THE MAJOR'S MESSAGE AND HOW IT WAS DELIVERED
Selene Scott had finished her correspondence when Laurence reappeared on the lawn of the Manse, and was waiting, ready dressed, to go for the promised walk.
"Where have you been?" she asked, evidently guessing from Laurence's face that something unusual had happened. "Tell me, you surely have not visited your neighbours without me? You promised, didn't you, that you would take me to see this mysterious Major of yours?"
There was only one thing to do, Laurence decided, and that was to confess that he had taken another step in his investigations. Miss Scott was much interested in his experience, slight though it was. She plainly showed her displeasure though, because she had not herself been permitted to have a share in the adventure. "The old fossil of a porter might have acted quite differently when a real live lady was standing on the doorstep," she said, with a smile. "Promise me, now," she added, "that if you go again you will let me accompany you. I am just as interested as you are, and quite as good a detective."
But Laurence politely refused to give the required promise. He foretold experiences far less pleasant than those that had already passed, before he would be able to say that he held the key to the mystery of his father's strange dread. When he recollected that Lena was a guest, and that her connection with the extraordinary state of affairs was unknown to her aunt and guardian, Mrs. Knox, he felt that he would be doing wrong to make a promise such as the girl asked.
However, as he had already confided in her the history of the whole series of events that had happened during the last few days (and he regretted that he had done so when it was too late) there was no harm in relating the story of his adventure in the barn on the previous night. But Lena was no more able to account for the queer creature's antics than he had been, though she agreed that there was a possibility of that creature and the woman in coloured skirts (the mere mention of whom had caused the Squire to faint) being one and the same.
The engrossing subject of what both rightly called "the" mystery filled their minds, and throughout the long ramble in the Northden Woods that occupied the best part of the morning, no other topic of conversation was so much as touched upon. Yet in spite of this fact, Laurence felt that Lena was becoming more to him than a mere guest—a companion amateur detective!
A few minutes yet remained before luncheon, when the two found themselves back in the Manse grounds again, so Laurence fetched a couple of basket chairs on to the lawn, which was a small one, lying at the back of the house, and they sat down in the shadow of a monster holly bush, that was one of the most striking features of the place. From this spot they could obtain a mere glimpse of the tiled roof of Durley Dene, through a break in the line of bushes that, with a palisade of stout iron stakes, separated the grounds of the neighbouring houses. The holly bush must have stood at least sixty or eighty yards from the boundary line.
The young people had hardly ensconced themselves beneath the welcome shadow of the tree (for in height and size it was more like a tree than a bush) when suddenly something fell with a hard "plomp" on the soft turf, and rolled almost to their feet.
Laurence started up with an exclamation of surprise, and Lena also rose to her feet.
"What is it?" she asked, and her companion hastily picked up the round white ball that had caused her remark.
Whence it had come was a mystery. No one was near. Judging from the direction in which it had rolled on reaching the ground, it must have been despatched, either from the barn or the laurel bushes that bounded the grounds.
It was heavy for its size, and Laurence, on examination, found it to be something wrapped in a piece of white paper, which was tightly fastened round it. Lena leaned over him, curious and excited, as he proceeded to peel off the paper. When he did so, out dropped an ordinary round pebble.
"There, it's only a hoax!" cried Lena, looking quite disappointed.
"No, no," answered Laurence: "there's something on the inside of the paper." He smoothed the white sheet out on his knee, and then read aloud what was marked upon it in a small, shaky handwriting.
"Before calling in the police please pay me another visit, when I will see you, provided you come alone, and after dark.—J. F."
"Jones-Farnell," exclaimed Lena, and for a moment or two neither of them spoke.
"Of course you won't go," said the girl, after the brief pause.
"Of course I will, Miss Scott," replied Laurence promptly.
"But—oh, won't it be too risky for you to go—alone?"
"I hope I shall be able to take care of myself, Miss Scott."
"Yes, but——"
"But?"
