"They're all right, Hector, aren't they? They're ejectors, you see," fingering the barrels of one as she spoke; "and there are plenty of cartridges downstairs—Kynochs brass. No. 6, the ones you always used to use. And to-morrow we'll try them, won't we? Oh, I'm so looking forward to to-morrow, I do hope it will be fine, and then you and I and Tom..." She stopped suddenly, for Hector had again turned away from her and was leaning against the mantelpiece, staring into the fire.
"Hector," touching his shoulder, "won't you, can't you tell me now, dear?"
"No—no, not now—later. Leave me, Lucy; I'll join you in a minute." And Lucy without a word left him.
* * * * *
Dinner was over, and wrath reigned in Martha's ample bosom, for the skill and knowledge of a life-time had gone to the preparing of this night's repast, and bitterly she felt that all her talent had been wasted. "Mark my words, Eliza," she said to the kitchen maid, "there's something wrong with a man as don't relish a beautiful dinner like this. There's that vol-o-vong, the souffly too, came down untasted. It ain't in nature, Eliza—it ain't; and 'im too just back from furrin parts. Oh, I've not patience with him, nor yet with the Missus either," and she shut the oven door with a bang.
Upstairs, in the softly-lighted drawing-room, Lucy and her husband were sitting looking into the fire. Silence had fallen, for the woman's chatter, sustained uninterruptedly during the meal, had ceased at last, and the time had come for the one to hear and the other to tell. Now she sat waiting, with nerves braced and every faculty alert and ready for battle.
The minutes ticked away, but still the silence remained unbroken, for by now all coherence of thought had left Hector, and, strive as he would, no sequence of thought would come. In vain did he try to call up Stara's face to strengthen him; in vain did he repeat that this was mere weakness, and that carry this thing through he must; he could say the words as much and as often as he liked, but no resolution lay behind them—they were but as ghosts.
The exaltation of the night before; the long train journey; the meeting with Lucy; and then the final blow dealt by a pair of thin baby hands—all had told; and now, when he had most need of them, strength of purpose and clearness of thought were gone.
Suddenly Lucy rose, and, moving swiftly across to him, knelt on the hearth at his feet, her bright eyes fixed on his.
"Dear, tell me," she whispered, "as you promised; I am your wife, remember, and have the right to know. I don't mind what it is, Hector, so that you tell me."