Part 4 — CHAPTER II THE MEETING

The message that had reached Bobby that morning was one which she had little expected to receive. She had been making strenuous efforts to regain her strength to start upon her quest, though in what direction she meant to go was still a matter of hopeless indecision, when suddenly like the flash of a torch on a dark night, news had come.

She carried it with her now though she did not need it, for she had the words by heart and repeated them over and over inwardly to the drumming of the express in which she sat. They had lost no time, she and Silas, for it had been an understood thing that he should accompany her. She had left everything to him save the packing of her simple luggage which had been Mary's willing service. And already they were on their way.

To Bobby after her long bereavement it had been as a message from the dead. And yet its very simplicity had seemed to breathe of the warmth and vitality that had been the sheer essence of her Rosemary.

"I am here with Donald Ross," so had the message run. "We want to get married at once. Please will you come and give me away? Your loving Rosemary."

The address was a London hotel of which Bobby had no knowledge, but her misgivings were at rest, She knew and trusted Donald Ross. The stability of The Old Bean was as it were his hall-mark. The relief of realizing that his search had been rewarded with success was almost more than she could bear. She could hardly believe that the long suspense and separation were so nearly over.

"All must be well with her! Surely all must be well!" she had said to Silas.

And he had responded somewhat briefly, "We shall soon know anyhow."

He had made immediate arrangements for the journey, and she knew that he had been prepared for the contingency for some time. Everything that could be done for her comfort was done with a swift, unquestioning efficiency which moved her deeply though it was no time for words. His devotion had always been of a practical turn, and it had become an understood thing between them that she should accept it without scruple. Later she would make such return as lay in her power. This also was understood, and they discussed it no further. It seemed as if they had already become partners.

He watched over her throughout the journey with an attention that was always ready though never obtrusive. Now and then they talked a little, but it was mainly of unimportant things. For the most part they were silent. And the message kept on echoing and re-echoing in Bobby's heart. The child she had loved so tenderly, for whom she had sacrificed so much, was still wanting her, had appealed to her out of the void, calling herself her loving Rosemary. Very soon now—oh, very soon—she would have her darling in her arms again.

The daylight faded and darkness came and with it the moon—that pale new moon which had drawn Mary and Peter for a brief space out of their work-a-day world. The hopes and fears in Bobby's heart had turned to earnest prayer. As time passed and they sped on she forgot her companion, forgot her own physical weariness, forgot everything in life save that deep supplication of the spirit. How often she had prayed for Rosemary! And how hard of late it had been to feel that her prayers were heard! But to-night a sense of peace came upon her. To-night she knew that she did not pray in vain.

Silas roused her presently with some food that he made her take, and he told her that they were within an hour of their journey's end. That brought her thoughts back to him again. She smiled and thanked him, repudiating the fatigue which nevertheless she could not wholly hide.

"I wonder if they will meet us," she said.

"Somebody is sure to," said Silas.

The thought of that meeting shook Bobby to the depths. She felt as if it were years, instead of a few dreary weeks, that separated her from her Rosemary. She even began to wonder if she would find her greatly changed. Somehow she had a conviction that she also had been through a good deal during those long weeks. But, whatever her experiences had been, she was giving herself into the keeping of a trusty friend at last. Bobby had no misgivings regarding The Old Bean. She did not know him intimately, but she had always liked him, had always instinctively felt that she could trust him. She had said as much to Matilda with whom she had had a brief interview that morning at the Vicarage on her way to the station. But Matilda, who was in bed and being waited on by the patient Mrs. Hudson, had turned her face to the wall and begged her to go away, as she had no desire ever to see or hear anything more of Rosemary and her doings. Perhaps when Bobby had spent all her savings on getting her married she would kindly come back and look after her, instead of leaving her to be a burden to strangers. She had not even glanced at Bobby or noticed the ravages which those past weeks had wrought upon her. Bobby was the bond-slave born to service, and she had no right to be ill.

Bobby had gone swiftly away from her sister's bedside, and she had not suffered her mind to return thither. Matilda could come afterwards, but Rosemary now was second to none.

The inner tumult increased within her as they neared their destination, though she fought with all her strength for composure. Gazing through the dark window, she hoped and believed that her agitation was not apparent to Silas who had betaken himself to the further corner of the compartment which he had succeeded in keeping clear of intruders throughout the journey.

She tried to think of him for a space, of all that he had done for her; but her thoughts kept flying back to Rosemary, and she was forced to let them go. Silas also must come afterwards.

They reached the suburbs of the Metropolis at last, and she knew that only a few more minutes remained. Her heart was throbbing very hard and she struggled against a feeling of suffocation that threatened over and over again to overwhelm her. On and on between endless rows of houses dimly seen they rushed, till it seemed to Bobby that her nightmare of suspense would never end. On and on, and now they were slackening speed and the end was near.

She felt powerless, as one in the grip of fate; yet as Silas rose and began to collect her belongings she managed to whisper, "Shall I stand by the window—in case—just in case—she is there?"

He saw her agitation and bent down to her. "Steady now! Steady!" he said. "You mustn't let yourself go. Let me give you a hand!"

He helped her to her feet and let down the window. He was close behind her, ready to support her, as she leaned forth.

They glided into the great station with its flaring lamps and waiting porters. Bobby's heart was in her throat. She clutched the woodwork desperately. Surely Rosemary would be there to greet her! Surely she would be there!

But they ran past light after light and she saw no girlish figure searching the train for arrivals. There were very few people at all besides the row of porters. One tall man, clad in an overcoat that did not wholly conceal evening clothes, caught her attention though she did not know why. He was not in the least like The Old Bean. But he had evidently come to meet someone, for he was scanning the carriage-windows as they passed him.

