Yet, whenever he suffered his thoughts to dwell upon this matter at all, the reverse side of it all sooner or later presented itself.

Clear and insistent above the emotion which swayed him came ever that uncompromising question--where lay his duty in this matter? It was the true and manly side of his nature, developed by instinct and long training, and refusing now to be overborne and swept away by this surging tide of pa.s.sion. It rang in his ears, and it demanded an answer. Away in the distance, on the opposite side of the valley, his vacant eyes rested idly upon the many lights and dim outline of Westover Castle. What place had Lady May in his heart? Was there room for her--and Adrea? Could he see Adrea day by day, and never pa.s.s the barrier which he himself had set up between them? What did he wish?

What was right? Just then everything was to him so vague and chaotic.

He had been riding for nearly an hour, with his reins quite loose upon his horse's neck, and trusting entirely to her to take the homeward route. Suddenly his mare came to an abrupt halt, and Paul looked around him in surprise. At first he had not the faintest idea as to his whereabouts; then a dull roar, coming from across a narrow strip of moorland on his left, gave him a clue, and he saw what had happened. Instead of turning inland to Vaux Abbey, his horse had kept straight on, and had brought him almost to the sea--a good five miles out of his way.

The situation was not a cheerful one. They were ten miles from home, and Ironsides, completely done up, was trembling ominously at the knees, and looking around at him pitifully. Paul himself was wet to the skin; and as he dismounted for a moment to ease his stiff limbs, he was conscious of a distinct inclination to shiver. The grey mists were rolling up all round them; and directly Paul's feet touched the ground, he felt himself sink ankle-deep in the wet, soft sand. It was all horribly uncomfortable, and more than that, it was serious; for immediately he had pa.s.sed his hand over his horse's flanks and felt her knees, Paul knew that she was not in a condition for him to mount her again. There was no hope of reaching Vaux Abbey without rest and refreshments, for Ironsides at any rate.

He looked steadily around him, and began to get some faint idea as to his whereabouts. His mare must have been deceived by following a private road which led to a cottage belonging to an old half-pay officer, Major Harcourt. They had evidently pa.s.sed the cottage, and pursued the road almost to its termination, for where they now were it was little better than a sheep-track, leading through a closed gate a few yards in front of them into a scattered pine plantation and down to the sea. The only thing to do was to retrace their steps until they came to the cottage, and there beg shelter for a while.

"We've made a mess of it, old girl!" Paul said soothingly, patting his mare's neck, and pa.s.sing his arm through the bridle. "Come on, then!

We'll see whether we can't find an empty stall for you at Major Harcourt's."

They retraced their steps, the mare limping wearily along by Paul's side, and every now and then stopping to look at him in despair. Paul found a grim humour in the situation. It was the quagmire into which thoughts of Adrea had led him; a parable sent to show him the folly of such thoughts, and whither they tended. He laughed a little bitterly at the thought. Once, when a very young man, he had thought himself a fatalist. After all, perhaps it was the best thing to be! Conscience and duty were wearisome guides; a course of voluntary drifting would be rather a relief.

Suddenly the mare p.r.i.c.ked up her ears, and neighed. Paul looked steadily through the mist, and quickened his pace. Scarcely a hundred yards ahead was the dim outline of the cottage, nestled up against a pine grove and facing the sea.

Paul was fairly well acquainted with Major Harcourt; and although he had seen nothing of him for some time, he had not the slightest compunction in claiming shelter for himself and his horse. He led her up the trim, winding drive to the front door, and rang the bell.

"Is Major Har----" Paul began, as the door was opened; then he broke off abruptly.

The man-servant who had opened the door, and was standing on the step, peering out into the darkness, was a familiar figure to him. It was Gomez!

CHAPTER XIV

"THE POISON OF HONEY FLOWERS"

The recognition was not immediately simultaneous. Gomez, standing on the step, was in the full light of the hall lamp, but Paul was still amongst the shadows.

"Don't you know me, Gomez?" Paul asked, stepping forward. "I am Paul de Vaux."

A shade pa.s.sed across the man's face, and he laid his hand quickly upon his heart, as though to cease some sudden pain. Then he stood on one side, holding the door open.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Paul; I could not see your face out there.

Won't you walk in, sir?"

Paul dropped his mare's bridle and stepped inside. The polished white stone hall, with its huge fire in the centre, looked warm and comfortable, and away in the distance there was a cheerful rattle of teacups.

