“I think nothing—I suppose nothing. I only urge you to start immediately. Come!”
And almost before I realized it, he had taken me with him out into the hall of the club, where he helped me on with my coat, gave me my hat, and sent for a cab to take me to the railway station. We scarcely exchanged farewells,—stupefied with the suddenness of the unexpected summons back to the home I had left in the morning, as I thought, for ever, I hardly knew what I was doing or where I was going, till I found myself alone in the train, returning to Warwickshire as fast as steam would bear me, with the gloom of the deepening dusk around me, and such a fear and horror at my heart as I dared not think of or define. What was the ‘something alarming’ that had happened? How was it that Mavis Clare had telegraphed to me? These, and endless other questions tormented my brain,—and I was afraid to suggest answers to any of them. When I arrived at the familiar station, there was no one waiting to receive me, so I hired a fly, and was driven up to my own house just as the short evening deepened into night. A low autumnal wind was sighing restlessly among the trees like a wandering soul in torment; not a star shone in the black depths of the sky. Directly the carriage stopped, a slim figure in white came out under the porch to meet me,—it was Mavis, her angel’s face grave and pale with emotion.
“It is you at last!” she said in a trembling voice——“Thank God you have come!”
[3] Edmond Rostand. ‘La Princesse Lointaine.’ [Back]
[p 391]
XXXIV
I grasped her hands hard.
“What is it?”—I began;—then, looking round I saw that the hall was full of panic-stricken servants, some of whom came forward, confusedly murmuring together about being ‘afraid,’ and ‘not knowing what to do.’ I motioned them back by a gesture and turned again to Mavis Clare.
“Tell me,—quick—what is wrong?”