Now Silverdale had adopted one Western custom in that no chance guest was ever kept waiting, and the music ceased suddenly, while the stillness was very suggestive, when a man appeared in the doorway. He wore one of the Scandinavian leather jackets which are not uncommon in that country, and when his eyes had become accustomed to the light, moved forward with a quiet deliberation that was characterized neither by graceful ease nor the restraint of embarrassment. His face was almost the colour of a Blackfoot’s, his eyes steady and grey, but those of the men who watched him were next moment turned upon the Colonel’s sister, who rose to receive him, slight, silver-haired, and faded, but still stamped with a simple dignity that her ancient silks and lace curiously enhanced. Then there was a silence that could be felt, for all realized that a good deal depended on the stranger’s first words and the fashion of his reception.
Witham, as it happened, felt this too, and something more. It was eight years since he had stood before an English lady, and he surmised that there could not be many to compare with this one, while after his grim, lonely life an intangible something that seemed to emanate from her gracious serenity compelled his homage. Then as she smiled at him and held out her hand, he was for a moment sensible of an almost overwhelming confusion. It passed as suddenly, for this was a man of quick perceptions, and remembering that Courthorne had now and then displayed some of the grace of bygone days he yielded to a curious impulse, and, stooping, kissed the little withered fingers.
“I have,” he said, “to thank you for a welcome that does not match my poor deserts, madam.”
Then Dane, standing beside his leader, saw the grimness grow a trifle less marked in his eyes. “It is in the blood,” he said half aloud, but Dane heard him and afterwards remembered it.
In the meanwhile Miss Barrington had turned from the stranger to her niece. “It is a very long time since you have seen Lance, Maud, and, though I knew his mother well, I am less fortunate, because this is our first meeting,” she said. “I wonder if you still remember my niece.”
Now, Witham had been gratified by his first success, and was about to venture on the answer that it was impossible to forget; but when he turned towards the very stately young woman in the long black dress, whose eyes had a sardonic gleam, and wondered whether he had ever seen anybody so comely or less inclined to be companionable, it was borne in upon him that any speech of the kind would be distinctly out of place. Accordingly, and because there was no hand held out in this case, he contented himself with a little bend of his head. Then he was presented to the Colonel, who was distantly cordial, and Witham was thankful when the maid appeared in the doorway again, to announce that dinner was ready. Miss Barrington laid her hand upon his arm.
“You will put up with an old woman’s company to-night?” she said.
Witham glanced down deprecatingly at his attire. “I must explain that I had no intention of trespassing on your hospitality,” he said. “I purposed going on to my own homestead, and only called to acquaint Colonel Barrington with my arrival.”
Miss Barrington laughed pleasantly. “That,” she said, “was neither dutiful nor friendly. I should have fancied you would also have desired to pay your respects to my niece and me.”
Witham was not quite sure what he answered, but he drew in a deep breath, for he had made the plunge and felt that the worst was over. His companion, evidently noticed the gasp of relief.