The Golden Web Part 13

"It is the same," Mr. Sarsby declared. "What are we to do? Something must be done at once!"

"Exactly," Deane remarked. "Your niece, of course, must claim her inheritance--that is, if the man was really worth anything."

"Of course!--Of course!" Mr. Sarsby said. "Dear me, what an unfortunate business this all is! I suppose I must go to London with her, and London always upsets me horribly."

"I am afraid that you must make up your mind to that," Deane remarked.

"As I said before, if there is anything I can do to help you, I shall be delighted."

"But you won't be there," Mr. Sarsby said. "You are going from here to Scotland."

Deane hesitated. "I might," he said,--"in fact I think that I certainly should,--go to Scotland by way of London."

"But we must leave at once!" Mr. Sarsby declared. "At least I suppose so."

Deane rose to his feet. He had not much sympathy for the frightened little man, whose eyes were continually seeking his as though for help and advice.

"Well," he said, "I scarcely see how you can keep away, under the circ.u.mstances. You must talk it over with your niece, and let me know what you decide."

They left the place together. As they stepped out on to the pavement, Mr. Sarsby coughed apologetically. "I suppose," said he, "you would consider it necessary for me to tell my niece about this? It will be a shock to her, of course. She had hoped so much from the coming of this uncle, and I am afraid that she is not particularly contented here."

"I scarcely see," Deane answered, "how you can keep it from her."

"There is no mention of any property," Mr. Sarsby remarked,--"none at all. In fact, the papers say that his effects were so small that it seemed difficult to believe that robbery was the motive of the crime.

Still, I suppose she must be told."

Deane walked down the narrow street, his hands behind his back, his eyes fixed upon the arm of the river below, dotted now with brown-sailed fis.h.i.+ng-boats. Here, after all, was a simple way out of the difficulty!

The murdered man had no other relatives. In all probability, no one would ever tell the girl. No one would ever claim the possessions of the dead man, whatsoever they might be. Then common sense rea.s.serted itself in his brain, and he stifled the instinct which he had so nearly yielded to.

"She must be told, Mr. Sarsby," he said. "If you would rather not tell her yourself, I will do so."

Mr. Sarsby shook his head. "It isn't that," he said. "I don't mind telling her. But it's the journey to London, and the excitement, and all that. I hate worry of any sort. It's bad for my health, anyhow."

They stood upon the little quay, and Deane hesitated. "If there is anything further which I can do," he said, "come out and look me up. In any case, let me see you before you start for London."

Mr. Sarsby wrung his hand. "It is very good of you," he declared. "I shall certainly come out before we start,--most certainly! I can't imagine what Ruby will say. Poor girl! Poor girl!"

Deane retraced his steps along the high d.y.k.e bank to the marshes which surrounded his tower. Once or twice he looked behind, looked toward the low white front of the cottage which the girl had pointed out as her abode. Once he fancied that he saw something moving in the garden, and he stood on the top of the d.y.k.e, gazing with a curious interest at the slowly moving speck pa.s.sing in and out amongst the trees. Then it vanished. He turned and made his way homeward....

Towards sunset, the heat of the day seemed suddenly to increase. A curiously hot wind sprang up from the land, black clouds gathered in the sky, and unusual darkness hung over the land. The air seemed charged with electricity. Every moment it seemed as though the clouds must break and the storm come. The tide came rolling in, no longer with a faint, insistent ripple, but with great powerful waves, throwing their spray far and wide. Deane left his dinner more than once to stand outside on the little knoll and watch. Every moment he expected to see the banks of black clouds riven with lightning, to hear the far-off muttering across the sea grow nearer and nearer. The whole world seemed to be in a state of suspended animation. The seagulls had ceased their screaming, and had taken shelter in some hidden haunt. A little fleet of fis.h.i.+ng-boats had furled their sails. Not a soul was to be seen upon the marshes.

Deane finished his dinner and sat by the wide-open window, leaning upon his folded arms, looking out at the foam-flecked sea,--foam which seemed to glitter with a clear, white phosph.o.r.escence in the failing light.

There were books by his side, but he felt no inclination to read;--cigarettes and cigars at his elbow, but he lacked the enterprise to smoke. There was something almost theatrical, something breathless, in this pause before the storm! He himself was in an emotional frame of mind. Another page of this tragic chapter had opened before him. The coming of this girl was in itself a catastrophe. She would take possession of the papers belonging to the murdered man,--would show them, probably, to a lawyer. After that, only the worst could happen!

