"Strange how things come back," went on Mervyn. "Now your name is a bit uncommon, and I've been racking my brain box over it. Do you happen to be related to Varne Coates, who was Commissioner at Baghnagar?"

"Yes. He's rather a near cousin of mine."

"Look at that now. He used to be one of my greatest friends. Small world this after all."

"Yes, isn't it? Well, Mr Mervyn, that only adds to the pleasure of making your acquaintance--in such an accidental manner."

For the life of him Mervyn could not restrain the ghost of a queer smile, for he knew there was nothing at all accidental about the matter, and the worst of it was the other knew that he knew it. As for that other he greatly rejoiced over this discovery, for he owned to himself that Melian Seward's personality was almost unique in his experience; and, in short, and done into plain English, he wanted to see her again.

As regarded the matter to clear up which he had come there, why it could go hang, or if he went on with it at all it would be simply and solely for his own satisfaction and in nowise to help Nashby or any of his kind. As to which he was in nowise bound--for as we have said before, he had come there in the light of an "outside" man, and was responsible to n.o.body.

And then, in the light of this newly discovered mutual acquaintance, a new sense of good fellowship, of cordiality seemed to spring up between the two men--likewise the conversation was now transferred to them.

Mervyn warmed up with old recollections of places and people; most of the former and some of the latter of which were known to his guest, and Melian perforce had to do listener, which she did not in the least mind.

It was not until the fading of the afternoon light that Varne suddenly awoke to the fact that in the capacity of unknown stranger he might have been there quite long enough.

"Oh no. Make your mind easy of that head," Mervyn answered, as he said as much. "Look in again if you're prolonging your stay. Have another 'peg' before you start. No? A weed then?"

Helston Varne lighted a cigar, and they went with him as far as the sluice. Mervyn, walking behind, did not fail to observe that this time no notice was taken of that one stone. The other did not even step on it. This, to his mind, suggested two solutions. Either his guest was off the scent, or, in the capacity of a new friend he did not intend to follow up his investigations. Whichever solution it was that held good it was equally satisfactory to Mervyn.

"Well, what do you think of that for a specimen?" he said, as Melian and he turned back to the house.

"He's rather a good sort, and miles out of the ordinary," answered the girl. "He _can_ talk."

"Yes. You've met your match in that accomplishment, certainly."

"Oh, I didn't mean in that way. I mean he can talk sense. Talk about things, and all that, and it's more than can be said for most people one runs against. I wonder if he'll come over again."

"I don't."

The dry meaning of the tone, the quizzical look, earned for the speaker a playful pinch on the arm.

"Don't be prophetic, Uncle Seward, especially with regard to a perfect stranger."

"Perfect--eh? H'm--ha! Still I think we haven't seen the last of-- Perfection. Good name that. Meanwhile, I shall have to find out something about him over and above his relationship with my old pal Varne Coates, before asking his intentions."

This earned for the speaker another pinch--a harder one this time, and the chaff and raillery flowed on. And John Seward Mervyn was conscious of feeling very happy, very contented. This element of youthfulness and bright spirits was just that in which his solitary life had been lacking. Then it had been supplied; and again and again, every hour of late he had blessed the chance which had supplied it.

But with this complacent consciousness, there was this evening ever so slight a misgiving, and--while he candidly owned to himself his motive was a selfish one--he hoped their newly found acquaintance would, for any reason or none, come no more.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

OF SOME TALK ON A ROAD.

The year had dawned more and more into daylight if not correspondingly into warmth, and for Melian life had become more of a settled thing at Heath Hover. So far she was content, but a dreadful suspicion was coming upon her that she might not be always content. She had a sort of instinctive longing for work again, and that for its own sake--to be doing. And in this quiet, rather lonely life, there was no scope for such.

She had no friends of her own age or s.e.x. Two or three of both had called, on learning of her presence at Heath Hover, but with the best intentions there was nothing about them to appeal to the girl from any point of view. They were just well-meaning, commonplace people of the most ordinary and commonplace type.

To a certain extent--a large extent--her uncle made up for the want of such companionship. He was a companionable man, given intelligent and sympathetic company, and this he found to the full in her. There was hardly a subject under the sun that they did not thresh out together, and grim old haunted Heath Hover seemed to shake its dry bones into new life with the constant stream of talk and laughter which now echoed from its walls.

"Why, you've put back the clock a quarter of a century for me, dear," he declared. "I feel that much younger. Isn't that something for you to have done?"

And she had agreed, wholesouledly; and yet, there would obtrude that thought, of late, that she was doing nothing with her life.

By this time her uncle had come to regard her with a sort of idolatry.

His capacity for affection had become utterly atrophied for want of an object upon which to expend any of it. Such few acquaintances or relatives as he had he cared nothing about. If he had been well off they would have discovered fast enough that they cared about him, he used to tell himself cynically; and who shall say untruly. He had become self-centred, even morose at times--just content to groove on through life to the end; thankful--if he ever thought of being thankful for anything at all--that there was n.o.body to worry him. He had allowed himself to be worried at times in his life, and looked back to such times with a mental shudder, which was when the spirit of thankfulness was evolved.

