The front door of a house about a hundred yards further down on the other side of the road had opened, and two figures came out on to the stoep. Aletta recognised them instantly. One was that of May Wenlock, but the other—
No. There was no mistaking it. There he stood, and he was looking down into May’s eyes as he talked to her, was holding her hand in his for a considerably longer time than was necessary for the purpose of bidding farewell. There he stood, her perfidious lover—he who had left her with such words of sworn affection upon his lips, that would be with her until her dying day—he, the thought of whom, hourly, momentarily, it might be in peril of death on the battle field, had filled her mind waking and sleeping—while all the while here he was in quiet safety, carrying on his intrigue with this girl. There he stood; there could not be two Colvin Kershaws in the world, that ingenious story of the “double” notwithstanding. This was the “double” then? Yet it was wearing exactly the same clothes, exactly the same hat, even, as when taking that last farewell of herself—that farewell whose memory had thrilled her heart ever since.
“Courage, Aletta! Courage!” she heard Adrian say, but his voice sounded as from another world. “Keep up a little longer. Now we will make certain. Look!”
The man had parted from his companion now, and as he came down to the front gate, his head was half turned, as with a last loving look towards May, who was still on the stoep. Then he came out into the road, and the door of the house closed.
He walked slowly along at first, not looking up. Then suddenly he did look up, and caught the eyes of the two on the opposite side. The effect was magical. With a bewildered start he half stopped as though irresolute, then, averting his eyes, he trebled his pace and walked rapidly away. But during that swift second his glance had met that of Aletta straight and full; and if ever a human countenance showed dismay, consternation, guilt, utter confusion, assuredly all these emotions were stamped upon this man’s countenance in that brief moment.
“Well now, was I mistaken?” said Adrian again, his voice sounding even farther away this time. “Can you believe your own eyes now, Aletta? You have seen?”
“Oh yes,” she gasped. “I must believe my own eyes. Yes—yes, I have seen.”
The girl’s face was colourless, her lips livid and shaking. Her steps even seemed unsteady. Adrian feared that she would faint. But she did not.
[a/]