Then, as he sat there, the profound silence was suddenly broken. He heard the crunch of the gravel beneath flying footsteps, the rustle of a skirt, a little half-subdued cry! He looked up in amazement. It was Winifred Rowan who was coming towards him, her hair disordered, her eyes lit with fear,--a strange, half-terrified figure, flying from the storm!

"Miss Rowan!" he exclaimed breathlessly.

Even as he spoke, the clouds were parted at last with a dazzling blaze of forked lightning. The girl gave a little cry and held out her hands.

He leaned over, and, as the thunder shook the building, took her into his arms, lifting her over the narrow window-sill into the room.

CHAPTER XV

THE EFFECT OF A STORM

Deane was never quite sure how it had happened. The sudden crash of the storm, the vivid play of the lightning in the darkened room, the curious exultation which any outburst of nature seems to kindle in the forgotten places, had somehow generated a curious excitement--something electrical, incomprehensible, yet felt by both of them. His hands were still about her for a moment after she was in the room. It was perhaps a harmless instinct enough which caused her to draw a little nearer still to him with fear, as the thunder crashed overhead and the ground beneath their feet rocked. Then there happened what he was never able to explain. She was in his arms, her panting breath fell hot upon his cheek, his lips were pressed to hers, before he even realized what was happening. Her head fell a little back, her lips seemed to meet his freely, unresistingly. It was one of those moments of madness which seem to be born and die away, without reason, almost without volition. Deane himself was no Lothario. In his office he had talked kindly with this girl, and it had never occurred to him for a single second even to hold her hand in his. Her comings and goings, except for their a.s.sociation, had left him unmoved. Afterwards, when he tried to think of it, his senses were simply benumbed. Yet the fact remained that she had come into his arms as though she had heard the call of his heart for her, that their lips had met with all the effortless certainty of fate.

The thunder ceased. She disengaged herself from his arms with a little cry. Her bosom was still heaving, her cheeks were white almost to ghastliness, with one little patch of brilliant color where his lips had rested for a moment. She tried to speak, but the words seemed stifled in her throat. He led her to a chair, arranged cus.h.i.+ons for her back, and stood over her.

"Is there news?" he asked.

"None!" she faltered.

He shook his head. He was completely bewildered. "How did you find me out?" he asked. "What brings you here at this hour?"

"It is because there is no news," she cried, speaking with difficulty.

"I cannot rest or sleep. Every moment that pa.s.ses tears at my heartstrings. Life has become nothing but a living nightmare. Don't be angry with me that I came. I was obliged to do something or I should have gone mad."

"I am not angry," he said. "I am only amazed, I cannot understand--"

"Oh, I found out where you were!" she said. "I did everything that was mean. I bribed someone to tell me. This morning I saw Basil. I think I came to him at a weak moment. The horror was in his eyes. I shrieked when I saw him. Even now when I think I must shriek. Mr. Deane, I have come to pray, to beg you to go back. You are very rich. There must be ways of saving him. You have influence with people. Go back and use it.

What can you do here in the wilderness? It seems almost as though you had left him to die."

He stooped down and took her hands once more in his. "My dear little friend," he said, "remember what I told you in my office. Believe me, I should not have left London if the slightest doubt had remained as to your brother's safety. Never mind how I managed it. You had better not ask; you had better not know. But your brother will be reprieved. It is a certain thing."

She drew a long breath. Once more her face was at any rate human. The lightning filled the room with a sudden glare. She caught at him with a scream. "Oh! I am afraid, I am afraid!" she moaned.

He pa.s.sed his arm around her rea.s.suringly. "You are overwrought," he said. "You are almost at the end of your strength."

He poured out some brandy and water, and made her drink it. Her hand shook so that he had to guide the gla.s.s to her lips.

"Listen," he said, "you must keep calm or you will be ill, and you will not be able to help your brother. Tell me, have you eaten anything to-day?"

"I don't remember," she gasped.

Deane rang the bell. "Something to eat," he ordered, "for one, as quickly as you can. And some wine--anything will do."

It was to the man's credit that he received his orders without comment or surprise. Once more they two were alone.

"If you have any faith in me," Deane said, "or any belief, remember what I have told you. Your brother is safe. To-morrow or the next day the reprieve will be signed."

"Say it again!" she gasped, clinging to his hand.

"To-morrow or the next day," he repeated firmly, "the reprieve will be signed. There can be no mistake. There will be none."