exercise, walking straight from the hips with a firm elastic step.On her left was a sombre oak-wood, its gnarled leafless boughs showing ahundred fantastic--almost threatening shapes in its twilight depths. Onthe right a high hedge showed through its bare leaflessness and gapshere and there, a wide sweep of view over the valley beneath. Even thatfar inland a sea mist was creeping up from beyond the distant downs,partially blotting the fast setting sun into a blood red disc. Acottage with its low eaves and picturesque chimney stacks stood outagainst the murk. Then the sudden loud ting of a bicycle bell made herlook up with something of a start, for she was deep in her own thoughts.
The rider was coming down the hill on the free wheel. At sight of herhe clapped the brakes on sharp; so sharp, as well nigh to earncatastrophe--for himself. In a moment he was standing in the road.
"Miss Seward! Why this is an unexpected and delightful meeting, I wason my way to look up your uncle."
"Were you? He'll be glad. Well, we can walk back together, Mr Varne--unless, of course, you'd sooner ride," she added, mischievously.
"Why of course I would," he answered, in the same vein.
"Where are you from now. The usual _Woodcock_, Lower Gidding?"
"No. The _Queen's Head_, Clancehurst, this time. You know how we usedto wrangle over the shortest way out. Well, I'm still inclined to thinkthere isn't a hundred yards to choose between them. The one you alwaysuse _seems_ the straightest."
"All serene, I still stick to my opinion. The Cholgate way _is_ theshortest," she answered, merrily mischievous.
"Then the Cholgate way _is_ the shortest, and there's no more to besaid," answered Varne in the same spirit, and as he looked down into thedancing blue eyes, he came to the conclusion that he was looking uponthe sweetest, most entrancing vision of girl loveliness he had everlooked upon in his life.
"Well, and what have you been doing with yourself all this time?" shesaid as they walked down the steep, rather stony hill.
"H'm! Various things," he answered, unconsciously shading off hislightness of tone a little, as the ugliness of a particularly grimaffair which he had been engaged upon investigating, obtrudedunpleasantly at such a moment.
She sent a quick look at him, and did not pursue the subject.
"Look. There's old Broceliande--still in the same place."
This was a reference to the dark oak-wood, now on their right as theyretraced their way. Melian was a great reader of Mallory, and duringone of Helston Varne's previous visits she had taken him for a walkthrough this wood, pointing out its imaginary resemblances to thatlegendary forest.
"Yes. It wouldn't have moved in between, and the British Isles don'tcome within the zone of seismic disturbance," he answered. "And youhaven't discovered the ghost of old Merlin plodding about it yet?"
"No. I've tried to--in the dusk of a dismal evening. But that oldcrowd seem to have lived in sunshine and moonlight for the most part.What on earth they did with their armour and silken pavilions when itrained is a puzzler."
Helston laughed. "Oh, one got rusty and the other draggle-tailed, Isuppose," he said. "Now, if I had made that remark you'd have been downon me like a hammer as a Goth and a Vandal, and a profane person who'dsold his birthright--for a plate of porridge, incidentally." Then, moreseriously, "And how have _you_ been getting on?"
"Fine. This country is too perfect for anything. I just revel in it."But then, that misgiving which had been tugging at her mind on the wayout somehow recurred, and the bright, animated, speaking face was boundto show something of it. Equally, her then companion was bound to seeit, and he--even he--of course was bound to put it down to the wrongcause. Had there been any further development in the mystery--in itslatest form--which overhung Heath Hover, he thought? However, heanswered:
"That's right. Why you are looking twice the girl you were the firsttime I saw you. You have put on colour, and look in altogether splendidform."
"Thanks. Glad to hear I've improved," she answered, with a laugh."That's always a satisfactory item of knowledge." Then she subsidedinto silence. She was thinking of two or three strange things which hadhappened since she saw him last--occurrences which had frightened her,utterly intangible, even more so than on that night when she had rusheddownstairs in a state of scare to her uncle. But with an effort she hadrefrained from saying anything to the latter about them. He would onlylaugh at the whole thing as he had done before and suggest bats or rats,or something of the kind as an explanation. But this man somehow shefelt a longing to confide in. There was something about him that seemedto render him in her eyes a very tower of strength and reliability. Hadshe known what his real line was she would not have hesitated--let alonecould she have heard his light, easy, confident boast, when talking withNashby: "Given time, and make it worth my while, and I'd undertake todis-ghost every haunted house in England."
The twilight was merging into darkness now. From the sombre oak-woodwith its gnarled branches which had led her to christen it Broceliande,came the crow of a belated pheasant fluttering up to roost, and thesurface of Plane Pond, coming into view beneath, stared white, a long,slit-shaped eye. More than ever she felt moved to confide in him. Andas if to strengthen her towards this course he suddenly said:
"Something is troubling you. I wouldn't obtude for the world, but--youhave something on your mind."
"Why do you--why should you think that?" And the half-startled look inthe wide-opened eyes, meeting his in their straight glance, confirmedhim in his theory.
"Never mind," he replied, and she was quick to notice the world ofsympathetic reassurance in his tone. "I won't press you for confidence.But remember--if at any time you feel like making it--and I don't sayit to brag, but those who know me would be able to tell you that youmight make it to plenty of people who could be of less use to you.Well, if at any time you should want a friend, no matter what the natureof the worry is, you won't hesitate to apply to me. Will you promise methat much?"
She darted a quick look up at him in the gloaming. More than ever didhe seem as a very tower of strength. And then the sheer contrast seemedto suggest bathos. How absurd her shadowy imaginative fears must appearto a man of this stamp. Why, he would smile them down as a mere girlishscare of bogydom. Of course. And yet--why not chance it?
"Well? Won't you promise that little?"
"Yes. I promise. But--"
She was on the point of keeping that promise then and there, of tellinghim all, the haunting fear that hung over her in the lonely old housedown yonder, at times. At times--not always--that was where the strangepart of it came in; and, stranger still, not only during the hours ofdarkness. Sometimes in broad daylight, when she was alone, would comethe chill, shuddering consciousness that there was another Presencebeside her, even the stealthy sound of steps, the whisper of voices.But it would come so sporadically, with long intervals between, andotherwise life was so good, that such a strange manifestation did notavail to effect a lasting impression.
"But what?" he said.
She hesitated a moment, then the opportunity was gone. There was aclink of stones on the roadway just in front and below, then a cough,followed by another.
"Hallo, Uncle Seward!" cried the girl, as a figure loomed in sight inthe fast deepening gloom. "You oughtn't to have come out at the verydampest part of the whole day."
"Oh don't blow me up, child," chuckled Mervyn, "I came to meet you.Why--who's this? Varne, by George. You're quite a stranger, Varne.Come along down and take pot-luck. Eh?"
"Delighted, I'm sure. I nearly collided with Miss Seward free wheelingdown that abominably stony hill. I was coming over to look you up butI've got to catch the last train up from Clancehurst. Got somethingimportant to attend to."
Mervyn emitted a half chuckle and turned it off into a cough. Whataffair was Varne on to now, he wondered? At any rate he hoped it wouldturn out more satisfactory than the one which had brought him down here,his own to wit.
"Oh well, Business is--biz,
" he answered, "only I can't send you over inthe trap because there's no one to drive. But there'll be a moon. Whatif you get punctured, though? Eh?"
"Can't. I've got unpuncturable tyres. I never take risks."
"Quite right. Quite right. Well, here we are, I'd got a touch ofsciatica, and a bit of a choke thrown in," he went on, "and have beensticking in all day on the strength of it."
"And then coming out at the coldest, dampest end of it," supplied Melianseverely.
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Every temptation to