The Man Who Rose Again Part 21

There was a new tone of tenderness in his voice, and as he spoke the tears came into her eyes.

"Some day, Radford," she said, "you will know how good G.o.d is, you will know the joy of being a Christian."

For answer he kissed her tenderly.

"Good-night, my love," he said, "good-night until to-morrow--my wife."

"Until to-morrow, Radford."

He walked a few steps up the drive; then he turned and saw her standing at the door watching him. He came back to her side again.

"One kiss more--until to-morrow, our wedding-day," he said.

She held up her face to him with a glad laugh. He kissed her again, and then hurried away, not daring to look back a second time.

She had scarcely returned to the drawing-room, when, she knew not why, a feeling of great depression came into her heart. Her sky, which a few seconds before was clear, now hung with great black clouds. Shadowy forebodings came into her mind and heart. She heard her father talking with Mr. Sackville in the smoking-room. They were chatting and laughing pleasantly, and yet the sound of their voices made her almost angry.

A servant entered the room.

"Yes, Masters, what is it?"

"A letter has just come for you, miss."

"By the last post?"

"No, miss, it was brought by hand, only a few minutes ago. I did not like to bring it, till Mr. Leicester had gone, miss."

She took the letter without a word, and went up into her bedroom. Her maid came to her, but she told her she did not need her any more that night; she wanted to be alone. Still holding the letter unopened in her hand, she drew a chair before the fire, and sat back in it, and closed her eyes. Why this strange feeling of depression? Why was she so sick at heart? Radford's kisses were still warm upon her lips, his words still rang in her ears.

Almost mechanically she broke the seal of the letter which had been brought, and glanced carelessly at it. A minute later her eyes became riveted to the paper. As she read, one expression followed another on her face--wonder, indignation, shame, pa.s.sion, in turn possessed her.

She read the letter a second time, then a third, then a fourth. Her features became set, her eyes became hard, her hands clenched and unclenched themselves as though she had no control over them. She threw the letter from her; but immediately she caught it up again, and then read it for the fifth time. It was a long letter, plainly and legibly written, evidently by an educated person.

After she had read it a fifth time, she sat staring into the fire. She saw nothing, heard nothing. She was oblivious to her surroundings. Her face, even her lips, were bloodless. She sat thus for a long time.

Presently she aroused herself, and pulled the bell-cord. A servant-maid appeared.

"Is my father gone to bed?" She did not turn her face towards her, and she spoke with evident difficulty. Her voice was almost toneless.

"No, miss, he is just saying good-night to Mr. Sackville."

"Will you please go to him, and ask him to go into the library."

"Yes, miss."

"Why are you waiting?"

"Shall I tell him that you will come to him, miss?"

"Yes."

The girl left the room, while Olive continued to look into the fire with the same stony stare.

Again she read the letter through. This time slowly, word by word, sentence by sentence, as though she would weigh its meaning carefully and judicially. When she had finished, she had apparently made up her mind. She rose to her feet, and took a step towards the door, but she was unable to proceed further. Her brain whirled, she felt herself falling. Clutching the back of the chair she held herself for a few seconds, then, as if by a sudden effort of will, she controlled herself.

Then she walked across the room steadily, opened the door, and went downstairs slowly. Her face, even to her lips, was still ashy pale, and in her eyes was a stern set look. There was no sign of weakness in her movements, and yet she looked as though she had been stunned. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked slowly around her, as though she were not quite sure of her whereabouts. There was a dazed expression in her eyes, which suggested the look in the eyes of a sleep-walker.

Again she seemed to make a sudden effort, and then she walked to the library door and opened it. John Castlemaine looked up at his daughter's entrance, and was startled by her appearance. He was sitting in an armchair, smoking a last pipe before going to bed.

"Olive, my darling, what is the matter? Are you ill?" he asked tenderly.

She tried to speak, but could not; then she moved towards him, and threw herself into his arms, while John Castlemaine held her, as he had held her years before, when she was a baby.

The next morning Radford Leicester woke early. Contrary to his expectations, no sooner had he placed his head on the pillow the night before than he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. After the excitement of the evening, nature demanded rest, and so she wrapped her kindly arms around him, as if she desired to be specially kind to him just then.

When he awoke he could not for a time realise where he was; but the truth soon came to him. He remembered, too, that it was the morning of his wedding-day. His heart gave a leap as the thought came into his mind, and then to stay in bed any longer was an impossibility. He dressed with great care, now and then looking out of the window, and noting with satisfaction the blue of the skies and the sweetness of the air.

"Only a little while longer," he said again and again to himself. "I wonder how she will look as she walks up the church aisle on her father's arm?"

The wedding arrangements had been discussed several days before, and everything was settled in due order. When Leicester had been asked whom he wished to invite to the wedding, he did not mention a single name.

"No one at all?" John Castlemaine had said.

"No one," replied Leicester. "I have no real friend on earth, neither man nor woman. Yes, I have a lot of acquaintances, but I do not wish them to come to my wedding. My father died five years ago. I can scarcely remember my mother. As for all the rest of the world--no, I do not wish to invite any one."

"But you must so far conform to convention as to have a best man."

"Must I? Very well, now let me think. Yes, Winfield will do. He's about the best chap I know."

He had barely mentioned his name, however, when he would gladly have recalled it. Like lightning the fact flashed into his mind that on the night of the wager it was Winfield who had suggested the name of Olive Castlemaine.

"That's all right," said Mr. Castlemaine. "He's just the fellow. So you will invite no one else?"

"I would rather not invite _him_," said Leicester.

"But you must, Leicester. I must positively insist on that. For my own part, I think I should have liked you to have invited some of your chief supporters in your const.i.tuency."

"No, no," said Leicester, "don't ask me; really, I would rather not."

And so, although Leicester did not like the thought of it, Winfield was asked to act as best man, and arrangements had been made for the two to meet that morning at a station three miles from The Beeches, which happened to be on the line which the young journalist most frequently used.

At the time agreed upon Leicester was there, and found the carriage which he had engaged. Here, too, he found Winfield, and the two drove to the church where the wedding was to take place.

"You must be a happy man," remarked Winfield.

"Yes."

"Everything has gone smoothly, I hope?"