“Your friend,” Ernestine remarked, “seemed to come upon you like a modern Banquo!”
Trent, who did not understand the allusion, was for once discreet.
“He is a man with whom I had dealings abroad,” he said, “I did not expect him to turn up here.”
“In West Africa?” she asked quickly.
Trent smiled enigmatically.
“There are many foreign countries besides Africa,” he said, “and I've been in most of them. This is box No. 13, then. I shall see you this evening.”
She nodded, and Trent was free again. He did not make his way at once to the band-stand. Instead he entered the small refreshment-room at the base of the building and called for a glass of brandy. He drank it slowly, his eyes fixed upon the long row of bottles ranged upon the shelf opposite to him, he himself carried back upon a long wave of thoughts to a little West African station where the moist heat rose in fever mists and where an endless stream of men passed backward and forward to their tasks with wan, weary faces and slowly dragging limbs. What a cursed chance which had brought him once more face to face with the one weak spot in his life, the one chapter which, had he the power, he would most willingly seal for ever! From outside came the ringing of a bell, the hoarse shouting of many voices in the ring, through the open door a vision of fluttering waves of colour, lace parasols and picture hats, little trills of feminine laughter, the soft rustling of muslins and silks. A few moments ago it had all seemed so delightful to him—and now there lay a hideous blot upon the day.
It seemed to him when he left the little bar that he had been there for hours, as a matter of fact barely five minutes had passed since he had left Ernestine. He stood for a moment on the edge of the walk, dazzled by the sunlight, then he stepped on to the grass and made his way through the throng. The air was full of soft, gay music, and the skirts and flounces of the women brushed against him at every step. Laughter and excitement were the order of the day. Trent, with his suddenly pallid face and unseeing eyes, seemed a little out of place in such a scene of pleasure. Francis, who was smoking a cigar, looked up as he approached and made room for him upon the seat.
“I did not expect to see you in England quite so soon, Captain Francis,” Trent said.
“I did not expect,” Francis answered, “ever to be in England again. I am told that my recovery was a miracle. I am also told that I owe my Life to you!”