"No hint. If anything comes of it, why, he'll know soon enough--if nothing, why disturb him? And--Wagram is so ultra conscientious. He'd never have done for the Diplomatic Service."

Both laughed, but it was somewhat mirthlessly.

"There is Wagram," went on the Squire as a step and a whistled bar or two sounded outside; and then the door opened.

"Ah! how are you, Monsignor? They told me you had arrived."

The old prelate's keen, kindly glance took in the man before him as they shook hands, and there was sadness in his heart, though sign thereof did not appear. Yes; he took in the tall, straight form and the refined, thoughtful face, and realised what a blow hung over their owner. Should it fall, how would he take it? How? He thought he knew. But--it would be terrible, disastrous, ruinous. Heaven in mercy avert it!

"What do you think, father?" said Wagram as they were seated at lunch.

"You remember that fellow who escaped from that wreck we were reading about the other day--the fellow with the quaint name--Develin Something--ah, Hunt--that was it? Well, he's staying in Ba.s.singham.

Charlie Vance pointed him out to me. Says he's stopping at the Golden Crown. Funny, isn't it?"

"Very. That's the man at whose expense you perpetrated that infamous pun, isn't it, Wagram?" answered the Squire, with a twinkle of the eyes, and as complete an _insouciance_ as though the man's very existence were not a matter of life and death to them.

"Well, I wasn't as bad as Haldane. I only fired it off once; but Haldane--you know, Monsignor, Haldane spent the rest of the day suggesting to everyone within hail that a chap named Develin Hunt must have had a bad time throughout life in that he would be continually in the way of being told that he had the Develin him."

"Capital--capital!" said Monsignor Culham, with a hearty laugh. "I read the case in the papers at the time. And what sort of a fellow did this shipwrecked mariner strike you as being, Wagram?"

"Oh, he looked a hard-bitten, unscrupulous sort of pirate. They say he's been a West African back-country trader--a life, I imagine, likely to turn a man that way."

The prelate laughed again, so did the Squire. Thus admirably did they keep their own counsel these two finished old diplomats. But--beneath!

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

INTERIM--PEACE!

One glowing summer morning saw Delia Calmour spinning her bicycle along at a great rate up the Hilversea drive. It was Sunday, and she had come to attend the chapel, a thing she had done more than once of late, since the time she had given efficient musical aid on a certain informal occasion we wot of. Some weeks had gone by since then, and now it was golden August. The beautiful landscape lay in a shimmer of heat, but the glad shout of the cuckoo echoed no more, and the chorus of bird voices had undergone considerable abatement, but the stillness and the glowing richness of the summer haze shed a peace around as of the peace of heaven.

She was late; yes, as she alighted and chained her bicycle to the railings she heard the roll of the organ within. She was late, but not very. Ma.s.s had hardly begun, she decided, as her ears caught the opening bars of the _Kyrie_ in Mozart Number 1. She hesitated a moment whether to do so or not, then went up to the choir-loft. Two things struck her as Yvonne handed her the score: one, that the choir was in less strength than usual; the other, that Wagram was at the organ. He half turned, astonished, as the full, rich soprano sounded forth among, if not slightly above, the rest, then settled down to his work with renewed satisfaction. She was doubly glad that she had come, for she knew that her musical talent was of genuine practical a.s.sistance, and as such was thoroughly appreciated.

"Take the organ for this," whispered Wagram just before the offertory.

"You can sing and play at the same time; I can't. We are going to have Arcadelt--your favourite."

She complied, and was astonished at herself and the tone and expression she managed to get out of the instrument, while not in the least drowning the voices, among which her own led, clear and rich. So were others, for more than one head turned round inquiringly towards the choir-loft, among them that of the old Squire.

"No--no; keep it all through," whispered Wagram, as she would have got up. "I shall be free to make one more to sing then."

Again she obeyed, and threw her best into it, and her best was very good indeed. The music at Hilversea was above the average, but to-day it had surpa.s.sed itself.

"Well done, Miss Calmour," said Haldane enthusiastically as they met outside after the service. "What degree in music have you taken, may I ask?"

