And when she rose, soothed and tranquillized, and sat a moment in the fork of the eucalyptus, looking down across the torrent and the town to the café by the sea, where she had left Ivor an hour before, she could not know that he had just signed the papers put before him by the Anarchist. Yet she turned from the darkening, murmuring sea and faded sunset sky, and walked lightly home through the monastery grounds in the violet afterglow, her heart full of peace.
Not that she was destined to reach home without further adventure; for she had but crossed the level under the cypresses when a slender figure that had been leaning on the western wall, watching the dying glory change on mountain and sea, stood up, darkly outlined against the lucid sky, and came forward to meet her with quick but halting step.
"I thought I could not be mistaken," the thin man said; "I have a keen ear for footsteps, and at once recognized yours. But——" He paused, struck by the mingled fatigue and exaltation on her face, seen clear in the after-glow. "You are tired; you have been worried—more than worried. Pardon me, Miss Somers; but you are young, you are alone and unprotected—a friend may be of service to you, however intrusive and undesired. Is there anything I could do for you? Could I knock somebody down? I observed something this morning—here—on this very spot—you had been annoyed—upset—a person—I trust you had been subjected to no undesirable attention from that unworthy quarter."
A gentle smile flitted over Agatha's face; the idea of the thin man knocking anybody down—or even entertaining such a project—was extremely funny. Indeed, there was this evening something entirely foreign to his usual self in Mr. Welbourne's voice and manner. His self-control was imperfect; he stammered; there was fire in his eye.
"I wonder," he added, "that the people of the house should admit that man to a small and respectable hotel like this. It is an outrage——"
"Mr. Mosson? Oh, poor Mr. Mosson is not as bad as all that, Mr. Welbourne. Indeed, he is not without heart, after all. And I must confess that, far from his annoying me with his company, it was I who trespassed upon the poor man's leisure. I—I wanted to speak to him—on—on a matter of business, and he was most obliging—most accommodating——"
"Accommodating? obliging? Good heavens! Miss Somers, do you know that to be accommodated by this rascally Jew spells ruin? Once in his toils, his victims rarely escape. Don't you know that Mosson is a most notorious usurer, is the too well-known Spider? I do most earnestly trust that he has not accommodated you to a large amount—and as a man of the world—which naturally no lady is expected to be—I warn you—I entreat you to allow me to be your banker—it happens that I have a good deal of capital lying idle for the moment—let me enable you to pay this man off at once, before the interest has accumulated. Give me this pleasure, I beseech you. I—I—require a small interest—one and a half per cent.——"
"But indeed, dear Mr. Welbourne, you are quite mistaken. I have borrowed no money of anybody, really. I can't say how deeply I appreciate your kindness in offering this. No; the poor Spider only did me a—kindness—in the way of business; he lent me nothing at all, I assure you. Nor do I need money, thank you. I thank you many times."
"Oh!" said the thin man, amazed beyond words and disappointed as well.
"But I do," she added, seeing his bewilderment and distress, "I do need, we all need, at all events sometimes, kindness. And for yours I thank you most cordially."