And—Ada!’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Say that I’m a little better; your mistress will be relieved to hear
that I’m a little better; still not _quite_ myself say, but, I think, a
little better.’

‘Yes, sir; and I’m sure I’m very glad to hear it,’ came fainter still. ‘What voice was that I heard just now?’

‘Miss Alice’s, sir; but she came quite against my wishes, and I hope
you won’t repeat it, sir. She promised if she came that mistress
shouldn’t know. I was only afraid she might disturb you, or—or Dr
Ferguson. And did you say, sir, that I was to tell mistress that he
_might_ be coming back?’

‘Ah, that I don’t know; so perhaps it would be as well not to mention
him at all. Is Miss Alice there?’

‘I said I would tell her if you were alone. But I hope you’ll
understand that it was only because she begged so. Mistress has gone to
St Peter’s bazaar; and that’s how it was.’

‘I quite understand. Beckon to her.’

There came a hasty step in the hall and a hurried murmur of
explanation. Lawford heard her call as she ran up the stairs; and the
next moment he had Alice’s hand in his and they were groping together
through the gloaming back into the solitude of the empty room again. ‘Don’t be alarmed, dear,’ he heard himself imploring. ‘Just hold tight
to that clear common sense, and above all you won’t tell? It must be
our secret; a dead, dead secret from every one, even your mother, for
just a little while; just a mere two days or so—in case. I’m—I’m
better, dear.’

He fumbled with the little box of matches, dropped one, broke another;
but at last the candle-flame dipped, brightened, and with the door shut
and the last pale blueness of dusk at the window Lawford turned and
looked at his daughter. She stood with eyes wide open, like the eyes of
a child walking in its sleep; then twisted her fingers more tightly
within his. ‘Oh, dearest, how ill, how ill you look,’ she whispered. ‘But there, never mind—never mind. It was all a miserable dream, then;
it won’t, it can’t come back? I don’t think I could bear its coming
back. And mother told me such curious things; as if I were a child and
understood nothing. And even after I knew that you were you—I mean
before I sat up here in the dark to see you—she said that you were gone
and would never come back; that a terrible thing had happened—a
disgrace which we must never speak of; and that all the other was only
a pretence to keep people from talking. But I did not believe then, and
how could I believe afterwards?’

‘There, never mind now, dear, what she said. It was all meant for the
best, perhaps. But here I am; and not nearly so ill as I look, Alice;
and there’s nothing more to trouble ourselves about; not even if it
should be necessary for me to go away for a time. And this is our
secret, mind; ours only; just a dead secret between you and me.’

They sat for awhile without speaking or stirring. And faintly along the
hushed road Lawford heard in the silence a leisurely indolent beat of
little hoofs approaching, and the sound of wheels. A sudden wave of
feeling swept over him. He took Alice’s quiet loving face in his hands
and kissed her passionately. ‘Do not so much as think of me yet, or
doubt, or question: only love me, dearest. And soon—and soon—’

‘We’ll just begin again, just begin again, won’t we? all three of us
together, just as we used to be. I didn’t mean to have said all those
horrid things about mother. She was only dreadfully anxious and meant
everything for the best. You’ll let me tell her soon?’

The haggard face turned slowly, listening. ‘I hear, I understand, but I
can’t think very clearly now, Alice; I can’t, dear; my miserable old
tangled nerves. I just stumble along as best I can. You’ll understand
better when you get to be a poor old thing like me. We must do the best
we can. And of course you’ll see, Dillie, how awfully important it is
not to raise false hopes. You understand? I mustn’t risk the least
thing in the world, must I? And now goodbye; only for a few hours now. And not a word, not a word to a single living soul.’

He extinguished the candle again, and led the way to the top of the
stairs. ‘Are you there, Ada?’

‘Yes, sir,’ answered the quiet imperturbable voice from under the black
straw brim. Alice went slowly down, but at the foot of the stairs,
looking out into the cold, blue, lamplit street she paused as if at a
sudden recollection, and ran hastily up again. ‘There was nothing more, dear?’ She said, leaning back to peer up. ‘“Nothing more?” What?’

She stood panting a little in the darkness, listening to some cautious
yet uneasy thought that seemed to haunt her mind. ‘I thought—it seemed
there was something we had not said, something I could not understand. But there, it is nothing! You know what a fanciful old silly I am. You
do love me? Quite as much as ever?’

‘More, sweetheart, more!’

‘Good-night again, then; and God bless you, dear.’

The outer door closed softly, the footsteps died away. Lawford still
hesitated. He took hold of the stairs above his head as he stood on the
landing and leaned his head upon his hands, striving calmly to
disentangle the perplexity of his thoughts. His pulses were beating in
his ear with a low muffled roar. He looked down between the blinds to
where against the blue of the road beneath the straggling yellow beams
of the lamp stood the little cart and drooping, shaggy pony, and Grisel
sitting quietly there awaiting him. He shut his eyes as if in hope by
some convulsive effort of mind to break through this subtle glasslike
atmosphere of dream that had stolen over consciousness, and blotted out
the significance, almost the meaning of the past. He turned abruptly. Empty as the empty rooms around him, unanswering were mind and heart. Life was a tale told by an idiot—signifying nothing. He paused at the head of the staircase. And even then the doubt
confronted him: Would he ever come back? Who knows? he thought; and
again stood pondering, arguing, denying. At last he seemed to have come
to a decision. He made his way downstairs, opened and left ajar a long
narrow window in a passage to the garden beyond the kitchen. He turned
on his heel as he reached the gate and waved his hand as if in a kind
of forlorn mockery towards the darkly glittering windows. The drowsy
pony awoke at touch of the whip. Grisel lifted the rug and squeezed a little closer into the corner. She
had drawn a veil over her face, so that to Lawford her eyes seemed to
be dreaming in a little darkness of their own as he laid his hand on
the side of the cart. ‘It’s a most curious thing,’ he said, ‘but
peeping down at you just now when the sound of the wheels came, a
memory came clearly back to me of years and years ago—of my mother. She
used to come to fetch me at school in a little cart like this, and a
little pony just like this, with a thick dusty coat. And once I
remember I was simply sick of everything, a failure, and fagged out,
and all that, and was looking out in the twilight; I fancy even it was
autumn too.