Hector, meanwhile, was left standing alone in the black-and-white tiled hall, for Lucy, on their entrance, had disappeared and the maid was already busy on her knees upstairs with the unpacking of portmanteaux. But now that he was alone and had time to marshal his thoughts, for which he had been praying all through that nightmare drive, the same deadening sense of unreality descended on his mind like a pall, and he stood there, his brain a whirling chaos. Only a few hours before he had felt himself to be of steel, inflexible of will and insensible to all human emotions save that of love; he had even gloried in what he meant to do, as marking him out as a man above his fellows, in that for him conventional scruples had no meaning, and bonds deemed unbreakable he could tear asunder without a pang.
He had told Stara—and had believed what he said—that this was nothing to him. But in the exaltation of that moment he had overlooked two things: the one, the power of old associations over the human mind; the other—the curse of natures such as his—nerves, a legacy bequeathed to him, amongst other things, by his mother, and the revolt of which means paralysis to the strongest will. In vain did Hector call upon that will, it would not answer; in vain did he repeat that this was nothing; old associations told him he lied, and bade him look around and see what this thing was he was about to do.
They pointed to the thousand and one evidences of womanly love and forethought: the spotless cleanliness and comfort of the old firelit hall, the gleam of brass and pewter ornaments, the polish on oak and mahogany. The scales fell from Hector's eyes, and he knew that this same nothing was in reality a horror, growing in intensity with the passing of the minutes, and at the thought of which his coward nerves now quivered and shrank.
Only too well did he realise, standing here, what his homecoming meant to Lucy; the care she had lavished on this place to make it a home, such as he would like; the pride with which she had looked forward to welcoming him to it. All this was his; he was the master here whom all were anxious to serve; no longer was he a mere irresponsible officer of cavalry, but the head of a household—a man to be looked up to and respected. Respected? He? Why, the very servants who now waited so smilingly upon him would turn from him with loathing did they know his purpose; and soon they must know it, and to-morrow all would be changed.
At the thought, a sudden wave of hatred of himself came over him, and with it a sense of moral uncleanness and unfitness to be in this innocent, harmless household. He bowed his head and shuddered where he stood. Nevertheless, despite his present tortures, he knew that do this thing he would; for his will was but paralysed for the moment by shattered nerves, and it remained the while unchanged; only it was harder, infinitely, immeasurably harder than he had thought. Then he heard the sound of Lucy's voice from above, and, looking up, he saw her from the gallery overhead smiling down upon him, and there was something in her smile that made Hector wince.
"Come up here, will you, Hector?" she said, and the cheerfulness in her voice rang false; "I have something to show you." Without a word, Hector mounted the stairs and joined her.
"What is it, Lucy?" he said dully.
"It—it's Ruby; I want you to see her now, at last; and—and, Hector, you will try not to be disappointed, won't you? She—she's not a very strong child, and there's something ... wrong."
"Wrong, what do you mean?"
"Oh, I know I ought to have told you, and I tried to many times, but ... couldn't. Go in now and see for yourself, and please try and not show you ... you notice, Hector."