mary dragged herself as far as the library. sir george was pacing up and down the room, trying to soothe his nerves with a cigar.
"what a time you have been!" he said impatiently. "why did you not return before, knowing how anxious i should be? mayfield came for a telegram form, so i presume he has made matters right with you? did walters take it?"
"so far as i know, walters has gone back to bed," mary explained. "the telegram was not sent, for reasons best known to mr. mayfield. there is no occasion to be angry. it was no fault of mine--and has nothing to do with me. mr. mayfield suggested that i should have another night to think it over. it is not his code of honour----"
"code of honour! the fellow hasn't got one! there is no trusting him! and now everybody will know of this disgrace of ours."
"they won't. mr. mayfield has arranged all that. he seems to be clever at this kind of thing. but perhaps i had better explain."
the anger and irritation died out of sir george's face as he listened. he expressed no feeling of disgust or abhorrence at the trick to be played upon his household; on the contrary, a suppressed chuckle broke from him, a chuckle instantly smothered as he noticed the white scorn on mary's face.
"i beg your pardon, my dear. of course, it is all very wrong, but in the circumstances, what else could we do? i have not the slightest doubt that mayfield will make it all right tomorrow. and now we must go to bed."
mary turned aside and went wearily in the direction of the hall. usually, she gave her father a warm and dutiful kiss before retiring, but she really felt that she could not do so tonight. she had always freely expressed her contempt for tears as a woman's weapon and as a solace in the hour of trouble. but the tears rose to her eyes now as she thought of her father and the sorry part he had played. it seemed almost incredible that the head of the house of dashwood could act so meanly.
and she herself! how much better was she behaving in the hour of trial? the girl's face flamed as she thought of it. in her heart of hearts she knew that the proper thing would have been to face the matter and see it out to the end. yet her pride had impelled her to make an appalling sacrifice to silence tongues that did not matter in the least. what would ralph darnley have thought of it all had he known? how strange that ralph should come into mary's mind now, she told herself, strange that she should revert to him when danger threatened.
"you need not wait on me tonight, kelly," mary told her maid. "it is so very late and i want to be alone. have you been asleep in my chair all this time?"
the pretty little maid admitted that she had. she went her way presently and mary began slowly to undress. but tired as she was she felt that somehow sleep tonight could not be for her. usually, she dropped off directly her head touched the pillow; the silence of the old house was very soothing. but not tonight, for the place seemed full of weird noises, the noises that the invalid hears when pain prevents slumber. mary lay there, but she could not sleep. it seemed to her that somebody was moving about the corridor. surely she heard a footstep, and something like the scratch of a match.
mary rose and slipped on a dressing-gown. candle in hand, she opened the door. and, surely enough, she was not mistaken. a dark figure was there, a figure that muttered and crooned, as if seeking something. mary approached the intruder.
"patience!" she exclaimed, "what are you doing here? and how did you get into the house? i thought that you had returned to the dower house with her ladyship."
patience looked up and smiled in a weak, watery kind of way. she was not in the least afraid, and there was just a suggestion of slyness in her aged, faded eyes.
"i forgot something, my dearie," she said. "there was something that i made up my mind to do and then i forgot clean about it. it was one of my good nights, and my head was as clear as yours. her ladyship told me everything. but she didn't tell you everything because she dared not. ay, we are two sinful old women for certain."
"never mind about that," mary said soothingly, "i daresay it will all come right in the morning. but you should not have come here like this. you had better lie down on the couch in my dressing-room and go to sleep."
"but there was something that i wanted to do," the old woman whined. "i thought of a way of saving you, of saving everybody. and then it clean went out of my head."
patience wrung her hands and the tears stood in her faded eyes. she appeared to be deeply distressed about something. she stopped suddenly, and stood alert and listening.
