The Lamp of Fate Part 63

Even though she knew now that at least June Storran's death need no longer be added to her account, she still adhered to her decision. As she had told Dan with a weary simplicity: "I'm glad. But it won't make any difference--to Michael and me. Too much water has run under the bridge. Love that is dead doesn't come to life again."

Each day was hardening her resolve, and both Lady Arabella and Gillian--those two whose unselfish happiness was bound up in her own--were beginning to realise that it would be a race against time if she was to be saved from taking a step that would divide her from Michael as long as they both should live.

At the end of a fortnight Gillian, driven to desperation, despatched a telegram to his Paris address: "Did you receive communication from Lady Arabella?" But it shared the fate of the letter, failing to elicit any reply. She allowed sufficient time to elapse to cover any ordinary delay in transit, then, unknown to Magda, taxied down to the house in Park Lane.

"I want you to invite Magda to stay with you, please," she informed Lady Arabella abruptly.

"Of course I will," she replied. "But why? You've got a reason."

Gillian nodded.

"Yes," she acknowledged quietly. "I'm going to Paris--to find Michael."

Lady Arabella, whose high spirits had wilted a little in the face of the double disappointment regarding any answer from Quarrington, beamed satisfaction.

"You blessed child!" she exclaimed. "I'd have gone myself, but my old body is so stiff with rheumatism that I don't believe they'd get me on board the boat except in an ambulance!"

"Well, I'm going," said Gillian. "Only the point is, Magda mustn't know.

If she thought I was going off in pursuit of Michael I believe she'd lock me up in the cellar. She intends never to let him see her again.

Melrose will manage about the letters, and somehow you've got to prevent Magda from coming to Friars' Holm and finding out that I'm not there."

"I'll take her away with me," declared Lady Arabella.

"Rheumatism--Harrogate. It's quite simple."

Gillian heaved a sigh of relief.

"Yes. That would be a good plan," she agreed. "Then I'd let you know when we should arrive--"

"'We?'"

"Michael and I. I'm not coming back without him. And you could bring Magda straight back to town with you."

Lady Arabella's keen old eyes searched her face.

"You sound very certain of success. Supposing you find Michael still unforgiving--and he refuses to return with you?"

"I believe in Michael," replied Gillian steadily. "He's made mistakes.

People in love do. But when he knows all that Magda has endured--for his sake, really--why, he'll come back. I'm sure of it."

"I don't know, my dear. _I_ was sure he would come back within six months. But, you see, I was wrong. Men are kittle cattle--and often very slow to arrive at the intrinsic value and significance of things.

A woman jumps to it while a man is crawling round on his hands and knees in the dark, looking for it with a match."

Gillian laughed and got up to go, and Lady Arabella--whose rheumatism was quite real at the moment--rose rather painfully and hobbled down the room beside her, her thin, delicate old hand resting on the silver k.n.o.b of a tall, ebony walking-stick.

"Now, remember," urged Gillian. "Magda mustn't have the least suspicion Michael may be coming back--or she'd be off into her slums before you could stop her. _Whatever happens_, you've got to prevent her rus.h.i.+ng back to the Sisters of Penitence."

"Only over my dead body, my dear," Lady Arabella a.s.sured her determinedly. "She shan't go any other way."

So Gillian returned to Friars' Holm bearing with her a note from Lady Arabella in which she asked her G.o.d-daughter to pay her a visit. In it, however, the wily old lady made no mention of her further idea of going to Harrogate, lest it should militate against an acceptance of the invitation. Magda demurred a little at first, but Gillian, suddenly endowed with diplomacy worthy of a Machiavelli, pointed out that if she really had any intention of ultimately withdrawing into a community the least she could do was to give her G.o.dmother the happiness of spending a few days with her.

"She will only urge me to give up the idea all the time," protested Magda. "And I've quite made up my mind. The sooner I can get away from--from everything"--looking round her with desperate, haunted eyes--"the better it will be."

Gillian's impulse to combat her decision to rejoin the sisterhood died on her lips stillborn. It was useless to argue the matter. There was only one person in the world who could save Magda from herself, and that was Michael. The main point was to concentrate on getting him back to England, rather than waste her energies upon what she knew beforehand must prove a fruitless argument.

"I'll go to Marraine for a couple of nights, anyway," said Magda at last. "After that, I want to make arrangements for my reception into the sisterhood."

Gillian returned no answer. She felt her heart contract at the quiet decision in Magda's voice, but she pinned her faith on Lady Arabella's ability to hold her, somehow, till she herself had accomplished her errand to Paris.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

AGAINST TIME

Gillian, das.h.i.+ng headlong into Victoria Station, encountered Storran sauntering leisurely out of it, a newspaper under his arm.

"Where are you off to?" he demanded, stopping abruptly. "You look as if you were in a hurry."

"I am. Don't stop me. I'm catching the boat-train."

Storran pulled out his watch as he turned and fell into step beside her.

"Then you've got a good half-hour to spare. No hurry," he returned placidly.

Gillian glanced at the watch on her wrist.

"Are you sure?" she asked doubtfully. "If so, my watch must be altogether wrong!"

"Unbeliever! Come and look at the clock. And, incidentally, give me that suit-case."

She yielded up the case obediently and, having verified the time, proceeded towards the platform at a more reasonable gait.

Storran, his long legs leisurely keeping pace with her shorter ones, smiled down at her.

"And now, for the second time of asking, where are you off to?"

"I'm going to France--to fetch Michael."

He gave a quick exclamation--whether of surprise or disapproval she was not quite sure.

"You haven't heard from him, then?"

"No. And unless something happens _quick_, it will be too late."

"But if he were at his studio he would surely have answered Lady Arabella's letter."

"Yes, I suppose so," replied Gillian absently, her eyes following the queue of pa.s.sengers pa.s.sing through the gate on the platform. By mutual consent they had come to a standstill outside it.