"Suppose it's some trap to—murder you," whispered Lena. "Look at that letter. It is sent in a most mysterious fashion by a man you've never seen. It tells you to come alone and after dark. Doesn't that look frightfully suspicious? Don't you see that if they have got some secret, or are carrying on, as I shrewdly guess, some illegal occupation, what, Heaven only knows, don't you see, if this is so, and they know that you suspect them and are making investigations, that it will be greatly to their advantage to have you out of the way? You know what I mean."
"Yes, I understand your argument, and appreciate your good sense, but I'm sorry that I cannot take your advice. The matter, I feel confident, is one of life and death to my poor father. Is it not only natural that I should risk my own life for his, particularly when I am a strong man and he old and getting infirm? Besides, there may be no risk after all. We may be mistaken, though I can't see how. At any rate, it is my duty to go to-night——"
"To-night! Oh, not so soon, surely——"
"Procrastination, you know, Miss Scott, is the thief of time. To-morrow may be too late. Hourly, almost, I am dreading a second attempt on the poor old Squire's life, and if I keep my appointment to-night I may yet be in time to save him."
"But let me go with you. Do, please!" Lena cried, pleadingly.
"No, no, you must not endanger yourself. What would Mrs. Knox say?"
"I don't care what auntie says in the least, and——" she stopped short.
"Tell me," Laurence cried, as he turned to his young companion and, looking into her clear blue eyes, where he fancied he saw a glistening tear, forgot everything, his father, himself, and the mystery that was deepening around them, "tell me, why do you say this, why do you mind my going? What can it matter to you? Is it, tell me I am right, that you are urged by the same feelings that I am when I refuse to take you with me? Say 'yes,' and you will make me the happiest being on this earth, for the reason why I will not allow you to endanger your dear life is because I love you."
The effect of Laurence's confession of love on Lena in fiction would doubtless have been the dramatic and time-honoured remark on the "suddenness" of the declaration, but this was not the reception she gave to the young man's passionate outburst.
"Laurence," she said, and the pronunciation by her lips of his Christian name thrilled him with pleasure, "Laurence, when the mystery is solved, when you return safe from your interview to-day, then, and not till then, will I give you my answer."
She paused to catch her breath. With difficulty she had been able to pronounce the words that in cold print appear more formal and unsatisfactory than they seemed to Laurence, intoned as they were by the gentle voice of the woman he loved.
For the moment she was transformed from a laughing, vivacious girl to a silent and thoughtful woman.
How much in her own opinion the coming visit to Durley Dene meant to her she alone knew. She dared not betray her love for her new companion, though it was manifest in her eyes as she glanced at him; then, looking down, interested herself in the progress of a worm on the turf. What was the secret that might—that probably would—be revealed in a few brief hours? Since it seemed that a woman was concerned, might not the grim skeleton in the cupboard prove to be a disgraceful as well as a gruesome one? And then? How often are not the sins of the fathers visited upon the innocent children?
And that was why she paused and refused her answer. Had not the lover been blind, as is the love-god himself, he would have read that answer as plainly as though it had been given in words. But Laurence, at any rate, felt he could not be discouraged. He had not been met with a blank refusal.
He caught Lena's little ungloved hand, bent down, and kissed it tenderly.
And as he did so the gong sounded for lunch, and they made their way back to the house, where they met the Squire for the first time that day in the dining-room. The old man's spirits contained something of their old joviality. At the meal he was once more, to some slight extent, the courteous, old-fashioned host and gentleman that he had been a few months back. Laurence heartily rejoiced at the change in his father's behaviour. Lena noticed it too. Mrs. Knox might perhaps have done so also had the viands been less palatable or her appetite less hearty. The cause of the transformation was unknown to any of them, but Laurence guessed very rightly that the Squire's dread of his strange enemy had been lessened by the fact that no second attack had been attempted. As a matter of fact, Mr. Carrington was beginning to hope that his assailant of two days ago had departed under the impression that the victim had been killed by the cowardly shot fired into the coach as it crossed the moor.
Had he been able to glance into the mysterious future and learn what the events of the coming night were to be, it is possible that his behaviour would have been very different.