But for that, and again Athena was quite sincere with herself, he would need to have by his side a clever and brilliant woman, without whose help he might find himself shelved as many another man of action has been. It was this fact that someone ought to convey to poor Jane Oglander.

Within the last few months, by merely saying a word to a distinguished personage at the War Office, Mrs. Maule had been able, so she quite believed, to advance Bayworth Kaye materially--to procure him, that is, a post on which he had set his heart, and for which he was eminently fitted.

The official in question had been extremely cautious, not to say cold, during their little conversation, but a week or two later Athena had been gratified to receive from the great man a pretty little note in which he had informed her that her protege--as he called poor Bayworth--was going, after all, to be given the post for which he was so admirably qualified.

Athena had no reason to under-estimate her powers. The average man always, and the exceptional man generally, capitulated at once. Even politicians were indulgent to her ignorance, nay more, amused by her lack of knowledge of British public affairs. But Athena was now coming to see the value of such knowledge.

Since the arrival of General Lingard, she had realised that there were all sorts of things which ordinary women--such women as Jane Oglander and Mabel Digby--know, but which she had never taken the trouble to learn. Lingard had already taught her a good deal. She had early adopted the excellent principle, when with a man, of allowing him to talk, especially when the subject was one about which she knew little or nothing.

Lingard would have been amazed indeed had he known that a fortnight ago Athena Maule had scarcely heard of these subjects--so vitally interesting to those concerned with the expansion of our Empire in Africa--about which she now questioned him so intelligently.

The next day opened with very ill news--the news that Bayworth Kaye was dead.

As is the way in the country, the servants heard the bare fact some time before it reached their betters. It formed the subject of discussion in the servants' hall on the previous evening, for the fatal telegram had reached the rectory at seven o'clock, and its contents had made their way, first to the stables of Rede Place, and from thence to the house half an hour later, at the very time Lingard was echoing Athena's words, "If only you were free!"

"You'll 'ave to tell her when you go in with the cup of tea," observed Mr. Maule's valet to Mrs. Maule's French maid, Felicie. But the woman shrugged her shoulders, with a "Ma foi, non!"

They had all wondered, with sighs and mysterious winks, how Mrs. Maule would take the news. The Corsican chef expressed great concern. "Ce pauvre jeune homme est mort d'amour!" he exclaimed to Felicie, and she nodded solemnly, explaining and expanding his remark to the others.

"Gammon! An Englishman--an officer and a gentleman--don't die of such a thing as love," the butler said scornfully, and Felicie again had shrugged her shoulders. What did these unimaginative barbarians know of the tender pa.s.sion?--nothing, save when it touched their own sluggish souls and bodies. Poor Monsieur Bayworth--so young, so gallant, always kindly and civil to Felicie herself. So unlike that prude, his mamma!

Felicie had but one regret--that she had never seen Monsieur Bayworth in uniform.

Wantele was told the next morning. Bayworth Kaye--Bayworth, whom he had known with an affectionate, kindly knowledge from his birth upwards--dead? He felt a sharp pang remembering how coldly he and the young man had said good-bye less than a month ago. After all, it was not Bayworth who had been to blame for all that had happened during the last year....

He came down to breakfast hoping that the news which he had himself learnt but a few moments before was already known to Athena. If that were the case, she would probably stay upstairs. Breakfast in bed is one of the many agreeable privileges civilised life offers woman.

Only since General Lingard had been staying at Rede Place had Mrs. Maule come down each morning. She had evidently begun doing so during those three days which had laid so solid a foundation to her friendship with Lingard.

But if Athena were still in ignorance of young Kaye's death, then to him, Wantele, must fall the painful, the odious, task of telling her. He could not be so cruel as to allow her to discover the fact from the morning papers. Of late--and again d.i.c.k traced a connection between the fact and Lingard's presence at Rede Place--Mrs. Maule generally glanced over one of the papers before opening her letters.

Lingard came into the dining-room, and then, a moment after, Mrs. Maule and Jane Oglander together.

Wantele glanced quickly at his cousin's wife. With relief he told himself that Athena had heard the melancholy news. She looked ill and tired, her eyelids were red, her beauty curiously obscured.

She came up languidly to the breakfast table, and Lingard looked at her solicitously. She put out her hand and let it rest for a moment in his grasp. Her hand was cold, and he muttered a word of concern.