"did you hear that?" she demanded. "they are in the kitchen. all three of them together! i saw them just now, but they did not see me. they were laughing together, and one of them had gold, which he was dividing with the rest. and they have come here to bring disgrace on this noble house. and there was i standing close by with a way to get rid of them in my head. . . . there was something that i wanted, and i couldn't find it. so i came to look, and i forget what it was. such a beautiful plan, too, so very simple and yet perfect. my dearie, can't you help me to think what it was? if you can only help me we shall get rid of these men, and the trouble and disgrace will vanish, never to return. it isn't often that i get a good idea in this poor head of mine, and to forget it like that is cruel, cruel!"
patience wept a little, and began to wring her hands again. mary's old nurse had been in this state now for some years, though there were times, for longer or shorter periods, when she was in possession of all her faculties. she was not in the least dangerous; as a privileged old servant she had been allowed to wander from one house to the other at her pleasure. but mary had never seen her so wild and excited before, and the thing troubled her.
"what do you know of our trouble?" she asked.
"her ladyship told me. it was something to do with some money that sir george owed to mr. mayfield, and which those men had come to get. and her ladyship could not help you, for mr. vincent has made her sell all her jewels already."
mary fairly started. was it possible that she was on the track of another family trouble, some new and black disgrace of which she had hitherto known nothing? it seemed hardly fair to take advantage of a weak-minded old woman in this, and yet--
"who is this mr. vincent that you speak of?" mary asked.
"her ladyship told me. it was something to do with some money that sir george owed to mr. mayfield, and which those men had come to get. and her ladyship could not help you, for mr. vincent has made her sell all her jewels already."
mary fairly started. was it possible that she was on the track of another family trouble, some new and black disgrace of which she had hitherto known nothing? it seemed hardly fair to take advantage of a weak-minded old woman in this, and yet--
"who is this mr. vincent that you speak of?" mary asked.
"mr. vincent--that is all i can tell you. he is young and handsome, and yet so wicked and unscrupulous. and it is to prevent him from speaking out that my lady has sold all her jewels. they are not hers to sell, but they have been disposed of all the same. i really do know who mr. vincent is, and why he has such a hold over her ladyship, but something gets in the way of my brain and i can't think what i ought to say. and i'm so tired."
the old woman suddenly dropped into a chair and began to whine like a child that has walked too far. mary was accustomed to these sudden changes and knew how to humour them. she fairly lifted the old woman from her seat and led her to the dressing-room. obedient as a child now, patience lay down and closed her eyes. a moment later and she had fallen into a placid sleep. mary regarded her with eyes of envy.
"after all she is better off than i am," she murmured, "and her troubles are nearly over. what a blessing it is to be able to sleep when you want to! and here am i on the brink of a fresh and darker mystery than my own! i begin to understand now why lady dashwood looks so haggard and worried. and what does this vincent know, who can blackmail my poor old second mother in this way! all the family jewels, over £30,000. oh, how sad it is to be almost without a friend in the world! and yet ralph darnley promised me----"
the colour rose to mary's face as she pronounced ralph's name. it was the one reflection that sweetened her thoughts as she lay on her bed waiting for the sleep that would not come. she turned from side to side; she could see by the saffron gleam on the blind that the summer dawn was close at hand.
then at last she fell off into a kind of fitful slumber that was a mass of confused and hideous dreams. she was in some vague, indefinite kind of trouble, tangled up with a scheme of mayfield's, and across a yawning gulf ralph darnley was holding out his hands to save her. and then it seemed to her that ralph kissed her, and that she did not in the least mind it. after that they drifted apart again, and once more the baleful influence of mayfield was uppermost. they were falling together down a deep pit with flames at the bottom; the fumes were so great that mary could not breathe.
she woke up with a gasp and a cry, struggling for breath. the whole thing had been so vivid that mary could not realise for a moment that she was sitting up in bed. yet there she was, with the early morning sun shining through the blinds, and still she held her hand to her throat and fought for the breath that would not come.
surely there must be something wrong here! why was the room so insufferable, where did that stifling air come from? then a draught of air came from somewhere, and the bedroom was almost instantly filled with a maze of thin smoke and vapour. there was no longer room for doubt. with a quick cry mary sprang from her bed, for the hall was on fire!