"What are you doing here, Gomez?" Paul asked, shaking the wet from his hat. "I understood that you were going to take the under-bailiff's place."

"Higgs has not left yet, sir," Gomez answered. "I have been living here as caretaker for Major Harcourt."

"Caretaker! Isn't he at home then?"

Gomez shook his head, looking keenly at Paul all the time. "Major Harcourt does not winter here now, sir. He has let the place, furnished."

"What a confounded nuisance! To whom has he let it?" Paul asked quickly. "You see my plight, and my horse is worse off still. We lost our way going home from Dunston Spinnies."

"Major Harcourt's tenant is a lady," Gomez answered, after a moment's hesitation. "She only arrived yesterday."

Paul shrugged his shoulders. He was annoyed, but there was no help for it.

"Well, will you see her at once and represent matters? I want a loose box for the night for my horse, and a rest for myself, and afterwards a conveyance for the Abbey, if possible. Tell her my name. I daresay she won't mind. Who is she?"

Gomez said nothing for a moment. Then he drew Paul back to the door, and pointed out into the darkness.

"Mr. Paul," he said, in a quick, hoa.r.s.e whisper, "at the back of that hedge there is a road which leads straight up to the Abbey. It is a matter of six miles or so, I know, and you are tired; but that is nothing. Take my advice, sir, and believe me it is for your good. Get out of this house as soon as you can, and go home, though you have to walk every step. I'll look after your horse, and you can send for it in the morning."

Paul looked into the man's face astonished. "What nonsense, Gomez!"

he exclaimed. "Do you know what you are talking about! Why, I'm tired out, and almost starved. Here I am and here I shall stop, unless your mistress is as inhospitable as you are."

Gomez bowed, and closed the door. "Very good, sir; you will have your own way, of course. But remember in the future that I was faithful, I warned you. Come this way, sir. I will send your horse round to the stables. The name of the lady of the house is Madame de Merteuill."

A little uneasy and very much mystified, Paul followed him across the hall, and was silently ushered into a long, low drawing-room, a room of nooks and corners, furnished in old-fashioned style, but with perfect taste, and dimly lit with soft, shaded lamps. There was a bright fire blazing on the hearth, and a pleasant sense of warmth in the air.

At first it seemed as though the room was empty, but in a moment a tall, pale-faced lady, with wonderfully dark eyes and grey hair, rose from an easy chair behind the piano, and looked at him, at first questioningly.

"I am afraid that you will consider this an unwarrantable intrusion,"

Paul said, bowing; "but the fact is, I lost my way riding home from the hunt, and my horse cannot go a yard further. As for myself, you can see what state I am in. I saw your lights, and have some acquaintance with Major Harcourt, and not knowing that he had left, I ventured here to throw myself upon his hospitality. My name is De Vaux--Paul de Vaux; and although it is some distance to the Abbey, I believe that we are next-door neighbours."

It was beginning to dawn upon Paul that he had somehow stumbled upon a very strange household. During the whole of his speech, the lady whom he was addressing had stood silent and transfixed, with wide-open eyes and a terrible shrinking look of fear upon her face. She must be mad, Paul concluded swiftly. What an a.s.s Gomez was not to have told him!

While he was wondering how to get away, she spoke.

"Your name de Vaux, Paul de Vaux, near Vaux Abbey?"

He bowed, looking at her with fresh interest. His name seemed familiar to her. In a moment or two the unnatural lethargy left her, and she spoke to him, though still in a curiously suppressed tone.

"I beg your pardon. You are welcome. I was a little startled at first."

She rang the bell. Gomez answered it.

"Bring some fresh tea, and some sandwiches and wine," she ordered.

"Tell them in the stables to see that this gentleman's horse has every attention."

Gomez received his orders in silence, and withdrew with darkening face. Paul looked after him with surprise.

"Gomez does not seem particularly pleased to see me again," he remarked. "What is the matter with the man, I wonder?"

"It is only his manner, I think," she said softly. "He was your father's servant, was he not?"

"Yes. How did you know that?" he asked quickly. "Ah, I beg your pardon; he told you, of course. You will find him a faithful servant."

She bowed her head, but made no reply. Indeed, Paul found it very difficult to start a conversation of any sort with his new neighbour.

To all his remarks she returned only monosyllabic answers, looking at him steadily all the while out of her full, dark eyes in a far-away, wistful manner, as though she saw in his face something which carried her thoughts into another world. It was a little uncomfortable for Paul, and he was not sorry when Gomez reappeared, bearing a tray with refreshments.