"None, Mr Haldane. But I know you're only chaffing me."

"'Pon my honour, I'm not. If you haven't, you ought, to have. They ought to make you a Mus. Doc. at least. Oughtn't they, Wagram?"

"Of course," said the latter, joining them. "Thanks so much for your help, Miss Calmour. If you had come a bit earlier I would have asked you to play from the very first. Our regular organist's away, and someone had to take his place, so I threw myself--rather heroically, I think--into the breach. He'd have been jealous, though, if he'd heard you."

"I'm afraid you'll make me very conceited, Mr Wagram," laughed the girl rather deprecatingly. "But I am so glad if I have really been of any use."

"By Jove!" Haldane was saying to himself. "By Jove! but she is a pretty girl."

Nor was he overstating matters. Delia was dressed, plainly as usual, in cool white, which suited well her clear, mantling complexion and light hazel eyes, the latter bright with animation. She looked her best here now in the hot August sun, and what has been said of her musical accomplishment applies equally to her physical aspect--her best was very good indeed.

"You'll come up and lunch with us, Miss Calmour?" said Wagram. "It's much too hot to ride back all the way to Ba.s.singham in the middle of the day, especially after all your exertions on our behalf."

Delia accepted, hoping she was not betraying too much delight by her tone. Sunday at Siege House was the least tolerable day in the week, and now she wondered if she were going to have a day of heaven.

"Here, Gerard," called out Wagram, as two boys came up, accompanied by Yvonne, with whom one of them at any rate seemed to be engaged in altercation. "Miss Calmour, this is my rascal," he explained genially.

"The other has a parent of his own to give him a character, so I won't."

Both were straightly-built, handsome boys of fourteen, a complete contrast to each other, though both of the same height--one dark, the other golden-haired and blue-eyed. The first, however, moved Delia's interest the most as they came up and shook hands. So this was Wagram's son! The other was Haldane's. The two were sworn pals, and were at the same school.

"Why didn't you go and serve Ma.s.s, you scamps?" went on Wagram.

"Oh, we do that enough at Hillside, pater," answered Gerard, hanging on to his father's arm in a sort of insinuating and conciliatory way; "besides, we got in--er--a little late."

Delia, listening, remembered Wagram's remark when they had come upon the speaker's acolyte dress in the sacristy the day that she had first tried her hand at the organ. He was an exact replica of his father, she decided--just what Wagram might have been at his age.

"Reggie's just as bad, Mr Wagram," struck in Yvonne, who deemed it her mission to "round up" her brother in matters of the kind. "He slipped away from me when we were talking to old Mrs Clancy, and I believe he was at the bottom of it."

"Oh, well, as it's the beginning of the holidays, I suppose they must be allowed some law," rejoined Wagram.

"Give me your key, Miss Calmour, and I'll unlock your bike and wheel it up to the house," said Gerard.

"That will be good of you," answered Delia, with a smile that won the boy's heart there and then. She was mentally contrasting him with the raw, uncleanly, unlicked cub, which mainly const.i.tuted her experience of the animal hight 'boy' of the same age. Yet about this one on the other hand there was nothing priggish, nothing self-conscious. He was purely and entirely natural.

During lunch the old Squire congratulated her on her playing, and also on the excellence of her ill.u.s.trated article in _The Old Country Side_, which had appeared that week.

"We were wondering how in the world you managed to say so much in so limited a s.p.a.ce," he observed, "and to say just the right thing, too.

What a memory you must have, child!"

Delia was thinking that, whatever else might slip her memory, no single detail about Hilversea Court was likely to do so.

"And the ill.u.s.trations were excellent," went on the Squire--"excellent."

"Rather," a.s.sented Haldane. "I wish my box were not too insignificant for _The Old Country Side_, Miss Calmour, then you could scare up an ill.u.s.trated interview with it."

"And bring in Poogie," said Yvonne. "Oh, and--incidentally--father."

"Where do I come in?" hazarded her brother.

"To spoil the picture, of course."

"Thanks," answered the boy, with a good-humoured laugh. Yvonne looked at him and shook her golden head.