“Love’s reason’s without reason.”
The cob was all the fresher for the impatience which he had suffered in standing for nearly an hour in the lane, and he bowled the dog-cart along the level roads at a tremendous pace. Theodore arrived at the Priory before eleven, and found Juanita sitting on the lawn with her baby in her lap, and the dog Styx at her side. His heart leapt with gladness at the sight of her sitting there, safe and happy, in the morning sunshine, for his morbid imagination had been at work as he drove along, and he had been haunted by hideous visions of some swift and bloody act which might be done by the fugitive mad woman before he could reach the Priory. What deed might not be done by a woman in the state of mind which that woman must have been in when she left the evidence and the confession of her crime upon the table and fled out of her house in the early morning? A silent thanksgiving went up from his heart to his God as he saw Juanita sitting in the sunshine, smiling at him, holding out her hand to him in surprised welcome. She was safe, and it was his business to guard her against that deadly enemy. He knew now whence the danger was to come—whose the hand he had to fear. It was no longer a nameless enemy, an inscrutable peril from which he had to defend her.
“How early you are, Theodore. Everybody is well, I hope—there is nothing wrong at home?”
“No. Every one is well. Your father is going to London for a few days, and your mother is coming to stay with you during his absence, and I come to throw myself on your hospitality while she is here. His lordship has heard of some suspicious characters in your neighbourhood, and has taken it into his head that it will be well for you to have me as your guest until your brothers-in-law come to you for the shooting. I hope you won’t mind having me, Juanita?”
“Mind, no; I am delighted to have you, and my mother, too. I was beginning to feel rather lonely, and had half decided on carrying baby off to Swanage. Isn’t he a fortunate boy to have two doating grandmothers?” She checked herself with a sudden sigh, remembering in what respect the richly-dowered infant was so much poorer than other babies. “Yes, darling,” she murmured, bending over the sleeping face, rosy amidst its lace and ribbons as it nestled against her arm. “Yes, there is plenty of love for you upon earth, my fatherless one; and, who knows, perhaps his love is watching over you in heaven.”
After this maternal interlude she remembered the obligations of hospitality.
“Have you breakfasted, Theodore? You must have left Cheriton very early.”
Theodore did not tell her how early, but he confessed to having taken only a cup of tea.
“Then I will order some breakfast out here for you. It is such a perfect morning. Baby and I will stay with you while you take your breakfast.”
She called the nurse, who was close by, and gave her orders, and presently the gipsy table was brought out, and a cosy breakfast was arranged upon the shining damask, and Theodore was having his coffee poured out for him by the loveliest hands he had ever seen, while the nurse paraded up and down the lawn with the newly-awakened baby.