But now here was such an object, and it had promptly captured the whole of his capacity for affection and was expanding it every day. There was everything in it that appealed--the sweet, refined beauty of the child, the sunny lightheadedness, the naive untrammelled appreciation of all that appealed to him--the sheer youthful enjoyment of life--well, he had not lived in vain. And he made an idol of her more and more every day.

So they rambled together, drove long drives together, talked together; indeed, not a wish of hers was left ungratified where it lay within his power to gratify it, and she, knowing the extent of such power, never dreamed of looking beyond it. And the curious part it of was that he, watching her with furtive and solicitous jealousy, found that she was by no means tiring of this mode of life.

Once or twice he had suggested she should ask some girl friend to come and pay her a visit, as a relief from one incessant old fogey, but she had not been in the least responsive. There was no such "relief"

required, she had answered spontaneously. She was quite happy as they were. She would like to get Violet Clinock, when the latter could come, but that would not be yet. Meanwhile she was quite jolly as they were.

To Mervyn this reply came with an undashed feeling of relief. Stay--not altogether undashed perhaps, for he was old enough to know that a year or two at the outside in the ordinary course of things would be all that should remain to him of this idyllic time. Why, only to look at the child! Were all the best years of her life to be wasted, mewed up in a lonely old country corner! And with this idea came one that had just hooked itself, not altogether pleasantly, on to his mind--and it spelt Helston Varne.

For the latter had availed himself of his invitation to "come again."

He had "come again," only to the extent of three times, but Mervyn had not been slow to mark a certain very complete sympathy, as of ideas in common, that had sprung up between him and Melian, and that from the very first. They talked animatedly on every subject, several outside his own sphere of knowledge, and in short, seemed thoroughly to have taken to each other. And Helston Varne was a remarkably fine looking man.

Mervyn had set afoot enquiries with regard to Helston Varne, and in the result had elicited that whatever line the latter was pursuing at the present moment--and he very much more than supposed the nature of that line--at any rate he was not dependent upon its results in any way. He was, in fact, well off--almost wealthy. The inducement to take it up at all was probably the sheer sporting instinct. So far, this conclusion was, from a certain point of view, satisfactory. And Helston Varne was a near relation of his old and intimate friend, Varne Coates of Baghnagar.

Personally, he liked the man. John Seward Mervyn was a shrewd, keen judge of character, and studying this one closely, his verdict was "quite all right." He noted too with a modic.u.m of dry amus.e.m.e.nt that the "investigation" element was entirely absent during his subsequent visits. Incidentally, what Inspector Nashby thought of it was quite another matter, as to which Mervyn did not give two thoughts. And after those three visits, Helston Varne had left the neighbourhood, now some three weeks ago.

This afternoon, Melian was walking up the hilly road in the direction of that which, crossing it at right angles, led to the hamlet of Lower Gidding. There was a sharp north easterly wind blowing, which brought the colour to her cheeks, tingeing them with the glow of health, and lending an unusually clear brightness to the blue eyes. She revelled in the exercise, walking straight from the hips with a firm elastic step.

On her left was a sombre oak-wood, its gnarled leafless boughs showing a hundred fantastic--almost threatening shapes in its twilight depths. On the right a high hedge showed through its bare leaflessness and gaps here and there, a wide sweep of view over the valley beneath. Even that far inland a sea mist was creeping up from beyond the distant downs, partially blotting the fast setting sun into a blood red disc. A cottage with its low eaves and picturesque chimney stacks stood out against the murk. Then the sudden loud ting of a bicycle bell made her look up with something of a start, for she was deep in her own thoughts.

The rider was coming down the hill on the free wheel. At sight of her he clapped the brakes on sharp; so sharp, as well nigh to earn catastrophe--for himself. In a moment he was standing in the road.

"Miss Seward! Why this is an unexpected and delightful meeting, I was on my way to look up your uncle."

"Were you? He'll be glad. Well, we can walk back together, Mr Varne-- unless, of course, you'd sooner ride," she added, mischievously.

"Why of course I would," he answered, in the same vein.

"Where are you from now. The usual _Woodc.o.c.k_, Lower Gidding?"

"No. The _Queen's Head_, Clancehurst, this time. You know how we used to wrangle over the shortest way out. Well, I'm still inclined to think there isn't a hundred yards to choose between them. The one you always use _seems_ the straightest."

"All serene, I still stick to my opinion. The Cholgate way _is_ the shortest," she answered, merrily mischievous.

"Then the Cholgate way _is_ the shortest, and there's no more to be said," answered Varne in the same spirit, and as he looked down into the dancing blue eyes, he came to the conclusion that he was looking upon the sweetest, most entrancing vision of girl loveliness he had ever looked upon in his life.

"Well, and what have you been doing with yourself all this time?" she said as they walked down the steep, rather stony hill.

"H'm! Various things," he answered, unconsciously shading off his lightness of tone a little, as the ugliness of a particularly grim affair which he had been engaged upon investigating, obtruded unpleasantly at such a moment.

She sent a quick look at him, and did not pursue the subject.

"Look. There's old Broceliande--still in the same place."