“Then I can go away happy. Good night, Marion.”
“Good night, Stephen.”
I pressed her hand and felt her fingers close on mine. Then I turned away, and with only a moment’s pause at the door for a last look at the sweet, smiling face, descended the stairs to confront the formidable Arabella.
Of my cautious statement and her keen cross-examination I will say nothing. I made the proceedings as short as was decent, for I wanted, if possible, to take counsel with Thorndyke. On my explaining this, the brevity of my account was condoned, and even my refusal of food.
“But remember, Arabella,” I said, as she escorted me to the gate, “she has had a very severe shock. The less you say to her about the affair for the present the quicker will be her recovery.”
With this warning I set forth through the rapidly thinning fog to catch the first conveyance that I could find to bear me southward.
CHAPTER XI.
Arms and the Man
The fog had thinned to a mere haze when the porter admitted me at the Inner Temple Gate, so that, as I passed the Cloisters and looked through into Pump-court I could see the lighted windows of the residents’ chambers at the far end. The sight of them encouraged me to hope that the chambers in King’s Bench-walk might throw out a similar hopeful gleam. Nor was I disappointed; and the warm glow from the windows of No. 5a sent me tripping up the stairs profoundly relieved, though a trifle abashed at the untimely hour of my visit.
The door was opened by Thorndyke himself, who instantly cut short my apologies.
“Nonsense, Gray!” he exclaimed, shaking my hand. “It is no interruption at all. On the contrary, how beautiful upon the staircase are the feet of him that bringeth—well, what sort of tidings?”