“You’ll come back?” Hamer begged, concerned. “You’ll stop to dinner, you and your aunt? I’ve scarcely had the tail of a word with you, with all those folks to see to. Come back!”
And all the rest of the party gathered on the steps and called after him as he went down the drive—kindly Shaws and gentle Quettas, Helwise, smilingly satisfied and perfectly at home, and Stubbs, untroubled by the least alluring vision of any White Lion, all under the long, creepered house in the opal evening. “Come back! Be sure you come back!”
The two men turned into the Lane, walking by the tired horse, and after their short business chat was finished they went on some way together in silence. Bluecaster was going abroad again soon to his usual winter round, but to-night he went back alone to his big, lonely house. Lanty was glad that, behind himself, the friendly, happy party awaited him at Watters.
Bluecaster’s would always be a lonely life, he thought, unconsciously prophetic. Such a temperament as his would send him weaponless into every battle, and receive him back more sure than ever of the forces arrayed against him, yet pathetically ready to the bitter end. And each defeat would leave him more silent and more shy. Yes—and more lovable, he said to himself, holding his stirrup for him while he mounted, and watching for the last courteous salute that he knew would be sent him from the turn. Bluecaster might be little more than a symbol of great ideals beyond his perfect grasp, but even as such he met a passionate need in the stronger man behind him, since every brave Viking-soul sails forth the happier for the figurehead and the spilt wine.
There was coming into the sky the steely clearness of still autumn, and a faint breath of frost was promised by the yellow bar yet lingering on the horizon and the starkening edge of the woods. It was darker and stiller in the Lane, and when Dandy grew out of the mist creeping up from the earth beneath, she came with the hush and mystery of vapour-borne elves. Not only was she not outside any more, but she had looked right into the fairies’ haunts and bent her ear to their rippling talk. Across the almost fiercely-pure sky the birds went home.
Close at hand, she had still her mystery, but now it was human and breathing, with kind, shy eyes and delicate colour coming to and fro.
“Wiggie sent me!” she said rather breathlessly. “He told me to stop you at the last gap as you came back. He said you had lost something, and would find it there, if you looked. Do you know what he meant? He wouldn’t explain—just packed me off with the message. I don’t know what to make of him—he’s like a schoolboy to-night! It’s glorious to see him getting well, isn’t it? You wouldn’t believe how pleased Watters was to have him back! Two roses bloomed in the night under his window, and at dawn there were half-a-dozen birds waiting on the sill.”
“I believe he’s a wizard!” Lanty smiled. “Look at Harriet! He has her at the end of a string.”
“Harriet has fallen in love with him! I believe it happened the night he came to Crabtree—the dreadful night after the storm when I brought you the soup—I mean, when Our Agnes—Wiggie—Harriet——” She floundered, agonised and helpless.
He stopped, looking at her with a frown.