Ella was perfectly happy this evening, and had not an atom of jealousy that the thoughts of the man, in whose interest she could forget all scruples of prudery, were bent on another woman. She had done for him what his wife could not do; there was pride enough in that knowledge. There had been from the first so little selfishness in her love that by this time there was none—a not uncommon beauty of character in the plain of person who, expecting nothing, are more than content with a little. So she arranged all the details of the journey, and within a couple of hours she and her father and George were on their way back to England.
They did not reach London until the second morning after their departure from Toulon. George was disgusted and alarmed to find that he could scarcely stand; but he resisted the suggestion that he should take a day’s rest, being afraid that if he once yielded to his bodily weakness, it would be a long time before he was able to get about again. So he left Ella and her father at the hotel where they put up, and drove to Mary Street to learn whether Rahas still lived there. This step he took with Ella’s full knowledge; he should fulfil his promise, he told her, and keep his hands off the Oriental merchant until after he had found Nouna; but he must set about his search in his own way.
No. 36, Mary Street looked the same as ever, except that, during the eleven months which had passed since George first drove up to the door and dashing up the dingy staircase came suddenly upon an Arabian Nights’ nook in murky London, the lower windows had acquired a thicker coating of grime, and the board with the names “Rahas and Fanah” had lost its freshness of new paint; the brass vases and lanterns, the Arabian gun, the inlaid table, the Indian figures were still there, and the fact that the firm did not depend upon the chance custom of passers-by was more patent than ever.
George stumbled as he got out of the hansom, and felt, almost without seeing, for the bell. Fatigue, weakness, and the sleeplessness caused by intense excitement had preyed upon his body and stimulated his imagination till on this, the first day of his return to his own country, he was like a man walking in his sleep, and saw faces and heard voices invisible and inaudible to all but him. Nouna, as he saw her first, sleeping like a fairy princess, amidst gorgeous surroundings; the strange doctor, whose warning against the girl’s dangerous charms rang again in his ears; the dark-faced Rahas and his pretensions to occult powers—all these recollections chasing each other through his feverishly excited mind, dulled his faculties to the cold reality of present experience, and when the door was opened by a woman whose face was unknown to him, he stood before her stupidly, without realising that it was he who had summoned her. When she asked him what he wanted, he pulled himself together, and asked if Rahas, the merchant, still lived there.
“Yes, he lives here, but he ain’t here to-day; he’s gone to Plymouth, and won’t be home for a week or so. You can see the old gentleman if you like, or letters are sent to him.”
Plymouth! The name sent an old suggestion into George’s mind. He suddenly remembered that Miss Glass, the old servant of his family who had given Nouna shelter between her leaving Mary Street and her wedding-day, came from Plymouth, where her parents had kept a lodging-house. He had never doubted that he should find Nouna easily, and now he knew in a moment, without further reasoning, that she was at Plymouth, and that Rahas had gone down to see her there. So sure did he feel, that he did not even call at Miss Glass’s house in Filborough Road to make inquiries; but obtaining from the servant at No. 36 the final information that Rahas had not long started, George jumped hastily back into his hansom and drove to Paddington. He found he had just missed the 11.45 train, and there was not another till three o’clock; so he drove to Waterloo, and learning that there was a train at 2.30, he resolved to go by that in order to be on the road as soon as possible, although it arrived no earlier than the three o’clock express from Paddington. This left him time to go back to the Charing Cross Hotel to say good-bye to his friends.
Whether she was frightened by the thought of a possible collision between George in his weakness and the unprincipled Arabian, or whether she was stung by a feeling of jealousy that the time of her generous devotion to him was over, her work done, Ella grew ghastly pale on hearing of his intended journey, and tried to dissuade him from it. When she found him immovable, she endeavoured to induce her father to go with him; but both the men laughed this suggestion to scorn, and the most she could obtain was permission for her and her father to see him off at the station.
George was absorbed, as he stood at the window of the compartment in which he was to travel, by a strong feeling of gratitude towards the young girl on the platform below him, in whose eyes he read a steady, unwavering friendship and affection, free from the advancing and receding tide of passion, without coquetry, without caprice, the noblest love a human creature can give, the one also which in either sex is sure never to have an adequate return. George looked down at her pale face reverently, and tried to find some words to express the overflowing feelings inspired by her goodness to him; but she would not hear. Stepping back from the carriage-door with a blush, she affected to interest herself in the rest of the passengers, when suddenly the flush died away from her face, and she came hastily back. Looking up at George with an expression of strong anxiety, she said in a whisper:
“George, for Heaven’s sake be careful; I believe the man himself is in the next carriage!”
Lauriston, much startled, his face lighting up, tried to open the door: but she stopped him, saying: “Remember—your promise!”