The Triumph of Hilary Blachland Part 26

"Yes. I think we might now. So you haven't found out anything more about--Mrs Fenham, beyond what you told me last night?"

"No. Her husband died about a year ago. That was up-country. I wonder you never ran against him, Hilary."

"But I know him intimately, only--he isn't her husband."

"The deuce! But he's dead."

"No, he isn't. He's very much alive and kicking--and his name isn't Fenham either, never was."

"Well, what is it then?" and his voice was hard and desperate.

"Hilary Blachland."

"Eh?"

It was all he could say. He could only stare. He seemed to be stricken speechless with the shock, utterly speechless.

"I'm very sorry for you, Percy, very sorry. But you'll thank me for it bye-and-bye," went on Blachland concernedly. "That woman has told you a tissue of lies. I can account for her time for nearly half a dozen years, for the simple reason that it has been spent with me--the last two years of it in Mashunaland. She left me though, not much more than half a year ago--cleared out with another Johnny, just such a young a.s.s as yourself, who thought her a G.o.ddess, but they got sick of each other in no time. Why, she was telling me all about that herself only this morning, before you were up."

Percival said nothing. For some little while he rode on in silence, gazing straight between his horse's ears. The thing had come upon him as a terrible shock, and he sat, half dazed. It never occurred to him for one moment to refuse to believe his kinsman's statement, nor any part of it. Suddenly he looked up.

"Who is she then?" he asked.

"Hermia Saint Clair. You remember?"

"Yes. Good G.o.d!"

"So you see, Percy, you can go no further in this," went on the other after another interval of silence. "You must break it off--now, absolutely and at once. You quite see that, don't you?"

"Of course. Great Heavens, Hilary--how I have been fooled!"

"You have certainly, but if it's any consolation to you, so have others--so will others be--as long as Hermia is about. It isn't pleasant to be obliged to give her away as I have done--and if it had concerned anybody other than yourself, anybody in whom I had no interest, I should have let the matter rigidly alone, as no business of mine, and kept a strict silence. But I couldn't stand by and see your life utterly ruined at the start, and there are of course, circ.u.mstances in this particular case which rendered it ten times more necessary that you should be warned. I gave her the straight chance though. I told her if she broke off this engagement with you, I wouldn't breathe a word as to her real ident.i.ty, and she defied me. So now you know. And now you do know, there's not the slightest chance of her getting you into the toils again, eh?"

"Good Heavens, no," he answered emphatically, and in strong disgust.

"What a fool I've been. What shall I do, Hilary? I don't feel as if I could ever see her again. Do you think Bayfield would take me in for a few days if I went on now with you?"

"Take my advice, and go straight back. We don't want to give her away further, and if you clear out abruptly now, it'll likely have that effect. Besides it has rather a cowardly look. No, give her to understand that you know everything now, and of course there's nothing more to be thought of between you."

"I will. But--what an escape I've had. Still do you know, Hilary--Oh, dash it all, I was--er--beastly fond of her. Don't you understand?"

"Well, rather--considering it's a stage I've gone through myself,"

answered the other, kindly. "You'll get over it though. And, look here, Percy, I shall be leaving Bayfield's myself in a day or two. How would you like to join me? We might go up-country together, and I could show you some real wild life. You see, I know my way about in those parts, and it would be a first-rate opportunity for you to see something of them. What do you say?"

"That's a real splendid idea, Hilary."

"Very well. Now go back and get this business over. Get it clean behind you mind, thoroughly and entirely. I'll send you word in a couple of days at the outside where to join me, then roll up your traps and come straight along. How is that?"

"The very thing."

"Right. Now, Percy. Seriously, mind. There must be no more dallying.

You know what I mean?"

"Not likely, knowing what I know now."

"Then you'd better go and get it over at once. I'll say good-bye to the Bayfields for you. You turn round right here. Good-bye now--and one of these days you'll bless your stars for this lucky escape."

"Then you'll let me hear soon, Hilary?"

"In a couple of days at the outside. Good-bye."

