The Man Who Rose Again Part 61

Nothing of importance happened during the golf match on the links.

Neither Ricordo nor Olive played their best, and when the eighteenth green was reached both seemed relieved.

"What is the time, signore?" asked Olive.

"It is just after one, signorina."

"Then it is too late for me to go home to lunch," said Olive.

"That is well," said Ricordo. "You have made such excellent arrangements here that the matter of lunch can easily be dealt with. Moreover, unlike many clubs, you have not insisted on the idiotic rule of men and women lunching in different rooms. As a matter of fact, knowing we could not finish until one, I took the liberty of telling the good woman here that she must use her culinary skill on our behalf. I hope I have not done wrong."

Olive laughed gaily. The moorland air, the brightness of the skies, and the healthy exercise she had taken, had made her ravenously hungry.

"Rather, I must thank you heartily," she said; "but I must get back soon after lunch. I think I will send my caddy with a note, so that a trap may come for me."

"Is that essential?" asked Ricordo.

Olive looked at him questioningly.

"Because," continued Ricordo, "I had looked forward to the pleasure of walking back with you--if you will grant me so great an honour."

For a moment she hesitated. Had he been an Englishman she would have thought nothing of it. Her father had invited him to the house; he had also spoken of him as a kind of prince of merchants, and as a consequence there could be no doubt as to his position. Nevertheless, the fact that his education and a.s.sociations had not been English, kept her from immediately acceding to his request.

"I ask this," went on Ricordo, "because I am afraid I conveyed a false impression on the night I was a guest at your father's house. Even a poor alien like myself does not desire to appear in a false light."

Her eyes met his as he spoke, and the force of her objections seemed to have fled.

"I thought you might wish to play again this afternoon," she said; "but if you wish, I shall be very glad."

An hour later they started to walk back to Vale Linden.

"I have sometimes wondered whether you do not regard me as somewhat of an enigma, signorina. You build a beautiful house for the benefit of people who need rest and change, but who cannot afford to pay for the comforts of a good hotel, and then you find that it is enc.u.mbered by a man who can abundantly afford to pay even for a few luxuries. No doubt that has struck you as strange?"

"I am afraid I have not thought much about it," replied Olive.

"Still, now that I have been received so kindly, I think I ought to explain. While I was in London I met a man, I had affairs with him, named--let me think, yes, Winfield. I grew tired of London, and he told me of this place, and of you. He described the work you had done here, and your gracious influence in the village and neighbourhood. His story appealed to me. I longed to see this beautiful Vale Linden, and being a lonely man without ties--well, that is all, I think, signorina. But now I am here, I want to stay--for a time at least. I recognise the fact that I can no longer benefit by--your boundless charity to the needy, and----"

"Surely, Signor Ricordo, there is no need for you to leave The Homestead."

"Yes there is, I could not stay there, when--well, many who may need your kindness are waiting for admission. But the place has come to have a charm for me, signorina. The quiet restfulness, the rustic beauty, the pure air--the a.s.sociations have conquered me. I have wondered whether it would be possible for you to have me as a tenant, a neighbour. There is a delightful house which I am told was occupied by the steward of the late owner, and which is now empty. I would either buy it or rent it.

Would it be possible, signorina?"

"That is scarcely a matter which falls within my province," replied Olive. "My father manages the estate. Since he has partially retired from business, it is his great hobby."

"Pardon me, signorina, everything depends on you."

"On me?"

"Yes. In this way. I could not think of remaining here unless the thought of it were pleasing to you. I am a lonely man, signorina, a man whose friends have either died or disappeared, and the thought of living in the same neighbourhood as yourself brings joy to me; but I would not do so, unless the scheme had your approbation."

They had by this time come to the road which led down the hill towards Vale Linden, and Olive was turning towards it, when Ricordo put out his hands as if to stop her.

"Pardon me," he said, "there is another path to Vale Linden. It is a little longer; it leads over the moors, and it is very beautiful. May I plead with you to take the longer road?"

Almost without demur, she consented. Although she did not realise it, the man had again exercised a kind of fascination over her. For the moment his will became hers. As for the man, he too seemed more than ordinarily interested. There was a tone of pleading and of intensity in his voice which she had never heard before. He was revealing himself in a new light.

"Thank you," he said, as they walked along the moorland path; "I almost hope that your consent to take the longer path augurs well for my plan.

For your English life possesses a kind of charm for me, signorina. Yes, I who have known the East with its mystery, its great silent s.p.a.ces, and its wondrous life, confess it. It has taught me the meaning of your English word 'home.' And I have never known it in practice, signorina--never."

"Still, I should think your life in the East must be very fascinating?"

A strange expression flashed across his face, but the smile on his lips was hidden by his thick moustache.

"Fascinating, great Allah, yes! I should like to tell you of it some time, signorina--the story of my life. It would interest you; yes, I promise you that it would interest you. It would take a long time, I am afraid, but you would listen, yes, you would listen to the very end."

He spoke quietly, but there was an intensity in his tone, and as he spoke Olive's heart began to beat more rapidly. Again she was reminded of Leicester, the man she had once promised to marry, and who had died more than six years before. She almost felt afraid, for it seemed to her that he was about to reveal some terrible secret. More than that, his personality impressed her, just as Leicester's did in the old days.

"Do you know," he went on, "why I did not accept your father's hospitality--that is, why I refused food and drink when I visited your house that night of the concert?"

"I suppose because you were not hungry, and, as you said, you never drink intoxicants," she said, uttering the first answer that came to her lips.

"No, it was not that. I know, too, that my action in refusing his cigars was rude. Even I know enough of your English laws of hospitality for that. I wanted to walk back with you to tell you about this. Shall I tell you?"

"I never thought of rudeness. I thought you meant what you said. Tell me, if you wish."

"I refused because I thought you resented my presence. Forgive me if I misinterpreted your face. You looked as though you were angry with me, and angry at what I said."

"I am exceedingly sorry if any act or look of mine gave pain to a guest in my father's house. Nothing could be further from my wishes. Neither did I interpret your refusal to accept what was offered in that light."

"And yet you grew pale when I refused to take whisky."

Olive was silent.

"I will admit I should have done that under any circ.u.mstances," he went on. "There the Mohammedans have much superiority over Christians. Not that I am a Mohammedan--what religion I believe in is Christian; but whisky, no. The depths into which it has dragged so many are too deep.

Nevertheless you grew pale as I mentioned it. I wondered why."

Still Olive did not speak. The dead past was rising all around her again, and yet, strange to say, she did not think of Leicester with tenderness. Rather, although the memories a.s.sociated with him rose thick and fast, he himself receded into the dim distance.

"I am glad I was mistaken," went on Ricordo; "and may I also accept that as your consent to my approaching your father, with a view to my becoming your neighbour?"

"I am sure, if you decide to live here, I hope you will be very happy,"

said Olive.

"Thank you; you make my sun s.h.i.+ne brightly," was the response. "Whether I shall live here much, I cannot tell, for the East always claims the man upon whom it has cast its spell. And it has cast its spell upon me.

Yes, some time I must claim your consent to tell you about my life there. I may, may I not?"

Before she realised what she was doing, she had given her consent. The man's presence suggested mysteries which she desired to know.