Jim nodded—he was beyond emotion. "Good; it's a bargain. Go to your room, make out a paper such as I have indicated, sign it and bring it to me here. Be quick," he added, "and I'll get away at once."
This time it was Jim who dropped into a chair and averted his head to avoid seeing Henry's out-stretched, pleading hand. He never raised his eyes until he heard the door click, then he went and unlocked a side entrance that led from the prayer-closet to the other side of the garden, and with his watch in his hand leaned against the open door and waited. Henry must not be too long; he was to leave by the midnight train, but before that he must make his pilgrimage. Across the garden he could see the waving tree-tops beckoning him, calling him with the mysterious powers of the night. Yes, he would make his start for the new life from the Fairies' Corner that led—whither?
Towards the carriage-drive Diana tenderly assisted Sir Charles, followed by Bates.
"Must you really go, father?"
"Yes, my dear, I must keep good hours, you know. These two days have been a great dissipation for me; but I've been well repaid; I can't tell you how much the delightful episode of the loving-cup pleased me. So now, good-night, my love." They had reached the entrance, "No, no," Sir Charles protested as Diana started to walk to the carriage with him, "Bates will take care of me." Then he gathered her close in his frail arms as he kissed her, and whispered, full of the pride he felt in the honors done to the house of Kerhill, "You see, it was all for the best, my dear—all for the best." And Diana made no answer. Ever since she had sent the note to Jim revealing the truth of her tortured heart she had seemed to gain a spiritual strength that helped to calm the aching call of her senses. She dared ask no question concerning Jim's absence, and her heart mocked her again with the truth that she had not meant him to obey her so implicitly.
She saw Sir Charles drive away. "Dear father," she whispered, "he must never know—never know—but it was all for the worst, my dear, all for the worst." Tears began to stain her face; they were the first in many days. She tried to control the passion of her grief but it was impossible; quivering sobs shook her in an hysterical outburst. To escape from the possible eyes of any chance meeting she quickly sought refuge in the rose-arbor. Hidden completely, she gave herself up to the relaxation of her sorrow. Finally, spent with her tears, she leaned against the damp foliage of the rose-screen, and an aftermath of calm followed her outburst. Suddenly she became conscious that Sir John Applegate and Mr. Chiswick were crossing to a bench near the sundial.
"My dear Chiswick," her cousin John was saying, "I'm greatly distressed. I've been obliged to ask you to give me a few moments here, and, indeed, I've asked Lady Elizabeth—as Kerhill seemed so ill to-day—to join us here."
Diana could distinctly hear every word, but with her tear-stained face it was impossible for her to make known her presence.
"You see, Chiswick," Sir John continued, "I presume that as Lord Kerhill's secretary you had his accounts in such shape that we could go over them at a moment's notice. When the keys were sent me this evening I gave an hour to glancing over the accounts before meeting the auditing committee to-morrow; as I've just told you, they seemed in a frightful tangle, and—"
"But, as I explained a moment ago, Sir John," Chiswick interrupted, "I really know nothing about the Fund; it was a pleasure for the Earl to do all the work—a labor of love—and he took the matter quite out of my hands. Captain Wynnegate, as secretary of the Fund, and Lord Kerhill have had absolute control of the business side of it."