at dawn.
the dark-haired woman who had accompanied ella in the motor-car came forth and joined the pair, preventing any further confidences, and a few minutes later the dinner-gong sounded, and all three went in to join mr murray and his companion.
the windows of the dining-room were closed almost immediately, therefore i neither saw nor heard anything more of that strange household.
my one desire was to see ella alone, but how could i give her news of my presence?
i turned on my heel and strolled slowly back down the dark road in the direction of the village. the first suggestion that crossed my mind was to send her a telegram making an appointment for the following morning, but on reflection i saw that if they had fled in secret, as they seemed to have done, then the arrival of a telegram would arouse mr gordon-wright’s suspicions. indeed he might actually open it.
i was dealing with a queer fish, a man who was a past-master in alertness and ingenious conspiracy. as minton, at the manor, was in the confidence of miller, so that round-shouldered old fellow was, no doubt, gordon-wright’s trustworthy sentinel.
a dozen different modes of conveying a note to her suggested themselves, but the one i adopted was, perhaps, the simplest of them all. i returned to the inn, scribbled upon a small piece of paper a few lines to my well-beloved asking her to meet me at a spot i indicated at six o’clock next morning, and then i called gibbs, took him into my confidence, and gave him instructions to take the pair of lady’s gloves with fur gauntlets that i had found in one of the pockets of the car, go boldly to the house, ask to see “the young lady who had just arrived by motor-car,” and tell her a fictitious story how he had found the gloves where they had stopped at plymouth, and as he was passing through upper wooton on the way to launceston he thought he would like to restore them to her.
“she’ll, of course, at once deny that they are hers,” i said. “but in handing them to her you must contrive to slip this little bit of folded paper into her hand—so,” and i gave him a lesson in pressing the small note, folded until it was only the size of a sixpence, into her palm.
he quickly entered into the spirit of the adventure, and three-quarters of an hour later re-entered the low-ceilinged little sitting-room announcing triumphantly that he had been successful.
“at first, sir, their man said i could not see the lady, as she was at dinner, but on pressing him that i wished to see her particularly, he went an’ told her,” he explained. “my request seemed to create quite a hubbub among ’em, for as i stood in the ’all, i heard the conversation suddenly break off, and a chap with a clean-shaven face come to the door an’ had a good straight look at me. seein’, however, that i was only a chauffeur, he went back, and a minute later the young lady herself appeared alone. i told ’er the story, slipped the bit o’ paper into her hand, and gave her the gloves. the instant she felt the paper in her palm she started and looked at me, surprised like. then, carryin’ the gloves into the drawing-room, as if to examine them, she glanced at what you’d written, and when she returned a few seconds afterwards, she whispered: ‘tell the gentleman all right’. then, sayin’ aloud that the gloves wasn’t hers, she thanked me, an’ dismissed me.”
i congratulated him on his success. so far, so good. i had to wait in patience until six o’clock on the following morning.
that night i slept but little, but when daylight came a certain hope and gladness came with it. at half-past five i went out, and strolled along to the cross-roads i had noticed between the “glen” and the village. the roads traversing the highway were merely green lanes leading to adjoining fields, and with high hedges on either side were admirably adapted for a secret meeting.
not without fear of being noticed by some yokel on his way to work, i idled there until the clock from the old ivy-clad church tower below struck the hour. for the first ten minutes i saw no sign of her, and every moment increased my peril of being noticed and my presence commented upon. the villagers were certainly not used to seeing a gentleman wait at the cross-roads at six o’clock in the morning.
presently, however, my heart leaped with sudden joy, for i saw her in a fresh pale blue cotton dress hurrying towards me, and in order not to be seen meeting her in the main road i withdrew into the lane.
five minutes later we were standing side by side, in a spot where we could not be observed, she panting and breathless, and i full of eager questions as to the reason of her flight.
“so you actually followed me all the way here, godfrey!” she exclaimed anxiously, turning those dear eyes upon me, those eyes the expression of which was always as wondering and innocent as a child’s.
“because i am determined that you shall not again escape me, ella,” was my answer, grasping her hand and raising it with reverence to my lips.
are we ever truly read, i wonder, save by the one that loves us best? love is blind, the phrase runs; yet, i would rather say love sees as god sees, and with infinite wisdom has infinite pardon.
what was it i felt? i hardly know. i acted without knowing—only stung into a bitter, burning, all-corroding jealousy that drove me like a whip of scorpions.
“you should never have done this,” she answered calmly, though her voice trembled just a little. “have i not already told you that—that our meeting was unfortunate, and that we must again part?”
“but why?” i demanded fiercely.
“it is imperative,” she faltered. “i can never be yours.”
“but you shall—ella!” i cried fiercely, “in this past twenty-four hours i have discovered a great deal. unknown to me there was a man staying with miller at studland. the real object of your visit there was to speak with him in secret. you did so and left by motor car, while he travelled here by train. your father has no idea that he and miller are friends nor has he any idea of his true identity. he believes him to be gordon-wright, yet i know him under the name of lieutenant harold shacklock.”
“you—you know him?” she gasped.
“yes. after you left the manor i called, and lucie introduced me—as though i needed any introduction to him,” i laughed bitterly.
“then where have you met him before?” she asked, deeply anxious.
“abroad. i know who and what he is, ella,” i said determinedly. “and you shall never be his wife.”
“but i must,” she declared. “it is all arranged. i cannot break my engagement. i dare not.”
“then i shall simply go to the police and tell them what i know. i will never allow you to wreck your happiness because this fellow holds some mysterious power over you. you are mine, ella—remember—mine!”
“i know! i know!” she gasped, her face pale, her eyes terrified. “but you must not say a word. i beg you, if you really love me, not to say a word.”
“why not?”
“because he would revenge himself upon me. i know certain of his secrets—secrets that i discovered by the merest chance. any information given to the police he would suspect of coming from me. therefore, don’t you see that any such attempt to free me will only bring upon me disaster—even death!”
“you fear he may take your life!” i gasped. “ah! i see! he might even kill you, in order to close your lips!”
and i recollected the fellow’s ominous words i had overheard on the previous night, when he had told her that upon her secrecy his very life depended.
he was as ingenious and unscrupulous a criminal as there was in the whole length and breadth of the kingdom.
i saw in what deadly peril was my sweet well-beloved. she was in fear of him. perhaps he, on his part, held some secret of hers. from her attitude i suspected this. if so, then any word of mine to the police would bring to her only ruin and disgrace!