And now, just as the train slid to a standstill, the one at which she stood came within his range of vision, and she saw him move with a slight start. The light was full upon her, but his face was in shadow. He pushed aside a porter and reached the door. With his hand upon it, he swept off his hat and greeted her.

"Ah, Roberta!" he said.

She saw him as in a dream—as in many dreams she had seen him; and as in those dreams her heart ceased to beat with the wonder of the meeting. It was as though she saw him rise from the grave.

"Dick!" she said.

There arose a great rushing in her ears, a tumult as of engulfing waters all around her. She felt herself sink downwards towards a darkness unfathomable, and was aware of an arm that gripped her and raised her up. Then she was lying back on the cushioned seat, nerveless and gasping, while Silas—strong and able friend—pulled off her gloves and chafed her icy hands.

"Wait! I've got some brandy here," she heard him say, and while she was vaguely marvelling at the forethought that had made him bring it, he was holding a flask to her lips and making her drink.

It brought her to life again with a painful jerk. She fastened trembling hands on his arm.

"Please, Silas, please!" she said.

"Go on!" he said relentlessly. "You want it. I wish I'd made you have it sooner."

It was useless to attempt to resist him. Silas in moments of emergency was apt to loom gigantic and there was nothing for it but submission. She obeyed him therefore, and gradually her strength returned.

She tried to sit up. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said.

"Stay as you are!" said Silas. "There's no hurry and nothing to be sorry about."

The noises of the great station came back into her consciousness—and with them the memory of her vision. She made a more determined effort to recover her self-control.

"I'm quite all right again," she told him tremulously. "Please help me to sit up! There—there's someone there, waiting—someone I used to know."

"Do you want him?" said Silas.

She looked up into his rugged face and met the clean directness of his eyes. "Please, Silas!" she said.

He moved, straightening himself, and turned to the open door. "Will you get in? She's asking for you," he said.

Bobby sat up. She was deathly white still, but she was smiling with that high courage of hers which it took so much to daunt.

"It is really—you!" she said, and held out her hand to the stranger as he stood in the doorway.

He took it with a courtly gesture. His dark eyes swept her face. "I am afraid I have upset you," he said.

Bobby's lips were quivering piteously in spite of that gallant smile. She did not know what it was in him that so wounded her. It was something more subtle than words or touch,—something that seemed a part of the man himself.

"I am quite all right really," she said; "only a little tired after the journey."

"She has been ill," volunteered Silas grimly. "We had better get her out of this as soon as possible."

Bobby stretched out an appealing hand. "Silas, let me introduce you! This is—an old friend—Captain Thorgrave."

There was an instant's pause; then: "Perhaps I had better introduce myself to you both," the other man said. "I am now—Lord Ravencombe."

"Ah! Is that it?" said Bobby, with a sharp breath.

He answered her curtly, as one who seeks to check all discussion at the outset. "Yes, that's it. Through force of circumstances I have become the temporary guardian of Rosemary, and that is how I come to be here. This gentleman whom you call Silas—" he turned to him almost aggressively—"your name is Hickory, I believe?"

"It is," said Silas, with a brevity that equalled his own. The other smiled, showing his teeth a little. "Then we are long-lost cousins or something of the kind. You've got a look of the family about you."

"That doesn't interest me," said Silas.

Ravencombe's smile became a half-smothered laugh that threw his long scar into terrible prominence. He turned again to Bobby.

"Don't you see the likeness between us?" he said.

She tried to avert her eyes from his disfigurement and failed. Somehow, very strangely, she was aware of a likeness between the two men—a resemblance so marked that she marvelled that she had never noted it before, yet could not have said wherein it lay.

She could not answer his question. She could only ask another of infinitely greater importance to her trembling heart. "Rosemary! What of Rosemary?" she said.

"She is quite well," Ravencombe answered, "and waiting for you. I've got a taxi engaged. We thought you would be alone."

"Let us go!" said Bobby.

He helped her to her feet and handed her down, while Silas turned to collect their belongings. They stood together on the platform for a few seconds, but they did not speak. It seemed to Bobby in the rush and roar of the station as if no words were left. In that amazing meeting she had glimpsed a gulf far wider than any mere years of separation could have made, and deep within her she knew that this man—the lover of her youth for whom she had so long and faithfully waited—had never intended to return.

But even that thought, now that she was herself again, was not paramount with her. She dismissed it almost feverishly. What did it matter—on this night of wonders what did anything matter except Rosemary who was waiting for her—waiting for her?

"Can we get away now?" she said, as Silas descended.

Ravencombe signed to a porter. "The sooner the better," he said.

And then she found herself walking between them down the long platform, feeling very weak yet longing to force herself to a run, to shorten the span of time that still must pass ere she could clasp her darling in her arms again.

They were nearing the barrier when abruptly Silas spoke to her. "It seems to me that I am hardly wanted now," he said. "Wouldn't you rather go on alone?"

She turned and stared at him. Somehow the suggestion took her breath away. "Go on alone!" she repeated; then quickly: "Oh no—no! Please—please come too!"

"You are sure you wish it?" he said.

Her answer was so prompt and emphatic that it must have satisfied the most incredulous. "Quite—quite sure!" she said. "I should be—lost without you."

He accepted her assurance in silence, and the man on her other side sent him a curious glance. Their eyes met over her head in almost open challenge. But neither spoke. As they reached the barrier, Silas fell behind.