East of the Shadows Part 27

The front room of the low building served as the shop, and displayed a varied a.s.sortment of wares in most haphazard fas.h.i.+on. Along the rafters sides of bacon and farthing dips hung in close proximity to stout corduroys and wooden clogs, while in the corner a child's wicker cradle formed an excellent receptacle for the last batch of crisp brown loaves. The narrow counter was piled high with biscuit-tins, bottles of sweets, patent medicines and articles of clothing, arranged in a sort of orderly confusion.

There was no one to be seen, and Philippa rapped sharply on the wooden counter two or three times. At last an old woman appeared, a cherry-cheeked old dame with her white hair drawn neatly into the modest shelter of a black chenille net. The girl explained her errand, and was at once invited to step "into the back."

Making her way through a lane of sacks she reached the inner room, where all the business connected with His Majesty's mails was transacted.

"'Tis my daughter, miss, as sees to the post an' telegraph, but she's been druv to go to bed--wonderful queer she were--took bad about noon; but I make no doubt but what she'll be better by and by. Was it a telegram you wished to send? Then I'll call her. If it had been jus'

a matter of a few stamps now, I could have settled that nicely, or one of them orders; but that there ticking machine, that's past me. But Maggie, she's wonderful quick at it. Stayed about as long as she could too, with terrible pains in her----"

Philippa broke the stream of the good woman's confidence.

"It will do very well later," she said, "when your daughter is better.

She can send it when she comes down. I am sorry she is ill, but don't disturb her for me. I will just write out the words more clearly, as I understand there has been a doubt about the spelling."

She printed the words plainly on a fresh form and handed it to the old woman, who counted them slowly and laboriously with the stump of a pencil. "Eighteen words," she said. "That'll be a matter o'

ninepence, I reckon."

"Oh no," corrected Philippa. "It is to St. Petersburg, in Russia. It will cost much more than that."

"Wouldn't that be a British Possession now?" was the doubtful reply.

And Philippa, chafing at the delay, could only smile at the question, and answer regretfully that she was afraid it wasn't.

The woman stretched out her hand for the Postal Guide, but the print was small, and necessitated the careful adjustment of a pair of spectacles before it could be deciphered, and finally the girl found the place herself, reckoned the amount and put down the money.

"I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you, miss," said the old dame with a curtsy. "'Tis kind of you to say that can stand over till Maggie's better. She just dropped off for a bit of sleep, and thought as how she would be safe like, seein' that we don't get no mor'n four or five of them things in a week these days--not but what there's more when the Major's at home; and Mr. Taylor, up to Chancey Hall, he's a wonderful one for them, but he's not at home now--gone for to find lions and tigers in some heathen country, so they tell me. Not but what Maggie she'd 'a' come down if you'd wished, miss. It don' do for to leave the machine by rights. That's against rules, that is; but what's a body to do when she comes over that queer with shootin' pains, an' her head a-whizzin' like Farmer Brown's thres.h.i.+n' engine. I thank you kindly, miss, and good-day to you."

Philippa hurried out. She had wasted more than ten minutes over the affair, and Francis would be weary of waiting.

"I am so sorry," she cried penitently, "I have been so long, but----"

As she was in the act of urging the pony to proceed he put out his hand and stopped her.

"Turn round," he said. "We will go home now."

She looked at him and saw that his face was white and his mouth drawn and hard.

"What is the matter?" she asked anxiously. "Do you feel ill?"

"No," he said shortly, "I am not ill; but I do not want to drive any farther."

He said no more, and she, greatly wondering, did not like to press him further. She hurried the pony as much as possible along the road they had so lately come. "Had he remembered something?" she asked herself.

What had happened in those few minutes? Something must have occurred to account for this sudden change. If he would only speak and tell her!

He was sitting with his head sunk on his chest, so that she could not see his face, and he was absolutely silent until after they had turned in at the lodge and were going up the drive. Then he turned to her.

"Is Isabella still here?" he asked.

"Isabella!" faltered Philippa, taken aback by the sudden question.

"Yes, Isabella. Does she still live here?"

"Yes; she lives here."

Then as they pulled up at the door he added, "Will you fetch her? Will you bring her to me, please? I want to see her."

"Certainly she shall come, dear, if you want her."

Ford came to the door in answer to the bell, and Francis descended.

Philippa was about to follow him, when he stopped her. "Will you go and fetch her? Will you go now?"

"Won't you let me stay with you? I will send for her."

"No," he interrupted. "Please go and bring her--as quickly as you can."

"If you really wish it," she stammered, "I will go." She did not know Francis in this strange mood. "But may I not come and see you safely up-stairs first?"

"I wish it. I shall be all right. Please go." He spoke kindly but quite decidedly.

Philippa made one more effort.

"Let me at least stay until Keen comes to you." But he replied with a gesture which showed her further argument was useless, and she obeyed him without another word.

Ford had meanwhile gone in search of Keen and the carrying-chair, so that when Francis entered he was quite alone. He did not pause, but walked straight across the hall and up the stairs.

When Keen, who had been reading the local paper over a quiet pipe in the kitchen yard, arrived in all haste in answer to the summons, he failed at first to find his master, but then he saw him and hurried to his side.

Francis was standing at the head of the staircase as though he had stayed to rest a moment, and his eyes were fixed on a picture on the wall. He paid no heed to his servant's murmur of regret that he should not have been at hand when needed--he did not seem to hear. Then his lips moved. "Poor Rip!" he said, almost under his breath. "I know--now--what you must have felt--and I pity you----"

Keen, quite uncomprehending, followed the direction of his glance, and remarked with polite jocularity--

"Looks as if he wanted a new suit of clothes rather badly, sir; doesn't he, sir?"

Francis raised his head, and took the man's proffered arm; and as they moved away he said slowly--

"I think, Keen, that it was more than a suit of clothes he wanted--something much more than that."

CHAPTER XXII

FRIENDs.h.i.+P

"Where are they now--the friends I loved so well?

My outstretched hands clutch only empty air!

I call on those who loved me--Like a knell The silence echoes to my question--Where?"

Isabella was sitting in her favourite place, a writing-board on her knees, a pen in her hand. On a low table beside her lay a pile of ma.n.u.script and several books, but the sheet of paper in front of her was blank. She had intended to work, but for once her mind refused to centre itself upon the task in hand. It was not often that she allowed her thoughts to tempt her to idleness, for experience had taught her that they were apt to lead far away from the straight grey road of the Actual into the shadowy realms of Might-Have-Been, and along paths paved with pain and bordered with regret.