Essie's dark eyes were fixed intently on the garrulous old servant.

"Three years ago last Christmas," she said sharply. "Are you sure of that?"

"And wouldn't I be sure that took 'im from the month ma'am, but 'e don't look so like the picture when 'e ain't dressed to match, and without the yaller wig," and she wandered out of the room, evidently more interested in the luncheon preparations than in us.

Ted hurried in. When was he not in a hurry?

"Luncheon, luncheon," he said. "Don't wait for me, Essie. Rather too long a drive for my little woman. Give her a gla.s.s of port, Beatrice. I have to see Rodwell about the roof. Shan't be half a mo. He's got to catch his train. Mr. Kenstone, the Duke, I mean, will be here in ten minutes. If he turns up before I'm back give him a snack. They've sent enough for ten."

We did not go in to luncheon.

Essie sank down on the divan. I sat down by her, and put my arms round her. She leaned her head against my shoulder.

"You heard what that woman said," she whispered. "You see he did not live hundreds of years ago as I thought. The dress deceived me. He's alive now. He's twenty-four."

My heart ached for her, but I could find no word to comfort her in her mysterious trouble.

As we looked out together through the narrow latticed windows the lines came into my mind:

" cas.e.m.e.nts opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn."

It seemed to me that poor Essie was indeed a captive in some "faery land forlorn," and that invisible perilous seas were foaming round her cas.e.m.e.nt windows.

She gave a slight shudder, and started up.

A man was walking slowly up and down the bowling green.

"It is he," she said. "I've seen him walk there a hundred times."

She watched the tall dignified figure pace up and down, and then turned her eyes from him to me. They were wide, and the pupils dilated.

"Beatrice," she said solemnly, "I must not meet that man. He must not see me, for his sake, and for mine. All his life long he must go on thinking as he does now, that I am ... a dream."

"The old woman says he starts for Spain to-day."

Ted's roundabout figure was suddenly seen trundling out across the gra.s.s towards the distant pacing figure.

"Who is that?" said Essie frowning.

"Who is that? Why, it's Ted of course."

"And who is Ted?"

"Who is Ted?" I echoed staring at her. "What on earth do you mean?"

She seemed to make a great mental effort.

"Yes," she said. "Yes. It is Ted. _My husband._ I forgot. You see I've never seen him _here_ before."

"You will soon grow accustomed to seeing him here," I said cheerfully.

She shook her head.

The two men met, and moved together towards the house.

Essie looked round her in sudden panic.

"I can't stay here," she said. "It's a trap. Where can I go?"

Her eyes searched the room. There was no other door in it. She looked at the narrow latticed windows. Her eyes came back to me with sheer terror in them, such as I have seen in a snared wild animal.

"You _must_ stay here," I said, "if you don't want to meet him. They will reach the open door into the garden long before you could cross the hall. Stay quietly where you are, and I will tell Ted you are unwell, and are resting."

The two men were already in the hall. I went out to them, closing the door resolutely behind me.

Rupert Maria Wenceslao di Soto, Duke of Urrutia, was a tall grave young man of few words, with close cropped hair and a lean clean shaven face.

Ted introduced him to me, and then pressed him to have some luncheon.

The long table down the banqueting hall shewed an array of which Fortnum and Mason might justly have been proud.

The Duke was all courtesy and thanks, but had already lunched. His car would be here in ten minutes to take him to London. If agreeable to Mr.

Hopkins he would say one word on business. He had called to modify his agent's letter about the mantelpieces. He was willing to sell them all as agreed at a valuation, except one.

"Which one?" asked Ted, instantly changing from the exuberant host into the cautious business man.

"The one in the south parlour," said the Duke, waving his hand towards the door of the room in which was Essie. "I desire to make it clear, as my agent has not done so, that everything in that room I intend to take with me, so that in my future home in the Pyrenees there may be one chamber exactly the same as my late mother's room in my old home here."

The explanation quite bowled over Ted. The business man gave way to the man of sentiment.

"Most creditable, I'm sure. Filial piety, most creditable. I don't recall the mantlepiece in question, but of course as your Grace wishes to keep it, I agree at once. Between gentlemen, no difficulties, everything open to arrangement, amicable settlement."

The old woman, dissolved in tears, interrupted Ted's eloquence to tell "Mr. Rupert" that his car was at the door.

The Duke led her gently out of the hall, his hand on her shoulder, and then came back.

"I will detain you no longer from your luncheon," he said. "With your permission I will spend a few moments in my mother's chamber. It has many beautiful a.s.sociations for me. I should like to see it once more before I leave for Spain."

Ted hastened towards the door, but I barred the way.

"Dear Ted," I said, "Essie is very ill. No one must go in."

"No one go in!" said Ted flushing darkly. "I am astonished at you, Beatrice. The Duke wishes to see his mother's room once more, on bidding farewell to his ancestral home, and you take upon yourself to forbid it."

"My sister-in-law is ill," I said, addressing the Duke, "it would distress her if a stranger were to go in suddenly."

"I understand perfectly, Madam," he said coldly, and made as if to take his leave.

"Stop," said Ted, purple in the face. "My wife _is_ unwell. She is overtired, but she is the kindest, most tender-hearted woman in the world. It would cut her to the heart if she found out afterwards she had prevented your Grace's seeing this room for the last time. Wait one moment, while I go in and explain it to her, and help her to walk a few steps to the settle here."