pooh!" retorted Mrs. Perage, pleased with the compliment. "Don't make love to me, or you'll break Gwen's heart."
"Has she a heart to break--on my account, that is?"
"Young man,"--Mrs. Perage rose until her head nearly touched the low ceiling, and she assumed her grand manner,--"you don't expect one woman to tell the secrets of another woman. All the same, a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse. And you are blind, being in love."
"Am I in love?"
"Something tells me that you are--and with Gwen. But if you are already engaged, or if there is any other girl in the question, I tell you, young man, that I won't have it. Gwen is much too good a girl to be trifled with."
"Oh, I assure you, I am not going to trifle with her."
"Good. If you do, you'll have me to reckon with," said the old woman grimly. "I am quite Norse enough to twist your neck if you repeat in your own person the very objectionable character of your father. Tell me plump and plain, if you please: do you love Gwen?"
"I think so."
"Think so! Then you don't love her. No man worth a woman's affection can be in doubt on that point."
"Well, you see, I'm a bit of an ass as regards women," confessed Hench, flustered by her imperious insistence. "I have never been in love before."
"All the better!" cried Mrs. Perage sharply. "But I thought I was."
"Hum! Well, and why not; one must gain experience. How many times?"
"Once only. I admired this girl but she loved another man, so I went away."
"Hum!" said Mrs. Perage once more. "Is your heart broken?"
"Oh Lord, no. I soon got over it."
"Then you haven't been in love. But with regard to Gwen"--Mrs. Perage suddenly sat down and laughed heartily--"aren't we rather silly to talk in this way? We are only weaving ropes of sand, for I know nothing certain about the state of your affections or those of Gwen. I think I had better let you two manage things in your own way, and as Mother Nature--who has a large experience--dictates. All I say is, act honestly towards the girl, or you'll have me to deal with. Understand?"
"I understand." Hench laughed. "You can trust me."
Mrs. Perage went away very well satisfied with the state of affairs. At heart she was romantic like every woman, and like every woman she was quite a matchmaker. There was no young man in Cookley worthy of Gwen, so far as she knew, and this swain--so her thoughts ran--had been brought by Providence in the nick of time to save the girl from being an old maid. She longed to speak as freely to Miss Evans as she had spoken to her cousin, but did not dare to do so, lest she should frighten her into banishing the dawning feeling of love. Mrs. Perage had seen much harm come from meddling, so decided to refrain from throwing the young people too violently at one another's heads. But she certainly threw them gently, for when Hench was nearly all right a few days later, she sent him an invitation to dinner. This he accepted with great delight, and the more eagerly as Gwen had ceased her visits since he became convalescent. At the dinner he would have a chance of seeing her again, and perhaps an opportunity of hinting at his feelings. For by this time he had proved the truth of the saying that "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," and was very sure that he really and truly loved her with all the power that was in him. And this was the genuine passion of man for woman--not the counterfeit one which had led him to seek Zara Alpenny.
By this time, since the Hungarian lady was not making trouble, Hench began to think that she would leave him alone altogether. Surely, he thought, if she intended to scheme for her daughter's marriage with him, she would have made some advance before now. Her silence lifted a weight off his mind, and he arrayed himself in purple and fine linen for the dinner, feeling that the sun of prosperity was beaming on him. He went to Mrs. Perage's house, believing that the fine weather would continue, and quite forgot the adage about the treacherous calm before the storm. But when he got to the door, and the door was opened by a small smart page with a freckled face and red hair, he was reminded that it did not do to trust wholly to appearance. The sight of the boy gave him quite a shock, and an uncomfortable one, reminding him as he did of Bethnal Green.
"Bottles!" he said, stepping into the hall and staring at the lad.
"No, sir; no, Mr. Hench. I'm Peter!" grinned the boy, and began to help Hench off with his overcoat.
Then Owain remembered how Simon Jedd had told him he had a brother in service in the country--the same he had gone to see. But he never expected to find that brother in Cookley and in the service of Mrs. Perage. "You know my name?" he said hesitatingly, and wondering if the imp was to be trusted.
"Oh yes, sir. Simon has spoken heaps heaps of times to me about you, saying how kind you were to him. Knew your name, sir, the minute Miss Gwen said as you'd saved her life."
"Simon came down to see you some weeks ago?"
"Yes, sir!" Peter spoke eagerly, and was evidently about to say much, when he suddenly shut his wide mouth and said no more than the two words.
Hench settled his coat and his tie, pondering over the situation. The sight of the boy, who was connected with Bottles, revived his anxiety, and he feared lest the lad should write to London and say where he was. In that case Madame Alpenny might find him out, and then there would be trouble. But then Simon, if he did write, would do so to his brother, and Bottles was entirely to be trusted. Still, Hench would have liked to give this page a hint, yet could not do so, as it would be undignified. Peter noted his lingering and hesitation.
"Simon wants to see you, sir. It's all right."
"What's all right?" asked Hench sharply.
The page wriggled uneasily. "Simon will tell you, sir. I don't know nothing, I don't, Mr. Hench."
