"No," he responded promptly. "It is almost a year to-day since I was in England."

Then, noticing Barton waiting with the trap, he ordered him to take the luggage to the house, while all three of us walked up the drive together.

A sudden change had pa.s.sed over Beryl. She knew this man Ashwicke, her att.i.tude towards him was that of fear. The looks they had exchanged at first meeting were sufficient to convince me that there was some hidden secret between them.

"Nora cannot be aware of your arrival," Beryl said, as we walked together up the sunny drive to the house. "Otherwise she would either have told me, or she certainly would have remained at home to receive you."

"Why should she?" he laughed lightly. "Surely we are old enough friends to put aside all ceremony. I'm a rolling stone, as you know, and I hate putting people out."

"Yes," she said; "you are a rolling stone, and no mistake. I don't think any one travels further afield than you do. You seem to be always travelling."

"I've only spent six months in England these last eight years," he responded. "To me, England is only bearable in August or September. A little shooting, and I'm off again."

"You only come back because you can't get decent sport on the Continent?" I said, for want of other observation to make.

"Exactly," he answered. "`_La Cha.s.se_,' as the French call it, is never a success across the Channel. Some rich Frenchman started a fox-hunt down at Montigny, in the Seine and Marne, not long ago, and part of the paraphernalia was an ambulance wagon flying the red-cross flag. A fact!

I went to the first meet myself."

"The French are no sportsmen," I said.

"The same everywhere, all over the Continent. Sport is _chic_, therefore the get-up of sportsmen must be outrageous and striking. No foreigner enjoys it. He shoots or hunts just because it's the correct thing to do. Here in England one kills game for the love of the thing.

To the Frenchman in patent leather, sport is only a bore."

He had all the irresponsible air of the true cosmopolitan, yet his a.s.sertion that he had been absent from England a year was an unmitigated lie. Knowing this, I was doubtful of all his chatter.

On entering the hall, Beryl, as mistress of the house in her cousin's absence, rang for the servants and told them to take Mr Ashwicke's baggage to the same room he had occupied last year, sending Barton round to the kennels to find Sir Henry and inform him of the arrival of his guest.

In the meantime, Ashwicke had tossed his hat aside, and seated himself cross-legged, in one of the low cane-chairs, making himself thoroughly at home.

"Well," he said, stretching himself, "it is really very pleasant, Miss Wynd, to be here once again. I have so many pleasant recollections of last year--when I spent three weeks with you. What a merry time we had!"

"I hope you'll remain here longer this time," she said in a dry, unnatural voice.

"You're awfully kind--awfully kind," he answered.

"I always enjoy myself under Sir Henry's roof, both here and in town."

The baronet entered, and the greeting between the two men was a cordial one.

"You'll forgive me, Ashwicke, won't you?" Sir Henry said a moment later. "I quite forgot to tell my wife, and she's gone off to the flower-show at Dodington; must support the local things, you know."

"Of course, of course," responded the other. "I quite understand, and I know I'm welcome."

"That you certainly are," Sir Henry said, turning and ordering the man to bring whisky and sodas. "Let's see, the last letter I had from you was from Alexandria, back in the Spring. Where have you been since then?"

"Oh, knocking about here and there, as usual. I can't stay long in one place, you know. It's a bad complaint I have."

"Well, I'm glad to see you--very glad," the baronet declared heartily.

"I hope you'll stay some time. Have you brought your gun?"

"Of course," the other laughed. "I shouldn't think, of coming to Atworth without it."

While they were chatting thus, I looked at him, recalling every feature.

Yes, it was the same face, scarcely perhaps the same sinister countenance as it had appeared to me on that well-remembered day, but nevertheless the face of the Tempter.

I lounged back in my chair, close to that of my well-beloved, filled with wonderment.

That the newcomer recognised me was certain, for I had been introduced by name. And that he had been unaware of my presence as guest there was equally certain. Yet he had, on encountering us together, preserved a self-control little short of marvellous.

I glanced at Beryl. She was sitting listening to the conversation of the two men, and regarding Ashwicke covertly from beneath her lashes. I knew by her manner that, although she had outwardly affected pleasure at his arrival, she, in her heart, regarded him as an enemy. He, on his part, however, was perfectly confident, and sat sipping his drink and laughing merrily with his host.

What, I wondered, was pa.s.sing within Beryl's mind. She knew this man as Ashwicke, while I knew him as her own father, Wyndham Wynd. The latter were evidently a name and position both a.s.sumed, and, after all, as he sat there with the easy refined air of a gentleman, I could scarcely believe him to be an adventurer. Surely Sir Henry knew him well, or they would not be on terms of such intimate friendship.

But now I had discovered him, I meant, at all hazards, to probe the truth.

Beryl, who had spoken but little after Sir Henry's entrance, rose at last, announcing her intention of going out beneath the trees again.

Her words conveyed an invitation to accompany her; therefore I strolled out at her side, anxious to learn from her what I could regarding the man to whom she had introduced me.

How curiously events occur in our lives. Many of the ordinary circ.u.mstances of everyday existence which we pa.s.s by unnoticed seem to be governed by some laws of which we have absolutely no knowledge whatever. Reader, in your own life, there has occurred some strange combinations of circ.u.mstances quite unaccountable, yet by them the whole course of your existence has been altered. You may have noticed them, or you may not. You may call it Fate, or you may be a follower of that shadowy religion called Luck, yet it remains the same--the unexpected always happens.

Who indeed would have expected that my wife herself would have introduced me to the man who had so cleverly baited the trap into which I had fallen? And yet it is always so. There is a mysterious all-ruling spirit of perversity ever at work in that complicated series of events which go to make up what we term life.

"You were telling me that you know my husband," she said quickly, as we crossed the gra.s.s together. "Our conversation was interrupted by that man's arrival."

Such reference to the new-comer showed me that she was not well-disposed towards him.

"Do you know," I said, "I believe that we've met somewhere before. I know his face."

"Possibly. But why Sir Henry should have invited him here again, I can't imagine."

"Was his company so disagreeable?" I asked.

"Disagreeable?" she echoed. "He is detestable."

"Why?"

"Oh, for many reasons," she responded ambiguously; "I have never liked him."

"He says that he is always abroad," I remarked. "But I'm confident that we have met somewhere in England."

"He did not apparently recognise you, when I introduced you."

"No. He didn't wish to. The circ.u.mstances of our meeting were not such as to leave behind any pleasant recollections."

"But you told me that you knew the ident.i.ty of my husband," she said, after a pause, as we strolled together in the shadow of the great oaks.

"Were you really serious?"

"No, I was not serious," I answered quickly, for the unexpected arrival of this man who called himself Ashwicke, and whose name appeared in the _London Directory_ as occupier of the house in Queen's-gate Gardens, caused me to hesitate to tell her the truth. The manner in which they had met made it quite plain that some secret understanding existed between them. It seemed possible that this man had actually occupied the house before the present owner, Mrs Stentiford.