"I couldn't sleep," she said. "I shall have to take chloral again--it's the only vice Richard and I ever had in common!"

Lingard turned abruptly away. It had become disagreeable to him to hear her utter Richard Maule's name. And Athena felt suddenly discomfited.

The plans she had made in the night became remote from reality.

She sat down and her eyes began following Lingard. He was waiting on Jane, taking trouble to get Jane what he supposed she liked to eat--and leaving her, Athena, his hostess, to d.i.c.k Wantele's care.

So far, she had never had the power to make Lingard neglect Jane in those small material things which mean so much to some women and so little to others. Personal service meant a great deal to Athena Maule.

The sight of Lingard and Jane Oglander together was becoming unendurable to her.

"D'ye know, d.i.c.k, if there's any more news of Bayworth Kaye?"

It was Jane who spoke. She also felt ill and tired; she also had not slept that night; but Lingard's anxious look and muttered word of concern had not been for her. True, he was "looking after her" now, bringing her food she had no wish to eat, making her--and what a mockery it was--his special care.

But what was this that d.i.c.k was saying in so hushed a voice, in answer to her idle question?

"Yes, I'm sorry to say there is news--bad news."

The speaker was intensely conscious of Athena's presence. Did she know, or did she not know, what he was about to say? He added slowly, "Poor Bayworth Kaye is dead."

Jane uttered an exclamation of horror and concern. Athena said nothing; but she took a piece of toast out of the tiny rack in front of her plate, and began crumbling it in her hand.

"Yes, it's a terrible thing"--Wantele was now speaking to Lingard. "The poor fellow was an only son--indeed, an only child. We've known him all his life. It will be a shock to Richard----" He talked on, and still Athena remained silent.

But when at last Jane turned to her with, "I suppose you will be going down to the rectory this morning?" Mrs. Maule threw back her head and spoke with a touch of angry excitement in her voice:--

"Why did you tell me now, d.i.c.k, before breakfast? You've made me miserable--miserable! You know I hate being told of anyone's death. I hate death! No, I shan't go to the rectory--you can go, Jane, and say all that should be said from Richard and from me."

Lingard looked severely at Wantele. How stupid, how heartless, the young man was always showing himself! Why had he hastened to tell sad news which he must have known would so much distress Athena and Jane Oglander?

"I'm so sorry! I was afraid you would see it in one of the papers,"

Wantele spoke as if he did indeed repent of his cruel lack of thought.

Athena accepted his apology in silence. After a while she turned to her guest:--

"I wish you had met poor Bayworth Kaye," she said musingly, "he was just the sort of man you would have liked. He was tremendously keen----" Then she stopped short; looking up she had met d.i.c.k Wantele's light-coloured eyes fixed on her face with an expression of--was it extreme surprise or angry disgust?

She looked straight at him: "Don't you agree, d.i.c.k?"

"Yes, yes," he said hastily, "I certainly agree," and his eyes wavered and fell before her frank, questioning gaze.

CHAPTER XIII

"L'amour et la douleur sont parallels Ces deux lignes-la vont a jamais ensemble."

Owing to the peculiar conditions of his life, a life led almost entirely apart from the rest of his household, Richard Maule seldom had occasion to see Hew Lingard and Athena together. But the owner of Rede Place always realised a great deal more of what was going on than those about him credited him with doing, and on his wife he kept a constant, secret watch of which she alone became sometimes uncomfortably aware.

As the fine autumn days--to the stricken man the pleasantest time of the year--wore themselves away, Richard Maule grew particularly kind and considerate to Jane Oglander.

He was very susceptible to the physical condition of those about him, and he noticed that she had altered strangely during the short time she had been at Rede Place. She was pale and listless; and often when with him she sat doing nothing, saying nothing.

Every time they were alone together--and that now was very often--the past came back to Richard Maule, especially that time of his life when he lay ill to death eight years ago in Italy.

Looking furtively at her strained, unhappy face, he would recall the agony of rage and despair in which he had lain at a time when he had been supposed by those about him to be absorbed in his physical condition--if indeed conscious of anything at all.

In those days Athena had still preserved a simulacrum of regard, of affection for her husband, and when she came into his room, when she stood at the bottom of his bed looking with mingled repugnance and pity at his distorted face, he longed to rise and destroy the wanton who had been so adoringly loved and so wholly trusted.