Owain felt uneasy at the implied mystery, but judged it wise to affect careless confidence. "Simon can come and see me when he likes," he said, and entered the drawing-room, considerably annoyed by the encounter.
XI
MACBETH'S BANQUET
The house of Mrs. Perage was quaint and old-fashioned, being so delightfully reminiscent of gracious antiquity that Hench was charmed with his surroundings. As a very modern young man, who had wandered largely in new lands where civilization was still raw, he was pleasantly impressed by the panelled room with the low ceiling. The furniture was Chippendale and Sheraton of the powder and puff epoch, while carpet and curtains were mellowed by age into restful colours, comfortable to the eye. An odour of dried rose leaves scented the air, mingling with the more living perfume of countless blossoms. Mrs. Perage had the happy taste to be extremely fond of flowers, it would seem, for the room was filled with colour and fragrance, even to the fireplace, which bloomed like a garden with white buds and green leaves. Even though the curtains were not yet drawn, and the luminous summer twilight stole in through the wide windows, the many lamps were lighted. And the radiance of these, diffused through rose-tinted shades, bathed the whole room in the delicate hues of dawn. This was a haven of rest, a bower of joy, a paradise of delight, and Hench drew a long breath of sheer pleasure on its threshold.
"What a charming room," he said, advancing to greet his hostess. "Charming!"
"Blunderer!" retorted that lady in her contralto voice, which boomed like the buzz of a bee in a fox glove bell. "You should say, what charming ladies."
"You would think me too bold if I put my thoughts into words."
"Very cleverly turned, young man. But women never think men are too bold when they pay compliments."
Hench laughed and smiled in a friendly way at Gwen, who was smiling in a friendly way at him. She looked wonderfully fresh, attractively delightful, as delicate as Titania and wholly as fascinating. Her dress of plain white silk adorned with black ribbons, hinting at mourning, became her well in its dainty simplicity, and Owain felt again that queer heart-throb which informed him very distinctly that this was the one girl in the world for him. No woman could be lovely unless she had golden hair and blue eyes and a complexion of cream and roses. He wondered how he ever could have admired Zara, who did not possess these necessary charms. But when he was attracted by the dancer he was a fool, now he intended to be a wise man and lay his heart at Gwen's feet. Whether she would pick it up had yet to be seen, for she gave no intimation of her feelings.
"When you two finish grinning at one another like a couple of Chinese dolls, perhaps you will remember that I am present. Sit down, young man. Are you very hungry? I have a very good dinner for you."
"Splendid! I'm not hungry, Mrs. Perage, but I am greedy."
"Pooh! That joke is as old as the hills. Be more original."
"That's difficult. How can I be original, Miss Evans?" Hench asked the question with ceremonious courtesy, which made Mrs. Perage smile, knowing what she did know.
"I think you are original," said Gwen brightly. "You saved my life!"
"Hum!" came the boom of Mrs. Perage, "and that's originality, is it?"
"Well, I don't make a practice of saving lives," laughed Hench lightly. "And I don't think I ever saved any one before. So I am_ original, you see."
The old dame smiled grimly, as she relished the young man's flippant conversation. "One grows so tired of common-sense," she murmured, following her own thoughts.
"Why, you are always commending common-sense," exclaimed Gwen, lifting her eyebrows and laughing.
"In its place, child, in its place. To-night you and Mr. Hench can talk nonsense, as it will make me feel young."
"You are young, Mrs. Perage," said Owain seriously. "Your heart is in its spring-time. You are one whom the gods love."
"Ta! Ta! Ta! young Chesterfield. Don't make me blush, as I have long since forgotten how to do so. You and your compliments, indeed! Not but what I wear tolerably well, although a trifle time-worn," which final sentence showed that Mrs. Perage had her little vanities.
And she was right in having them, for having stepped out of her rough day-clothes into sumptuous evening dress, she looked wonderfully stately. Amber satin, black lace and diamonds, oddly enough, seemed as natural to her as the more or less masculine dress which she affected during her business hours. Mrs. Perage always called looking after her farms and attending to her accounts business, which it assuredly was, and business moreover which required a clear head. In the day-time she was like one of her labourers in appearance, and her clothes might have graced a scarecrow, but when evening came she always appeared as a fine lady. This change, which reminded Hench somewhat of Miss Hardcastle in Goldsmith's comedy, amused the young man. He liked Mrs. Perage.
"I wrote and asked Jim Vane to come down to dinner," went on Mrs. Perage, after a pause. "As I thought that I could amuse myself with his wit while you attended to Gwen here. But he wrote saying that he could not come, as he was exploring Bethnal Green."
"Bethnal Green," echoed Hench with a start. "What the deuce--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Perage---but what is Jim doing there?"
"He did not explain. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing!"
"What an irrelevant reply."
"Well, I was only thinking that Jim usually prefers the West End to the quarters of the poor," said Hench guardedly. He was not quite certain if he had mentioned his sojourn at Bethnal Green to Mrs. Perage, and resolved to do so now, as--so far as he was able--he wished to be quite straight and above-board with the keen old lady. "I stayed there for six months."
