"Yes," answered Jem. "That is why we have brought him here."

It fell to Arthur Agar's lot to forge the second link.

"When," he asked Jem, "did he know that you had got back to safety and civilisation?"

"Two months ago, by telegram."

The half-brothers turned with one accord towards Seymour Michael, who stood trying to conceal the quiver of his lips.

"He promised," said Arthur Agar, "to tell me at once when he received news of your safety."

It was singular that Seymour Michael should give way at that moment to a little shrinking movement of fear--back and away, not from Jem, who towered huge and powerful above him, but from the frail and delicate younger brother. Mark Ruthine, who was standing behind, saw the movement and wondered at it. For it would appear that, of all his judges, Seymour Michael feared the weakest most.

And so the second link was welded on to the first, while only Anna Agar knew the motive that had prompted Michael to suppress the news. She divined that it was spite towards herself, and for once in her life, with that intuition which only comes at supreme moments, she had the wisdom to bide her time.

Then at last Seymour Michael spoke. He did not raise his eyes, but his words were evidently addressed to Arthur.

"I acted," he said, "as I thought best. Secrecy was necessary for Agar's safety. I knew that if I told you too much you would tell your mother, and--I know your mother better than either you or Jem Agar know her. She is not fit to be trusted with the most trifling secret."

"Well, you see, you were quite wrong," burst out Mrs. Agar, with a derisive laugh. "For I knew it all along. Arthur told me at the first."

Her voice came as a shock to them all. It was harsh and common, the voice of the street-wrangler.

"Then," cried Seymour Michael, as sharp as fate, "why did you not tell Miss Glynde?"

He raised his arm, pointing one lean dark finger into her face.

"I knew," he hissed, "that the boy would tell you. I counted on it. Why did you not tell Miss Glynde? Come! Tell us why."

Mark Ruthine's face was a study. It was the face of a very keen sportsman at the corner of a "drive." In every word he saw twice as much as simple Jem Agar ever suspected.

"Well," answered Mrs. Agar, wavering, "because I thought it better not."

"No," Dora said, "you kept it from me because you wanted me to marry Arthur. And you thought that I should do so because he was master of Stagholme. You wanted to trick me into marrying Arthur before"--she hesitated--"before--"

"Before I came back," added Jem imperturbably. "That was it, that was it!" cried Seymour Michael, grasping at the straw which might serve to turn the current aside from himself.

But the attempt failed. No one took any notice of it. Jem was looking at Dora, and she was looking anywhere except at him.

It was Jem who spoke, with the decisiveness of the president of a court-martial.

"That will come afterwards," he said. "And now, perhaps," he went on, turning towards Seymour, "you will kindly explain why you broke your word to me. Explain it to these l---- [sic.] to Miss Glynde."

Seymour Michael shrugged his shoulders.

"Why, what is the good of making all this fuss about it now?" he explained. "It has all come right. I acted as I thought best. That is all the explanation I have to offer."

"Can you not do better than that?" inquired Jem, with a dangerous suavity. "You had better try."

Dora was looking at Jem now, appealingly. She knew that tone of voice, and feared it. She alone suspected the anger that was hidden behind so calm an exterior.

Seymour Michael preserved a dogged silence, glancing from side to side beneath his lowered lashes. He had not forgotten Jem's threat, but he felt the safeguard of a lady's presence.

"I can offer an explanation," put in Mark Ruthine. "This man is mentally incapable of telling the truth and of doing the straight thing. There are some people who are born liars. This man is one. It is not quite fair to judge him as one would judge others. I have known him for years, have watched him, have studied him."

All eyes turned towards Seymour Michael, who stood half-cringing, trembling with fear and hatred towards his relentless judges.

"Years ago," pursued Ruthine, "at the outset of life, he committed a wanton crime. He did a wrong to a poor innocent woman, whose only fault was to love him beyond his deserts. He was engaged to be married to her, and meeting a richer woman he had not the courage to ask to be released from his engagement. It happened that by a mistake he was gazetted 'dead'

at the time of the Mutiny. He never contradicted the mistake--that was how he got out of his engagement. He played the same trick with Jem Agar's name. I recognised it."

Then the last link of the chain was forged.

"So did I," said Anna Agar. "I was the woman."

Before the words were well out of her mouth Mark Ruthine's voice was raised in an alarmed shout.

"Look out!" he cried. "Hold that man; he is mad!"

No one had been noticing Arthur Agar--no one except Seymour Michael, who had never taken his eyes from his face during Ruthine's narration.

With a groan, unlike a human sound at all, Arthur Agar had rushed forward when his mother spoke, and for a few seconds there was a wild confusion in the room, while Seymour Michael, white with dread, fled before his doom. In and out among the people and the furniture, shouting for help, he leapt and struggled. Then there came a crash. Seymour Michael had broken through the window, smashing the gla.s.s, with his arms doubled over his face.

A second later Arthur wrenched open the sash and gave chase across the lawn. In the confusion some moments elapsed before the two heavier men followed him over the smooth turf, and the ladies from the window saw Arthur Agar kneeling over Seymour Michael on the stone terrace at the end of the lawn. They heard with cruel distinctness the sharp crackling crash of the Jew's head upon the stone flags, as Arthur shook him as a terrier shakes a rat.

Instinctively they followed, and as they came up to the group where Ruthine was kneeling over Seymour Michael, while Jem dragged Arthur away, they heard the Doctor say--

"Agar, get the ladies away. This man is dead. Look sharp, man! They mustn't see this."

And Jem barred their way with one hand, while he held his half-brother with the other.

CHAPTER XXIX

SETTLED

For love in sequel works with fate.

The four walked back to the library together. Mrs. Agar looked back over her shoulder at every other footstep. She took no notice of her son. Her affection for him seemed suddenly to have been absorbed and lost in some other emotion.

Jem was half supporting, half carrying Arthur, whose eyes were like those of a dead man, while his lips were parted in a vacant, senseless way.

Already Ruthine could be heard giving his orders to the gardeners and other servants who had gathered round him in a wonderfully short s.p.a.ce of time.

Dora pa.s.sed into the library first, treading carefully over the broken gla.s.s, and Mrs. Agar followed her without appearing to notice the sound of breakage beneath her feet. No one had spoken a word since Mark Ruthine had told them that Seymour Michael was dead. There are some situations in life wherein we suddenly realise what an inadequate thing human speech is. There are some things that others know which we have never told them, and would ever be unable to tell them. There are some feelings within us for which no language can find expression.