“You must give me a little time to think it over, Bill.” She held out her hand to me, and I took it.
“How long, Mary? How long? It isn’t as though I’m a stranger to you.”
“Not very long, Bill. I’ll promise that. I just want to feel sure—you know.”
She broke away and left me.
The rest of the day passed miserably for me. Anthony’s absence didn’t make it any the brighter and Mary’s reception of my proposal had left me in an agony of apprehension. One moment I rose to heaven’s heights and “struck the stars with my uplifted head”—the next found me in the depths of an intolerable despair. But generally, I was able to find courage and with courage—optimism! “There is no one else,” she had said. Perhaps I had tried her too closely after Prescott and Prescott’s death. “There is no one else!” Prescott belonged to the past tense. Would she have said that a week ago? I pondered the whole thing over in my mind. And the wondering with its attachment of doubt and uncertainty brought me the alternating moods that I have just described.
So the day wore on to the evening and dinner. Anthony had not returned, and everybody seemed very quiet. The meal passed uneventfully and conversation was desultory. I watched Mary carefully, trying to read my answer in her face. She seemed cheerful and smiling. Jack and Arkwright went into the drawing-room together, and in the buzz of their conversation I caught Prescott’s name. The girls started music and we settled down comfortably. All the Considines have good voices, and they were always well worth listening to. After a time, Jack Considine and Arkwright strolled into the garden, but I refused the invitation to accompany them. I was thinking about Mary. Suddenly two revolver shots rang out on the evening air. Shots that were succeeded by shouts.
Captain Arkwright came running up.
“Somebody’s tried to murder Jack,” he shouted. “In cold blood. Two shots have been fired at him from the direction of the Allingham Road. Great Scott! it was a near thing and no mistake. One has gone clean through his hat.” He paused and wiped his face—pale with anxiety and worry.
“Where is Jack?” cried Lady Considine. “Are you sure he’s all right?”
“He’s coming. And he’s all right—by the mercy of Providence. But what does it all mean?”