"Yes," she replied incautiously, "I wished to get the letters early."

"And, after all, there is nothing for you?"

"No," she replied. "No, but--"

She stopped suddenly and handed him two letters, which he took slowly, and apparently forgot to thank her, saying nothing at all. There was a peculiar expression of dawning surprise upon his face, and he studied the envelopes in his hand without reading a word of the address.

Presently he raised his eyes and glanced at Hilda. She was holding a letter daintily between her two forefingers, cornerwise, and with little puffs of her pouted lips was spinning it round, evidently enjoying the infantile amus.e.m.e.nt immensely.

He dropped his letters into the pocket of his jacket, and stood aside for her to pa.s.s into the house; but she, abruptly ceasing her windmill operations, looked at him with raised eyebrows and stood still.

"Well?" she said interrogatively.

"What?"

"And Mr. Trevetz's answer--I suppose it is one of those letters?"

"Oh yes!" he replied. "I had forgotten my promise."

He took the letters from his pocket, and looked at the addresses again.

"One is from Trevetz," he said slowly, "and the other from Mrs. Strawd."

"Nothing from Mr. Bodery?" asked she indifferently.

He had taken a pencil from his pocket, and, turning, he held Trevetz's letter against the wall while he wrote across it. Without ceasing his occupation, and in a casual way, he replied:--

"No, nothing from Mr. Bodery; so I am free as yet."

"I am very glad," she murmured conventionally.

"And I," he said, turning with a polite smile to hand her the letter.

She took the envelope, and holding it up in both hands examined it critically.

"M-a-x," she read; "how badly it is written! Max--Max Talma--is that it?"

"Yes," he answered gravely, "that is it."

With a little laugh and a shrug of her shoulders she proceeded to open the envelope. It contained nothing but the sketch made upon the fly-leaf of a novel. Christian was watching her face. She continued to smile as she unfolded the paper. Then she suddenly became grave, and handed the open sketch to him. At the foot was written:--

"Max Talma--look out! Avoid him as you would the devil!

"In haste, C.T."

Christian read it, laughed carelessly, and thrust the paper into his pocket. "Trevetz writes in a good forcible style," he said, turning to greet Molly, who came, singing, downstairs at this moment. For an instant her merry eyes a.s.sumed a scrutinising, almost anxious look as she caught sight of her sister and Christian standing together.

"Are you just down?" she asked carelessly.

"Yes," answered Christian, still holding her hand.

"I have just come down."

As usual the day's pleasure was all prearranged. A groom rode to the station at Christian's request with a large envelope on which was printed Mr. Bodery's name and address. This was to be given to the guard, who would in his turn hand it to a special messenger at Paddington, and the editor of the _Beacon_ would receive it by four o'clock in the afternoon.

The day was fine, with a fresh breeze, and the programme of pleasure was satisfactorily carried out. But with sunset the wind freshened into a brisk gale, and heavy clouds rolled upwards from the western horizon.

This was the first suggestion of autumn, the first sigh of dying summer.

The lamps were lighted a few minutes earlier that night, and the family a.s.sembled in the drawing-room soon after dark, although the windows were left open for those who wished to pa.s.s in and out.

Mrs. Carew's grey head was, as usual, bent over some simple needlework, while Molly sat near at hand. According to her wont she also was busy, while around her the work lay strewed in picturesque disorder. Sidney was reading in his own room--reading for a vague law examination which always appeared to have been lately postponed till next October.

Christian was seated at the piano, playing by s.n.a.t.c.hes and turning over the brown leaves of some very old music, unearthed from a lumber-room by Mrs. Carew for his benefit. He waited for no thanks or comment; sometimes he read a few bars only, sometimes a page. He appeared to have forgotten that he had an audience. Presently he rose, leaving the music in disorder. Hilda had been called away some time before by an old village woman requiring medicaments for unheard-of symptoms. Christian looked slowly round the room, then raising his hand he dexterously caught a huge moth which had flown past his face.

As he crossed the room towards the open window, with a view of liberating the moth, a low whistle reached his ear. The refrain was that of the familiar "retraite." Hilda had evidently gone out to the moat by another door. Bowing his head, he pa.s.sed between the muslin curtains and disappeared in the darkness. The sound of his footsteps died away almost immediately amidst the rustle of branch and leaf already crisp with approaching change.

It was Stanley's bed-time. Mechanically, Molly kissed her brother, continuing to work thoughtfully.

In a few minutes the door opened and Hilda entered the room. She came up to the table, and standing there with her hands resting upon some pieces of Molly's work, she gave a graphic description of the old woman's complaints and maladies. She stood quite close to Molly, and told her story to Mrs. Carew merrily, failing to notice that her sister had ceased sewing, and was listening with a surprised look in her eyes. When the symptoms had been detailed and laughed over, Hilda turned quietly and pa.s.sed out into the garden. With fearless familiarity she ran lightly down the narrow pathway towards the moat, but no signal-whistle greeted her. The leaves rustled and whispered overhead; the water lapped and gurgled at her feet, but there was no sign or sound of life.

Silent and motionless she stood, a tall fair form clad in white, amidst the universal, darkness. So silent and so still that it might have been the shade of some fair maid of bygone years mourning the loss of her true knight, who in all the circ.u.mstances of war had crossed that same moat never to return.

Presently a sudden feeling of loneliness, a new sense of fear, came over Hilda. All around was so forbidding. The water at her feet was so black and mysterious. She gave a soft low whistle identical with that which had called Christian out twenty minutes before, but it remained unanswered, and through the rustling leaves she sped towards the house.

From the open window a glow of rosy light shone forth upon the flowers, imparting to all alike a pallid pink, and dimly defining the grey tree-trunks across the lawn. As Hilda stepped between the curtains, the servants entered the drawing-room in solemn Indian file for evening prayers.

Mrs. Carew looked up from the Bible which lay open before her, and said to Hilda:--

"Where is Christian?"

"I don't know, mother; he is not in the garden," answered the girl, crossing the room to her own particular chair.

Sidney rose from his seat, and going to the window, sent his loud clear whistle away into the night. His broad figure remained motionless for some minutes, almost filling up the window; then he silently resumed his seat.

Mrs. Carew smoothed down the silken book-marker, and began reading in a low voice. It is to be feared that the Psalmist's words of joy were not heard with understanding ears that night. A short prayer followed; softly and melodiously Mrs. Carew asked for blessings upon the bowed heads around her, and the servants left the room.

"Have you not seen Christian since you went to see Mrs. Sender, Hilda?"

asked Molly, at once.

"No," replied Hilda, arranging the music into something like order upon the piano.

"He went out about half an hour ago, in answer to your whistle."

Hilda turned her head as if about to reply hastily, but checked herself, and resumed her task of setting the music in order.

"How could I whistle," she asked gently, "when I was in the kitchen doling out medicated cotton-wool to Mrs. Sender?"

Molly looked puzzled.

"Did _you_ whistle, Sidney?" she asked.

"I--no; I was half-asleep over a law-book in my own room."