"In Bethnal Green?" said Gwen, amazed. "And what were you doing in such a horrible place, Mr. Hench?"
"Well, as Jim would put it, I was doing a perish. I am a poor man, Miss Evans, and have lived for many years in Queer Street."
"Queer Street?" Gwen looked puzzled.
"It is the name given to the locality where those unsuccessful people who are trying for what they can't get live in penury."
Gwen looked at Hench's well-cut suit of evening clothes, at his well-bred face, and considered his general debonair appearance. "You don't look poor."
"There is poverty and poverty," said Mrs. Perage gruffly. "Mr. Hench is not yet in the workhouse, Gwen. For my part I think 'a perish,' as you say Jim calls it, is not a bad thing for a young man. It gives him experience of life----"
"Of the seamy side of life, Mrs. Perage," interpolated the young man.
"And what is more picturesque than that. Here we are all respectable and eminently dull. There's the gong." She rose with a well-managed sweep of her skirts. "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."
"Or diet," said Hench, holding the door open for the ladies. "Pooh! nonsense!" said the Amazon vigorously. "Young men shouldn't know the meaning of such a word. I'm sure I don't. I have a strong digestion and a hard heart."
"Not that last," said Gwen quickly; "as I know."
"What imagination you have, child," retorted Mrs. Perage, and took her position at the head of a small table, while Gwen and Hench sat on either side. "And I hope you don't mind our straggling into the dining-room in this free and easy way," she added to the young man; "but I couldn't take your arm as Gwen would have felt out of it, and I wasn't going to let you give Gwen your arm lest you should lack reverence for my age." And she laughed in her deep, hearty fashion, evidently desirous of making her guest feel quite at home.
The dining-room was a small apartment decorated and furnished in the Jacobean style. But Hench could not see much of it, as there were only candles in sconces here and there. The most powerful illumination was that thrown by a large lamp with a green shade, which hung low over the table. In its light the white napery, the old silver, the crystal glasses and the many flowers, looked peculiarly attractive. And the table not being over large, the three seated at it could converse with one another very much at their ease. A deft maid and Peter waited dexterously, and everything ran smoothly during the meal.
"This is my hour of relaxation," explained Mrs. Perage briskly. "I am ominously fond of my creature comforts and this is my favourite soup."
"Why ominously?"
"Silly questioner. Doesn't devotion to eating show that one is growing old?"
"Then I must have been born old," said Hench gaily, "for I have always had a good appetite since I was a boy, and have always liked nice things." His eyes rested, perhaps inadvertently, on Gwen as he spoke.
"Ah!" Mrs. Perage had noticed the look, and spoke significantly. "You are one of those lucky people who will always get the nice things."
"I haven't had much luck so far, Mrs. Perage."
"Ungrateful! What do you call this?"
"Paradise!" said Hench briefly.
"With you as Adam, Gwen as Eve, and myself as the Serpent."
"Aren't you talking dreadful nonsense?" observed the girl seriously.
"Not at all," retorted the old lady coolly. "It is common-sense to chatter amusingly. Enjoy yourself, child, and when trouble comes you will be able to remember at least one happy hour."
"Trouble has come, and severe trouble, too," replied Gwen softly, and with a gloomy air.
"Now, not another word!" Mrs. Perage spoke sharply. "We can talk of that afterwards in the drawing-room."
"Talk of what?" asked Hench innocently, for he was surprised by Gwen's gloom and Mrs. Perage's sharpness.
The old dame rubbed her nose in a vexed way. "Gwen has something to ask you this evening," she observed. "I think it is nonsense myself. No! I won't tell you what it is just now, neither will Gwen. Let us enjoy our meal without the discussion of horrors."
This was all very well, but how was Hench to enjoy his meal when Care stood like a waiter behind his chair? The presence of Peter reminded him of Bottles, and that memory brought to his recollection The Home of the Muses in Bethnal Green, where, for all he knew, Madame Alpenny might be plotting. Then he wondered what had taken Jim to the house, for there he must have gone, as it was unlikely he would journey to such a district for any other purpose. Perhaps the Hungarian lady was already weaving her nets to snare him--the thinker-either as a husband for Zara, or as a criminal. It was very uncomfortable thinking.
And being so alarmed, Hench did his best to talk brightly and amusingly. For the time being he was "fey," as the Scotch say, and roused his cousin out of her gloom by his sallies. Mrs. Perage seconded him admirably, as she quite enjoyed a contest of wits, which was rare to come by in Cookley. The food was good, the wine was excellent, the company interesting. All the same Hench felt that this meal was like Macbeth's banquet, and behind the revelry lurked the grim figure of Tragedy with her bowl and dagger. At any moment Banquo in the person of Madame Alpenny might appear. Of course such a supposition was nonsense, as the Hungarian lady did not know where he was. But the feeling became so real to Hench that he cast several uneasy looks behind his chair. Gwen noticed this and remarked on the same nervously.