For some months he remained in a convalescent home in England, recovering slowly from the privations of prison life in Germany: for a further period he waited for the purpose of proving for his own satisfaction that, with every facility to indulge his former vice, the desire no longer tormented him. Then, in a mood of deep thankfulness, with a heart surcharged with love, and with an intense longing for Esmé exciting his imagination, he sailed for Cape Town in the first available ship.
Strangely, at the time of Hallam’s sailing and during the weeks the voyage occupied, Esmé was troubled with dreams of him. Night after night she woke trembling in the darkness, with the vision, which sleep had brought to her lingering in her imagination, of Paul standing before her and gazing at her and turning away from her. Always the dream was the same. Suddenly the vision would appear; his eyes would gaze into her eyes, then abruptly he would turn about; and she would wake to darkness, to the stillness of the night, and to her own nervous fears. Why should the dream haunt her now, when she was learning to forget?
And Hallam, on board the ship which steered its difficult course slowly to avoid the danger of floating mines, looked across the blue waste of waters with the image of his wife’s face ever before him, and the thought of her in his mind during every wakeful hour. He, too, awoke in the night, thinking of her, and lay awake in the darkness to the sound of the swish of the waves, picturing his return and the wonderful gladness he anticipated as shining in her eyes at sight of him. All the distress and horror of the past would be wiped out and forgotten in the happiness of their reunion. He would never again give her cause for a moment’s anxiety. He would fill her life with love; there should be nothing to give her sorrow any more.
Slowly the blue distance which separated them narrowed, narrowed until the land came within sight, mistily, like a cloud against the deep azure of the sky, a cloud which resolved itself into a square mass of rock, blue-grey in the sunlight which shone upon the city at the base of the mountain, shone upon the sea, lit everything with a blaze of golden light. The ship glided past the breakwater into dock.
Hallam was among the first to go ashore. Before sailing he had cabled to his solicitor to inform him that he was coming out. He drove now direct to the lawyer’s office. He wanted news of his wife before seeing her, wanted to glean some idea as to what his long absence and unaccountable silence was attributed to; whether Esmé and others supposed him to be dead; in which event it might be inadvisable to appear before her suddenly and without any preparation.
The reception which he received from his man of business and one-time friend surprised him. Mr Huntley, of the firm of Huntley and Thorne, was manifestly embarrassed by the sight of his former client, whom he interviewed in his private office, after issuing the strictest orders against interruption. His obvious nervousness, and the absence of any sign of welcome in his manner, impressed Hallam oddly. Had the man been guilty of embezzling trust money, which Hallam knew him to be incapable of, he could not have betrayed greater dismay at the meeting.
“This is immensely surprising, Hallam,” he said. “I have not yet recovered from the amazement which the receipt of your cablegram caused me. You see, I—we all concluded you were dead. The mistake was perfectly natural.”
“I grant that,” Hallam answered, considerably mystified and a little annoyed by the other’s manner. “At the same time I don’t see why it should be regarded in the light of a misfortune that I am not dead.”
“My dear fellow! Certainly not. But you must allow for a certain—astonishment. I might even put it more strongly. Your return after so long a period calls for such an abrupt readjustment. There have been changes. I don’t see how you can expect otherwise. I’ve sat in this chair day after day since receiving your cable trying to resolve some way out of the muddle. I haven’t communicated with—with your wife. You didn’t instruct us, so I’ve done nothing.”
“Quite right,” Hallam said.