"Hector, darling, oh, Hector, at last, after all these years!" she began, and then stopped suddenly, an icy finger seeming to touch her heart, for this man who stood before her, though bearing her husband's features, was surely a stranger; yet, no, he was speaking to her, addressing her by name, though the voice too was unfamiliar.
"Oh, Lucy," he said, "is that you, how are you?"
"Hector ... what on earth's the matter, aren't you glad to see me? Oh, darling, you're ill; you look half dead," and conviction gaining upon her as she looked, the sudden terror of the unknown died in Lucy's heart and was replaced by a rush of protecting tenderness. She took his arm, her face looking up into his, a world of loving anxiety in her eyes.
"It's nothing, Lucy. I'm only tired; I've been up since dawn."
"Of course you have, dear, I forgot; and I know I was the same, Hector—so excited. I thought the daylight would never come. And then the day, how it's dragged; but it's all over at last, and your..." Again a sudden stop, again the icy finger at her heart, for her husband had turned sharply away, and a ghastly silence followed.
"Porter—where's the porter?" muttered Hector. "Oh, there you are, get my things out, will you? Not that one, you fool, where to? God knows—I don't, when's the next train back to town?"
"Ain't no more to-night, sir, Colonel, that is, beg pardon, sir," said the man, staring at him and then questioningly at Lucy, whom he knew and liked well, as did already all the natives of Cuddingfold village.
"Take them to the luggage cart, Sims," said Lucy, her voice become suddenly level; "the Colonel's tired with his long journey; and you," smiling at Hector, "come with me. That's our trap standing over there with the white pony. Get in; I'll drive you; he knows my hand, and he's always a little playful at starting. Good-night, Sims; tell your wife I'll be round to see the new baby soon. Steady boy," to the dancing pony; "that's right," and the two drove away. For the first mile there was silence, and then, like a pistol-shot, words burst from Hector's lips.
"What's his name, Lucy?" he asked, the triviality of the question being in odd contrast to the voice that asked it. But triviality was now what Hector was fighting for with all his power, conversation on purely ordinary matters; for in that way only, he knew, could he keep off the numbing sense of unreality that was creeping over him—a nightmare feeling rapidly sapping the strength of purpose that till then had burnt so strong and steadily.
"I have come to do this thing, and I will; I'll be firm, firm, firm," he repeated to himself, and the word mingled with the rattle of the flying wheels and were flung back at him in meaningless echo. Apparently miles away, he heard Lucy's voice answering some question he had put, and which now he could not for his life remember.