Then he saw Christabel’s pale cheek faintly flush. How lovely was the warmer tint as it stole from cheek to brow, while her eye sparkled afresh like a lamp relumed. ‘Only one person is likely to come here to-night to say good-bye to us,’ she almost whispered. ‘I did not think he would take the trouble. Oh, it can’t be——’
As she spoke, the clattering hoofs ceased abruptly at the garden gate. A hasty step was heard on the gravel, and Bob Clarke, pale as death and haggard with fatigue, stood before them.
‘I swore I would say good-bye,’ he said. ‘So I am here, you see. I have ridden a hundred miles to do it. Ha! Effingham! Back from Port Phillip? Christabel Rockley, answer me—am I too late?’
‘Oh, Bob!’ she cried, and as she spoke she rose and stood by his side, taking one hand in both of hers. ‘You are not too late. But you will have to forgive me, and you, too, Wilfred Effingham, for being a silly girl that did not know her own mind. It would have served you right, Master Bob, and it will be a lesson to you not to put off important business. If Desborough had gone lame—I suppose it is he, poor fellow, that you have nearly ridden to death—you would have lost Christabel Rockley for good and all, whatever she may be worth. I was not sure, and papa was angry. But I am now—I am now. Oh, Bob, my dear old Bob, I will wait for you till I am a hundred if you don’t make a fortune before!’
Bob Clarke looked doubtfully from one face to the other, scrutinising Wilfred’s with a fierce, questioning glance. But as their eyes met he saw that which quenched all jealous fears.
‘My dear fellow,’ said Wilfred, coming forward and holding out his hand, ‘you have had your usual luck and “won on the post.” I congratulate you heartily, on my honour, as a man and a gentleman. Christabel has freely told you that but for your opportune arrival her hand might have been disposed of differently. You won’t wonder that any man should do his best to win her. But from my soul I can now rejoice that it was not so; that I have been spared the discovery, when too late, that her heart was yours—yours alone. Look upon me now as your lifelong friend. Let us keep our own counsel, and all will go well.’
‘Wilfred Effingham has spoken like himself,’ said Christabel, whose features were now illuminated with the pure light of love that knows neither doubt nor diffidence in the presence of the beloved one. ‘You see, I should have had some excuse, Bob, if I had thrown you over, you procrastinating old stupid. Why did you leave me doubting and wondering all this time? However, I shall have plenty of time to scold you. Here comes papa at last.’
At this simple announcement the three faces changed as the well-known step of Mr. Rockley was heard—firm, rapid, aggressive. But the girl’s features, at first troubled, gradually assumed a steadfast look. Bob Clarke raised his head, and drew himself up as if scanning the line of country. Wilfred Effingham’s countenance wore the abstracted look of one raised by unselfish aims above ordinary considerations.
‘I thought I should never get away from that confounded old idiot,’ Mr. Rockley commenced. ‘Why, Bob Clarke! where have you sprung from? We heard you had gone to Port Phillip, or Adelaide, or somewhere; very glad to see you, wherever you came from. Better stay to-night; we can give you a bed. Why the deuce didn’t you take your horse round to the stable instead of letting the poor devil stand tied up at the gate after the ride he seems to have had? Christabel, perhaps you’ll tell them to bring in supper. I feel both hungry and thirsty—giving directions, directions, till I’m hoarse.’
Christabel glided away, whereupon Bob Clarke faced round squarely and confronted his host.