Sharply and cruelly, the glamour cast by death receded from her memory.

She saw a.s.shlin as she had seen him in life--selfish, obstinate, and yet weak. And, quick as the vision came, another followed. The vision of her-self--of her own att.i.tude towards her existence and her responsibilities.

In silent, intent concentration she gazed upon the picture, until at last, seized by an ungovernable impulse, half-instinctive realisation, half-superst.i.tious dread, she caught up the lamp and walked to the dressing-table. There, removing the coloured shade, she laid it upon the table; and, lifting the mirror, looked fixedly at her own reflection, intensified by the crude, strong light.

For several minutes she stood quite motionless, her questioning eyes searching the eyes in the gla.s.s, her pale face confronting its own reflection. And as she looked, expressions of doubt, of fear, of conviction chased each other across her features.

The image that confronted her was her father's image, softened by differences of age and s.e.x, but fundamentally the same. The image of one who had wasted his life--ignored his duties--squandered the substance of those who were dependent upon him! One whom even his children had learned to despise!

With a sudden sensation of physical faintness she turned from the table. For every folly of Denis a.s.shlin's, there sprang to her mind some corresponding folly in her own more brilliant life. How inefficiently she had worked out her own destiny--she who long ago had been so rigid in her condemnation of him!

In sudden terror she moved unsteadily across the room, and stood leaning against the foot of the oak bedstead; then, all at once, she made a swift, pa.s.sionate gesture, and dropped to her knees.

"O G.o.d!" she whispered wildly--"G.o.d, who made me!--I am afraid!"

CHAPTER IX

At eleven o'clock on July the fourth, Nance was to arrive at Tuffnell.

Her boat reached Liverpool on the third; but it had been arranged that she was to spend the night on board, and take an early train to Buckinghamshire on the following morning.

At ten o' clock Clodagh, wearing a hat and veil, and drawing on her gloves, left her bedroom and descended the stairs. Taking advantage of Lady Diana's arrangement that all the guests were at liberty to breakfast in their own rooms, she had elected to avoid the family meal, at which her instinct told her Gore would be present. After last night's mental crisis, the idea of encountering his polite avoidance had seemed to her intolerable.

As she pa.s.sed downstairs now, with slow and sobered steps, she half paused as the burly figure of George Tuffnell appeared at the open hall door; but her hesitation was not permitted to last, for instantly her host caught sight of her, he came forward hospitably. And a new shame woke in her, as she realised that Lady Diana Tuffnell had preserved silence even to her husband upon the subject of last night's incident--or at least upon her share in it.

"Hallo, Mrs. Milbanke!" he cried cheerfully. "Has the London atmosphere got imported with our guests? These are London hours, you know!"

He strode up to her, followed closely by a couple of dogs, and seized her hand cordially.

Clodagh gave a little embarra.s.sed laugh; and instantly stooped to caress the dogs.

"I feel ashamed of myself," she said hurriedly. "You and Lady Diana must forgive me. But I was very tired last night."

Tuffnell waived the matter good-naturedly.

"Don't apologise! Don't mention it! But you should be thinking about the train. I was just coming to tell you that the trap is ready, whenever you are. It was Di's idea to give you the trap; she said you'd hate a big conveyance that would tempt people to offer themselves as escorts!" He laughed in his hearty, untroubled way. "One of the men will drive you over, but you can get rid of him at the station. He'll come back in the dog-cart with Miss a.s.shlin's luggage."

Again Clodagh bent to pat the dogs.

"How kind of Lady Diana!" she murmured. "I haven't seen my little sister for years and years, you know."

"You'll find her changed, I'll guarantee. Children do spring up!" He gave a loud, contented sigh. "But shall I order the trap round? Or do you want to see Di first?"

"I think I'll--I'll see Lady Diana later--if it will not seem ungracious."

"Ungracious! Not a bit! I'll get the trap." He turned and swung across the sunny hall, whistling to his dogs. And Clodagh, still quiet and subdued, walked slowly after him to the door.

No one was about when the small trap was brought round from the stables, followed by Tuffnell and the dogs. And as Clodagh came down the steps the two animals pressed forward with upturned, eager faces; and the friendly appeal in their faithful eyes touched her to remembrance of many grey and misty mornings, when Denis a.s.shlin's high, old-fashioned trap would sweep round from the Orristown stable-yard, and dogs such as these would plead pa.s.sionately for a share in the impending journey. A dry, painful sensation seemed to catch her throat.

"May they come with me?" she asked softly. "I love animals. I had to send my own Irish terrier home to Ireland when I gave up my house in Italy--and nothing has ever quite taken his place. Do let them come!

They would be so good."

The two dogs looked swiftly from her face to their master's.

But George Tuffnell pretended to be stern.

"No!" he said loudly--"no! d.i.c.k and Tom can't go to the station to-day!"

Instantly the two tails dropped.

"Come, Myers!" he called to the groom. "Mrs. Milbanke has no time to spare. d.i.c.k! Tom! To heel!" He winked humorously at Clodagh, as she stepped into the trap; and a moment later the groom took his seat and picked up the reins.

Then suddenly he broke into a shout of genial laughter.

"You villains!" he cried. "Off with you! Away with you!" And with a yelp of wild delight, the dogs sped down the avenue.

Clodagh scarcely noticed the details of that swift drive, for a nervous sense of excitement and trepidation banished her powers of observation.

And as she stepped from the little trap and entered the small country station, she could scarcely command a steady voice in which to ask whether the train was yet due.

The train proved to be over-due by three minutes, and the knowledge brought an added qualm of apprehension.

"What if little Nance were utterly changed? What if America had spoiled her?" But her thoughts and fears were alike broken in upon by a long, shrill whistle; the expected train loomed round a curve in the line, and a moment later roared its way into the station.

There was a second of uncertainty; then somewhere in the front of the train a door was flung open, a small slight figure in a muslin dress sped down the platform, and two warm arms were thrown about Clodagh's neck, bridging in one moment the gulf of years.

The sisters held and kissed each other, regardless of the one or two country pa.s.sengers who had alighted from the train, and the two grooms from Tufmell who were waiting for Nance's luggage. Then at last the younger girl drew away; and, still holding Clodagh's hand, looked at her intently.

"Oh, Clo!" she cried, "how lovely you are!"

At the old name, the old candid admiration, tears rushed suddenly to Clodagh's eyes.

"I'm not, darling! I'm not! But you are sweet--and the same, oh, the _very same_!"

She laughed with a break in her voice; then, as two porters came down the platform rolling Nance's luggage, she remembered the necessities of the moment.

"Is this yours?"

"Yes; my American clothes. Do I look very American?"

"You look sweet! Myers," she added to the groom, who had come forward, "this is Miss a.s.shlin's luggage. And will you, please, go back in the dog-cart. I want to drive the pony home."

Myers touched his cap.

"Very good, ma'am!"

He turned, and pa.s.sed out of the station.