“Yes.”
“Then, some day, if you or Mrs. Millicent will tell me, I’d like to hear more about him; but meantime please be assured that Martin’s being here is all part of the rest of it. I knew what was said and thought about him when I took him on. He told me why he happened to come back at this particular time.”
“Why was it?” asked Jean swiftly.
“He had to come. Telling you that seems to explain a good many other things one can’t very well put into words. I know now that Perkins had to stay, that I had to take this house, that you had to pass this way for the first time in many months; and I know, too, that the gathering is not yet quite complete. It is all utterly intangible; there is no one point on which one can put a finger and say the reason lies there; and one of the most remarkable things is that we can meet for the first time and talk like this. It is something more than fate; it is purpose.”
She looked at him wonderingly. The room, with its poignant memories, was speaking to her now, its ancient walls vibrant with mystical messages. Here was the sounding-box of the unknown, where in times past she had thrilled to mysterious whispers. Here her father had sat—himself even, with all his love, something of a mystery—and here at the end his life had been snatched from him. What reason was there to assume that evil and danger had passed away? And till it did pass the tale could not be complete.
“I am not going to try and thank you,” she said slowly, “for having made my coming here so much easier than it promised to be, but when I saw Martin I knew what I had to do. Mother was with me, but she could not face it and has gone on to the village. Martin looked at me as I came in and knows why I came. He must know that.”
“Would you and your mother feel more comfortable if I sent Martin away?”
“No, you must not do that. We are in no danger from him. I mean you must not do it on our account. But there’s your sister and yourself to think of.”
He shook his head. “I am convinced that this need not trouble you. The police know of the new arrangement, and Martin knows that they know. No danger of the sort you mean lies there. I want to leave Martin to his roses and Perkins to her house-work till something I cannot describe is reëstablished. Beech Lodge seems to be waiting for that. Perkins and Martin are also waiting, though unconsciously. I am certainly waiting. And, Miss Millicent, I think that without knowing it you have been waiting, too.”
“Yes,” she whispered, “it’s the only thing.”