The Wooden Horse Part 32

"Poor Robin----" She laughed. "You don't know how I scolded him last night. It was about you and I was unhappy. He is changing fast, and it is because of you. He has come round----"

"We have all come round!" cried Harry. "He and you and I! Oh! this is the beginning of the world for all of us--and I am forty-five! Will you write to me later in the day? I cannot get down until to-night.

My father is very ill--I must be here. But write to me--a long letter--it will be as though you were talking."

She laughed. "Yes, I'll write," she cried; then she looked at him again--"I love you," she said, as though she were reciting her faith, "because you are good, because you are strong, because--oh! for no reason at all--just because you are you."

For a moment they watched the sea, and then again he took her in his arms and held her as though he would never let her go--then she vanished through the trees.

The house was waking into life as he re-entered it; servants were astir at an early hour: he had been away such a little time, but the world was another place. Every detail of the house--the stairs, the hall, the windows, the clocks, the pot-pourri scent from the bowls of dried roses, the dance of the dust in the light of the rising sun, was presented to him now with a new meaning. He was glad that she had stayed with him such a little while--it made it more precious, her coming with the shadows in that grey of breaking skies and a mysterious plunging sea, and then vanis.h.i.+ng with the rising sun. Oh! they would come down to earth soon enough!--let him keep that kiss, those few words, her last smile as she vanished into the wood, like the visible signs of the other world that had, at last, been allowed to him. The vision of the Grail had pa.s.sed from his eyes, but the memory of it was to be his most sacred possession.

He went to his room, had a bath, and then returned to his father; of course, he could not sleep.

Clare, Garrett, and Robin met at breakfast with the sense of approaching calamity heavy upon them. As far as Sir Jeremy himself was concerned there was little real regret--how could there be? Of course, there was the sentiment of separation, the breaking of a great many ties that had been strong and traditional; but it was better that the old man should go--of that there was no question. Sir Jeremy himself would rather. No, "Le roi est mort" was easy enough to say, but how "Vive le roi" stuck in their throats.

Garrett hinted at a wretched night, and quoted Benham on the dangers of an arm-chair at night-time.

"Of course, one had been thinking," he said vaguely, after a melancholy survey of eggs and bacon that developed into resignation over dry toast--"there was a good deal to think about. But I certainly had intended to go to bed--I can't imagine what----"

Robin said nothing. His mind was busy with Mary's speech of the night before; his world lay crumbled about him, and, like Cato, he was finding a certain melancholy satisfaction in its ruins. His thoughts were scarcely with his grandfather; he felt vaguely that there was Death in the house and that its immediate presence was one of the things that had helped to bring his self-content about his ears. But it was of his father that he was thinking, and of a certain morning when he had refused a walk. If he got a chance again!

Clare looked wretched. Robin thought that she had never seemed so ill before; there was, for the first time, an air of carelessness about her, as though she had flung on her clothes anyhow--something utterly unlike her.

"I am going to speak to Harry this morning," she said.

Garrett looked up peevishly. "Scarcely the time, Clare. I should say that it were better for us to wait until--well, afterwards. There is, perhaps, something a little indecent----"

"I have considered the matter carefully," interrupted Clare decisively.

"This is the best time----"

"Oh, well, of course. Only I should have thought that I might have had just a little say in the matter. I was, after all, originally consulted as well as yourself. I saw the girl, and was even, I might venture to suggest, with her for some time. But, of course, a mere man's opinion----"

"Oh, don't be absurd, Garrett. It is I that have to ask him--it is pretty obvious that I have every right to choose my own time."

"Oh! Please, don't let me interfere--only I should scarcely have thought that this was quite the moment when Harry would be most inclined to listen to you."

"If we don't ask him now," she answered, "there's no knowing when we shall have the opportunity. When poor father is gone he will have a great deal to settle and decide; he will have no time for anything at all for months ahead. This morning is our last chance."

But she had another thought. Her great desire now was that he should try and fail; that he would fail she was sure. She was eagerly impatient for that day when he must come to them and admit his failure.

She looked ahead and fas.h.i.+oned that scene for herself--that scene when Robin should know and confess that his father was only as the rest of them; that their failure was his failure, their incapacity his incapacity--and then the balance would be restored and Robin would see as he had seen before.

