Thus Mr. Charteris set out upon his homeward way, well pleased with his visit. He had obtained his glimpse of Hazel—nay, more, had for the space of nine or ten blessed minutes held her within his arms—here Paul reverently touched the damp patch upon his shoulder; he had learnt that she was to return home on the morrow; and, incidentally, so far as he was concerned, he had called upon the Traverses and paid his somewhat long-neglected respects. Further, he had learnt from the despondent gloom upon Digby Travers's countenance, that this young man's love affair was not prospering. Altogether it was very satisfactory.
A somewhat shaky Hazel descended to the drawing-room for tea, and right gladly was she welcomed. No one could do enough for the little heroine. She was soon installed in the easiest of easy chairs, and the dainties of the tea-table were lavished upon her by Doris, Phyllis, the morose Digby, and the sturdily admiring Francis.
"I say, where did you learn it all?" the potential farmer asked, sinking down, with her cup in his hand, upon a hassock at her feet, and gazing up at her from his point of vantage.
Hazel did not at once reply. She had lifted shy eyes, so soon as she was settled to her friends' liking, and took a survey of the room. Mrs. Travers was smiling upon her from the tea-table, where her duties as mistress of the house held her prisoner; Mr. Travers, seated near his wife, was nodding kindly approval; but Paul—Paul was not there, and the girl at one and the same time experienced both disappointment and relief.
"You might tell a fellow," pursued Francis. "If the little chap had been left to me, well—he would not be alive to know it: that is one good thing."
"I don't quite know—I must have read it somewhere," she answered a trifle absently. Then rousing herself, she turned to Digby. "But Bobbie owes his life to you and Mr. Charteris, as much as to me. You were so prompt with the brandy and blankets; Phyllis was quick too, and Doris helped so much. Please don't put it on to me, for we all worked together."
But Bobbie's mother, who presently begged for, and obtained, an interview with Bobbie's rescuer, was not to be put off in this wise. She admitted that all thanks and praise were due to God; "but you were His chief instrument, Miss," she averred again and again, "and as such you might have done the work badly."
Hazel did not quite see the logic of this, but she held her peace, believing it to be the kinder part to accept the thanks that the grateful woman was so anxious to render her.
CHAPTER XII
Time—five o'clock in the afternoon. Scene—the homestead of Paul Charteris, or rather that portion of the house, the windows of which opened upon the verandah overlooking the green lawn that merged into the Le Mesuriers' ground. The sky was dark and lurid. Thick, straight lines of silver rain were striking slantwise upon the lawn, like giant harp-strings, the wind playing discordant notes upon them, until the prelude ended in a crash of thunder, and the whole power of the invisible orchestra began.