The Man Who Rose Again Part 23

The driver grinned. Evidently he had heard what had been said, but he said "Yes, sir," quite civilly, and changed the direction of the horses'

heads.

Winfield wanted to say more to Leicester, but he dared not, the look on the man's face was too ghastly.

"Here's fine copy for the yellow journalist," thought Winfield. "It seems a pity that this kind of thing is not in my line. It would be more eagerly read than any news about the Armenian atrocities. But there, there will be enough to give this matter publicity. I wonder what lies at the bottom of it. Of course some plausible excuses will be given to the local reporters--Miss Castlemaine ill, or Mr. Leicester called to Abyssinia; but there's some tragedy at the back of this, as sure as my name's Arthur Winfield. Poor old Leicester, he looks death-stricken."

The carriage drew up at the door of The Beeches, and Winfield looked out. No one was to be seen. There were no signs that anything of importance had happened, or would happen. It might have been an empty house, for all the signs of life that were visible. As for suggestions of a wedding, they were nowhere apparent. The springtime had not come, but the day was warm, and an air of restfulness seemed to reign over the grounds. The hall door was closed.

Leicester leapt from the carriage, then he looked around in a dazed kind of way. He noted the great beeches in the park, and the pa.s.sing of a distant train.

"Perhaps Miss Castlemaine is ill," said Winfield, "or it may be that something has happened to her father." He wanted to chase away the ghastly look which rested on the other's face.

But Leicester seemed to take no heed; rather he appeared to be trying to realise the situation.

"Let me see, Winfield," he said. "I want to understand. Put me right if I am in the wrong. To-day is the day arranged for my wedding-day. Two hundred guests were invited. We were to be married up at the church yonder, by that man Sackville. When we got there we found the place locked, while you were informed that the caretaker had received orders to keep the place locked, as there was to be no wedding. You were also told that the telegraph clerk had sent away a lot of messages saying the same thing as the man at the church told you. Is that right?"

"Yes, that's right. But Miss Castlemaine or her father may be ill, you know. You did not look at your letters this morning, and thus were in ignorance."

"I only wanted to be sure I had got hold of the facts," replied Leicester. "I might be mistaken, you know. I feel all knocked about."

He went to the door and rang the bell. After what seemed ages to him, it was opened by an old servant.

"Is Miss Castlemaine at home?"

The man hesitated a second, and then said:

"I believe so, sir."

"Is--is--she well?"

He did not seem to realise what he was saying, and yet he watched the servant's face closely.

"As far as I know of, sir."

"Will you tell her I wish to see her?"

Again the man hesitated.

"Excuse me, sir," he said presently, "but you can't see her."

"Why?" he asked in a dazed way.

"It's not for me to say, sir."

By a strong effort he controlled himself, the old look of determination came back into his eyes, and he spoke more like his normal self.

"Am I to understand that you have her orders to this effect?"

"Yes, sir--that is, from Mr. Castlemaine, sir."

"Will you please go and tell her that I am here, and that I wish to see her?"

There was a tone of command in his voice. The man felt like obeying.

"It's no use, sir," he said; "my orders was most explicit, sir."

A savage look flashed into his eyes, but he held himself under control.

"I wish you to go to Miss Castlemaine and tell her that I must see her."

"My orders, sir, was most----"

"Go and tell her," he said quietly, "that I must see her, and that I shall wait here until I do."

The look in his eyes frightened the old servant. Besides, for some time now, he had been led to look upon him as his future master.

"For G.o.d's sake, Mr. Leicester----" he said piteously.

"Go, or I will not be answerable for the consequences," he said, in the same quiet tones; "tell them that I will not take 'No' for an answer."

The servant looked helplessly, first at Leicester and then at Winfield.

Finally he closed the door in their faces like one afraid.

"I'll do the best I can, sir," he said, "but you must not come in."

A few minutes later he came back again, and his face was almost as pale as that of the young man who had stood as still as a statue on the doorstep.

"If you please, sir, you are both to follow me," he said in a frightened whisper.

Leicester was perfectly calm now, but the calm was unnatural; his every feature was set and rigid, his face had a pallor that was deathly. He followed the man without a word. As for Winfield, he felt that the whole atmosphere of the place was charged with excitement, and he wondered why he was also asked to follow the servant.

With faltering steps the man led the way into the library. Leicester knew that this was John Castlemaine's favourite room, and that it was here he spent most of his time when he was at home. The servant opened the door, and then closed it again, noiselessly.

Olive Castlemaine and her father were both standing near the fireplace as the young men entered. The man's face was cold, and stern, and relentless. As for Olive, she gave evidence of a sleepless night. Her eyes were dry and hard, but her face, though pale, suggested no signs of weakness. She looked almost composed, except that her lips were compressed.

Leicester took a step towards her, but only a step. The look in her eyes forbade him. Still he remained calm.

"I am naturally come for--for an explanation," he said.

"I thought that my letter would have relieved me of that necessity,"

said John Castlemaine.

"I have received no letter."

"I sent one by hand this morning."

"I have not seen it."

Leicester knew by the look on Olive's face that something terrible had happened, and the look nerved him to expect anything.