When they came at last to the gap in the wall that divided the Chase from the park, a figure, dimly outlined, stood in the breach waiting for them. “Is that you?” a voice asked.
The voice was Basset’s, and Mary’s spirits sank. She felt that the meeting was ill-timed. “Yes,” she answered.
Unluckily, Peter was one of those whose anxiety takes an irritable form. “What in the world has happened?” he asked. “I couldn’t believe that you were still out. It’s really not safe. Hallo!” breaking off and speaking in a different tone, “is some one with you?”
“Yes,” Mary said. They were within touch now and could see one another. “We have had an adventure. Lord Audley was passing, he came to our rescue, and has very kindly seen us home.”
“Lord Audley!” Basset was taken by surprise and his tone was much as if he had said, “The devil!”
“By good fortune, Basset,” Audley replied. He may have smiled in the darkness—we cannot say. “I was returning from shooting, heard cries for help, and found Miss Audley playing the knight-errant, encircled by prostrate bodies!”
Basset could not frame a word, so great was his surprise, so overwhelming his chagrin. Was this man to spring up at every turn? To cross him on every occasion? To put him in the background perpetually? To intrude even on the peace and fellowship of the Gatehouse? It was intolerable!
When he did not answer, “It was not I who was the knight-errant,” Mary said. “It was Etruria. She is a little the worse for it, I fear, and the sooner she is in bed the better. As Mr. Basset is here,” she continued, turning to Audley, “we must not take you farther. Your cart is no doubt waiting for you. But you will allow us to thank you again. We are most grateful to you—both Etruria and I.”
She spoke more warmly, perhaps she let her hand rest longer in his, to make up for Basset’s silence. For that silence provoked her. She had gathered from many things that Basset did not love the other; but to stand mute and churlish on such an occasion, and find no word of acknowledgment—this was too bad.
And Basset knew, he too knew that he ought to thank Audley. But the black dog was on his back, and while he hesitated, the other made his adieux. He said a pleasant word to Etruria, tossed a careless “Good-night” to the other man, turned away, and was gone.