The Lunatic at Large Part 5

At this point, just as he was regarding the double mark of exclamation with reminiscent entertainment, a plaintive voice from the other side of the wall cried in a stage whisper, "Have you got it?"

Mr Beveridge composed his face, and heaving his shoulders to his ears in the effort, gave vent to a prodigious sigh.

"A million thanks, my fairest and kindest of friends," he answered in the same tone. "I read it now: I drink it in, I--"

He kissed the back of his hand loudly two or three times, sighed again, and continued his reading.

"I wish I could help you," it ran, "but I am afraid I cannot, as the world is _so censorious_, is it not? So you must accept a friend's sympathy if it does not seem to you too bold and forward of her!!! Perhaps we may meet again, as I sometimes go to Clankwood. _Au revoir._-Your sympathetic well-wisher. A. a. F."

He folded it up and put it in his waistcoat-pocket, then he exclaimed in an audible aside, his voice shaking with the most affecting thrill, "_Perhaps_ we may meet again! Only _perhaps!_ O Alicia!" And then dropping again into a stage whisper, he asked, "Are you still there, Lady Alicia?"

A timorous voice replied, "Yes, Mr Fortescue. But I really _must_ go now!"

"Now? So soon?"

"I have stayed too long already."

"'Tis better to have stayed too long than never to wear stays at all,"

replied Mr Beveridge.

There was no response for a moment. Then a low voice, a little hurt and a good deal puzzled, asked with evident hesitation, "What-what did you say, Mr Fortescue?"

"I said that Lady Alicia's stay cannot be too long," he answered, softly.

"But-but what good can I be?"

"The good you cannot help being."

There was another moment's pause, then the voice whispered, "I don't quite understand you."

"My Alicia understands me not!" Mr Beveridge soliloquised in another audible aside. Aloud, or rather in a little lower tone, he answered, "I am friendless, poor, and imprisoned. What is the good in your staying? Ah, Lady Alicia! But why should I detain you? Go, fair friend! Go and forget poor Francis Beveridge!"

There came a soft, surprised answer, "Francis Beveridge?"

"Alas! you have guessed my secret. Yes, that is the name of the unhappiest of mortals."

As he spoke these melancholy words he threw away the stump of his cigar, took another from his case, and bit off the end.

The voice replied, "I shall remember it-among my friends."

Mr Beveridge struck a match.

"H's.h.!.+ Whatever is that?" cried the voice in alarm.

"A heart breaking," he replied, lighting his cigar.

"Don't talk like that," said the voice. "It-it distresses me." There was a break in the voice.

"And, alas! between distress and consolation there are fifteen perpendicular feet of stone and mortar and the relics of twelve hundred bottles of Ba.s.s," he replied.

"Perhaps,"-the voice hesitated-"perhaps we may see each other some day."

"Say to-morrow at four o'clock," he suggested, pertinently. "If you could manage to be pa.s.sing up the drive at that hour."

There was another pause.

"Perhaps--" the voice began.

At that moment he heard the sharp crack of a branch behind him, and turning instantly he spied the uncompromising countenance of Moggridge peering round a tree about twenty paces distant. Lack of presence of mind and quick decision were not amongst Mr Beveridge's failings. He struck a theatrical att.i.tude at once, and began in a loud voice, gazing up at the tops of the trees, "He comes! A stranger comes! Yes, my fair friend, we may meet again. _Au revoir_, but only for a while! Ah, that a breaking heart should be lit for a moment and then the lamp be put out!"

Meanwhile Moggridge was walking towards him.

"Ha, Moggridge!" he cried. "Good day."

"Time you was goin' in, sir," said Moggridge, stolidly; and to himself he muttered, "He's crackeder than I thought, a-shoutin' and a-ravin' to hisself. Just as well I kept a heye on 'im."

Like most clever people, Mr Beveridge generally followed the line of least resistance. He slipped his arm through his attendant's, shouted a farewell apparently to some imaginary divinity overhead, and turned towards the house.

"This is an unexpected pleasure," he remarked.

"Yes, sir," replied Moggridge.

"Funny thing your turning up. Out for a walk, I suppose?"

"For a stroll, sir-that's to say--" he stopped.

"That on these chilly afternoons the dear good doctor is afraid of my health?"

"That's kind o' it, sir."

"But of course I'm not supposed to notice anything, eh?"

Moggridge looked a trifle uncomfortable and was discreetly silent. Mr Beveridge smiled at his own perspicacity, and then began in the most friendly tone, "Well, I feel flattered that so stout a man has been told off to take care of me. What an arm you've got, man."

"Pretty fair, sir," said Moggridge, complacently.

"And I am thankful, too," continued Mr Beveridge, "that you're a man of some sense. There are a lot of fools in the world, Moggridge, and I'm somewhat of an epicure in the matter of heads."

"Mine 'as been considered pretty sharp," Moggridge admitted, with a gratified relaxation of his wooden countenance.

"Have a cigar?" his patient asked, taking out his case.

"Thank you, sir, I don't mind if I do."

"You will find it a capital smoke. I don't throw them away on every one."

Moggridge, completely thawed, lit his cigar and slackened his pace, for such frank appreciation of his merits was rare in a critical world.