A staunch handgrip, and the older man sat there, looking after the receding form of the younger.

"It strikes me," he said to himself as he turned his horse's head along the track again. "It strikes me that I've been only just in time to get that young fool out of a most deadly mess. Heavens! what a ghastly complication it would have been. Moreover, I believe he was sent out here to find out about me, and what I was doing. Well, instead of him reclaiming me, it has befallen that I have been the one marked out to reclaim him."

Then as he sent his horse along at a brisk canter to make up the time lost during their talk, his mind reverted to himself and his own affairs. What a series of surprises had been contained within the last twenty-four hours. Could it have been only yesterday that he came along this road, serene, content, with no forewarning of what lay in store?

Why, it seemed that half a lifetime's drama had been played out within that brief s.p.a.ce--and now, as he pressed on to overtake Bayfield's conveyance, the tilt of which was visible some distance ahead moving through the bushes, it seemed that with every stride of his horse he was advancing into a purer atmosphere. He felt as one, who, having struck upon strange and unwelcome surprises in the foul nauseous air of some long, underground cavern, was drawing nearer and nearer again to the free, wholesome, open light of day.

Well, he had saved his young kinsman, and now he was called upon to face the payment of the price. The time he had spent here, the bright, beautiful, purifying time, was at an end. The past, of which, looking back upon, he sickened, was not to be so easily buried after all. Had it not risen up when least expected, to haunt him, to exact its retribution? Hermia would certainly keep her word; caring nothing in her vindictive spite, to what extent she blackened herself so long as she could sufficiently besmirch him. Still he would do all he could, if not to defeat her intentions, at any rate to draw half their sting.

One, at all events, should remain unsullied by the mire which he well knew she would relentlessly spatter in all directions. That he resolved.

Then a faint, vague, straw of a hope, beset him. What if she had been playing a game of bluff? What if she was by no means so ready to give herself away as she had affected to be? What if--when she found there was nothing to be gained by it--she were to adopt the more prudent course, and maintain silence? It was just a chance, but knowing so well, her narrow, soulless nature, he knew it to be a slender one.

Even then, what? Even did it hold--it would not affect the main fact.

In the consummate purifying of this man's nature which the past few weeks had effected, he looked backward thence with unutterable abas.e.m.e.nt and loathing. As he had sown, so must he reap. The re-appearance of the past personified had but emphasised that--had not altered it. He would be the one to suffer, and he only, he thought, with a dull, anguished kind of feeling which he strove hard to think was that of consolation.

"Oh, it is good to be at home again," said Lyn. "I don't care much for going over to the Earles' at any time, but this time somehow or other, I detested it. But--oh, I beg your pardon, Mr Blachland. And you found your cousin there! How awkward and tactless you must think me!"

"You could never be either awkward or tactless, Lyn," he answered.

"Only thoroughly natural. Always be that, child. It is such a charm."

The girl smiled softly, half shyly. "Really, you are flattering me.

You spoil me as much as father does, and that's saying a great deal, you know," gaily.

The two were standing on the stoep together, about an hour after their return. Bayfield was down at the kraals, counting in, and looking after things in general, and, helping him, small Fred, who, however, was cracking his long whip in such wise as to be rather less of a help than a hindrance with the flocks. The unearthly beauty of the sunset glow was already merging into the shade of the twilightless evening.

"I wish you were going to stay with us always, Mr Blachland," she went on. "It would be so nice. If you and father were partners, for instance, like Mr Barter and Mr Smith--only they squabble--why, then you'd always be here."

He looked at her--mentally with a great start--but only for a second.

The frank, ingenuous, friendly affection of a child! That was what the words, the tone, the straight glance of the sweet blue eyes expressed!

There was a tinge of melancholy in his voice as he replied:

"Now you flatter me, little Lyn. You would soon find a battered old fogey like me can be a desperate bore." Then he proceeded to the prosaic and homely occupation of filling and lighting his pipe, smiling to himself sadly over her indignant disclaimer.

CHAPTER TEN.