"Coffee, Robin? It's quite hot still. I saw Dr. Brady just now. He says that there is no change, nor is there likely to be one for some hours. You're looking tired, Robin, old boy. Have you been sleeping on the floor, too?"

"No!" He looked up and smiled. "But I was awake a good bit. The house is different somehow, when----"

"Oh yes, I know. One feels it, of course. But eating's much the best thing for keeping one's spirits up. I suppose Harry is coming down.

Just find out from Benham, will you, Wilder, whether Mr. Henry is coming down?"

The footman left the room, returning in a moment with the answer that Mr. Henry was about to come down.

Garrett moved to the door, but Clare stopped him.

"I want you, Garrett--you can bear me out!"

"I thought that my opinion was of so little importance," he answered sulkily, "that I might as well go."

But he sat down again and buried himself in his paper.

They waited, and Robin made mental comparisons with a similar scene a week before; there were still the silver teapot, the toast, the ham--they were all there, and it was only he himself who had altered.

Only a week, and what a difference! What a cad he had been! a howling cad! Not only to his father, but to Dahlia, to every one with whom he had had to do. He did not spare himself; he had at least the pluck to go through with it--_that_ was Trojan.

At Harry's entrance there was an involuntary raising of eyebrows to see, if possible, how _he_ took it; _it_ being his own immediate succession rather than his father's death. He was grave, of course, but there was a light in his eyes that Clare could not understand. Had he some premonition of her request? He apologised for being late.

"I have been up most of the night. There is no immediate danger of a change, but we ought, I think, to be ready. Yes, the toast, Robin, please--I hope you've slept all right, Clare?"

How quickly he had picked up the manner, she reflected, as she watched him! But of course that was natural enough; once a Trojan, always a Trojan, and no amount of colonies will do away with it. But three weeks was a short time for so vast a change.

"No, Harry, not very well--of course, it weighs on one rather."

She sighed and rose from the breakfast-table; she looked terribly tired and Harry was suddenly sorry for her, and, for the first time since the night of his return, felt that they were brother and sister; but after the adventure of the early morning it was as though he were related to the whole world--Love and Death had drawn close to him, and, with the sound of the beating of their wings, the world had revealed things to him that had, in other days, been secrets. Love and Death were such big things that his personal relations with Clare, with Garrett, even with Robin, had a.s.sumed their true proportion.

"Clare, you're tired!" he said. "I should go and lie down again. You shall be told if anything happens."

"No, thanks, Harry. I wanted to ask you something--but, perhaps, first I ought to apologise for some of the things that I said the other day.

I said more than I meant to. I am sorry--but one forgets at times that one has no right to meddle in other people's affairs. But now I--we--all of us--want to ask you a favour----"

"Yes?" he said, looking up.

"Well, of course, this is scarcely the time. But it is something that can hardly wait, and you can decide about acting yourself----"

She paused. It was the very hardest thing that she had ever had to do, and she would never forget it to the day of her death. But it was harder for Robin; he sat there with flaming cheeks and his head hanging--he could not look at his father.

"It is to do with Robin--" Clare went on; "he was rather afraid to ask you about it himself, because, of course, it is not a business of which he is very proud, and so he has asked me to do it for him. It is a girl--a Miss Feverel--whom he met at Cambridge and to whom he had written letters, letters that gave the young woman some reasons to suppose that he was offering her marriage. He saw the matter more wisely after a time and naturally wished Miss Feverel to restore the letters, but this she refused to do. Both Garrett and myself have done what we could and have, I am afraid, failed. Miss Feverel is quite resolute--most obstinately so. We are afraid that she may take steps that would be unpleasant to all of us--it is rather worrying us, and we thought--it seemed--in short, I determined to ask you to help us. With your wider experience you will probably know the best way in which to deal with such a person."

Clare paused. She had put it as drily as possible, but it was, nevertheless, humiliating.

There was a pause.

"I am scarcely surprised," said Harry, "that Robin is ashamed of the affair."

"Of course he is," answered Clare eagerly, "bitterly ashamed."

"I suppose you made love to--ah--Miss Feverel?" he said, turning directly to Robin.

"Yes," said Robin, lifting his head and facing his father. As their eyes met the colour rushed to his cheeks.

"It was a rotten thing to do," said Harry.

"I have been very much ashamed of myself," answered Robin. "I would make Miss Feverel any apology that is in my power, but there seems to be little that I can do."