But that bargain with conscience had never been struck; while
considering it she had found herself longing for some convulsion of the
earth which should throw her and Mottram in each other's arms. James Mottram traitor? That was what she was about to make him be. Catherine forced herself to face the remorse, the horror, the loathing
of himself which would ensue. It was for Mottram's sake, far more than in response to the command laid
on her by her own soul, that Catherine Nagle finally determined on the
act of renunciation which she knew was being immediately required of
her. *       *       *       *       *

When Mrs. Nagle came out on the terrace the three men rose
ceremoniously. She glanced at Charles, even now her first thought and
her first care. His handsome face was overcast with the look of gloomy
preoccupation which she had learnt to fear, though she knew that in
truth it signified but little. At James Mottram she did not look, for
she wished to husband her strength for what she was about to do. Making a sign to the others to sit down, she herself remained standing
behind Charles's chair. It was from there that she at last spoke,
instinctively addressing her words to the old priest. "I wonder," she said, "if James has told you of his approaching
departure? He has heard from his agent in Jamaica that his presence is
urgently required there." Charles Nagle looked up eagerly. "This is news indeed!" he exclaimed. "Lucky fellow! Why, you'll escape all the trouble that you've put on us
with regard to that puffing devil!" He spoke more cordially than he had
done for a long time to his cousin. Mr. Dorriforth glanced for a moment up at Catherine's face. Then quickly
he averted his eyes. James Mottram rose to his feet. His limbs seemed to have aged. He gave
Catherine a long, probing look. "Forgive me," he said deliberately. "You mistook my meaning. The matter
is not as urgent, Catherine, as you thought." He turned to Charles, "I
will not desert my friends--at any rate not for the present. I'll face
the puffing devil with those to whom I have helped to acquaint him!" But Mrs. Nagle and the priest both knew that the brave words were a vain
boast. Charles alone was deceived; and he showed no pleasure in the
thought that the man who had been to him so kind and so patient a
comrade and so trusty a friend was after all not leaving England
immediately. "I must be going back to the Eype now." Mottram spoke heavily; again he
looked at Mrs. Nagle with a strangely probing, pleading look. "But I'll
come over to-morrow morning--to Mass. I've not forgotten that to-morrow
is St. Catherine's Day--that this is St. Catherine's Eve." Charles seemed to wake out of a deep abstraction. "Yes, yes," he said
heartily. "To-morrow is the great day! And then, after we've had
breakfast I shall be able to consult you, James, about a very important
matter, that new well they're plaguing me to sink in the village." For the moment the cloud had again lifted; Nagle looked at his cousin
with all his old confidence and affection, and in response James
Mottram's face worked with sudden emotion. "I'll be quite at your service, Charles," he said, "quite at your
service!" Catherine stood by. "I will let you out by the orchard gate," she said. "No need for you to go round by the road." They walked, silently, side by side, along the terrace and down the
stone steps. When in the leafless orchard, and close to where they were
to part, he spoke:

"You bid me go--at once?" Mottram asked the question in a low, even
tone; but he did not look at Catherine, instead his eyes seemed to be
following the movements of the stick he was digging into the ground at
their feet. "I think, James, that would be best." Even to herself the words Mrs.
Nagle uttered sounded very cold. "Best for me?" he asked. Then he looked up, and with sudden passion,
"Catherine!" he cried. "Believe me, I know that I can stay! Forget the
wild and foolish things I said. No thought of mine shall wrong
Charles--I swear it solemnly. Catherine!--do not bid me leave you. Cannot you trust my honour?" His eyes held hers, by turns they seemed to
become beseeching and imperious. Catherine Nagle suddenly threw out her hands with a piteous gesture. "Ah! James," she said, "I cannot trust my own----" And as she thus made
surrender of her two most cherished possessions, her pride and her
womanly reticence, Mottram's face--the plain-featured face so
exquisitely dear to her--became transfigured. He said no word, he made
no step forward, and yet Catherine felt as if the whole of his being was
calling her, drawing her to him.... Suddenly there rang through the still air a discordant cry: "Catherine! Catherine!" Mrs. Nagle sighed, a long convulsive sigh. It was as though a deep pit
had opened between herself and her companion. "That was Charles," she
whispered, "poor Charles calling me. I must not keep him waiting." "God forgive me," Mottram said huskily, "and bless you, Catherine, for
all your goodness to me." He took her hand in farewell, and she felt the
firm, kind grasp to be that of the kinsman and friend, not that of the
lover. Then came over her a sense of measureless and most woeful loss. She
realized for the first time all that his going away would mean to
her--of all that it would leave her bereft. He had been the one human
being to whom she had been able to bring herself to speak freely. Charles had been their common charge, the link as well as the barrier
between them. "You'll come to-morrow morning?" she said, and she tried to withdraw her
hand from his. His impersonal touch hurt her. "I'll come to-morrow, and rather early, Catherine. Then I'll be able to
confess before Mass." He was speaking in his usual voice, but he still
held her hand, and she felt his grip on it tightening, bringing welcome
hurt. "And you'll leave----?" "For Plymouth to-morrow afternoon," he said briefly. He dropped her
hand, which now felt numbed and maimed, and passed through the gate
without looking back. She stood a moment watching him as he strode down the field path. It had
suddenly become, from day, night,--high time for Charles to be indoors. Forgetting to lock the gate, she turned and retraced her steps through
the orchard, and so made her way up to where her husband and the old
priest were standing awaiting her. As she approached them, she became aware that something going on in the
valley below was absorbing their close attention. She felt glad that
this was so. "There it is!" cried Charles Nagle angrily. "I told you that they'd
begin their damned practice again to-night!" Slowly through the stretch of open country which lay spread to their
right, the Bridport Wonder went puffing its way. Lanterns had been hung
in front of the engine, and as it crawled sinuously along it looked like
some huge monster with myriad eyes.