could nottake Helston Varne into confidence now.
"Why, Mr Mervyn," answered Violet, readily, "of course we shan't sayanything about it."
"You'll greatly oblige me if you don't," he said, somewhat earnestly."The fact is that there are quite enough `old wives' fables' hangingabout this place. We don't want to pile on to them. By the by, there'sanother thing, which is perhaps a harder thing to ask. Don't talk itover with each other--in short, don't _dwell_ upon it. Forget it."
"Aren't you rather asking us impossibilities, dear?" said Melian. "Twomere women! And our curiosity screwed up to boiling over point."
"Why, it smacks of a magazine yarn," declared Violet. "Never mind, MrMervyn, I'll promise to remember your wishes."
Both fancied he looked relieved, though not entirely at ease.
"That's perfectly all right, then," he returned. "Anybody who was sucha friend to this little one when she was in straits as you were, is safeon a promise, I'll swear."
"Steady on, Mr Mervyn, and spare my blushes," protested the girl,looking pleased all the same. "I did no more for Melian than she'd havedone for me, and we people who have to work have to stick by each otherwhen a pinch comes."
"And very much to the good that is," said Mervyn. "Knocks a lot of theessentially feminine nonsense out of women and develops the good."
"Well said, Mr Mervyn. That's capital, isn't it, Melian?"
"Not bad," was the reply, with a dash of affectionate impudenceunderlying it.
"Not only that, but it was owing to you entirely that I became aware--almost of the existence, I was going to say--of this child here," hewent on. "That counts on the credit side of obligation."
"Oh, go it, Uncle Seward. Butter seems to be getting cheap," saidMelian, equably. "We are getting more than we can do with, Violet.Eh--what?"
"Now what would you children like to do with yourselves this morning?"asked Mervyn, when the laugh had subsided.
"We were going to show Violet how to catch some fish. Old Joe has beendigging out worms, and he's coming with us to bait. You know, Violet,the part I can't stick about this bait fishing is the worm part of it,so I take Joe to do that, and look the other way while he does it.There are some good perch in Plane Pond, but the big ones will hardlyever bite. The smaller ones you can get plenty of, but the pounderswon't come to the scratch, like the `oldest oyster' in the Walrus andthe Carpenter."
"All right, then," said her uncle. "You two will be quite happy on yourown, and I've got some letters to write. I haven't often, which is oneof the compensating advantages of being a lonely man. So shout up Joewhen you want him."
He saw them start off presently; bright, happy, laughing. He did not gowith them as far as the boat house, which nestled in the thick, woodedbank of the great pond near the further end of the same. John SewardMervyn had a good deal on his mind that radiant cloudless morning oflate spring, while all the woods were ringing with birdsong, and thesweet, young, clear voices of his niece and guest died fainter andfainter away among the solemn tree boles.
Two cyclists skimmed along the sluice-road, taking the next steepacclivity with all the rush they could get out of their headlong freewheel down the steeper, and somewhat dangerously winding, hill before.They looked to the right at the pond, and to the left at Heath Hover.One seemed half inclined to stop and dismount to take in the picturesqueeffect of it, but did not. Then a waggon loaded up with flourymillsacks rumbled by, and then another cyclist, a motor one this time,and the spitting throb of his abominable engine and the reek of petrolseemed to hang on the glorious, radiant, spring air like a corrodingcloud, long after their producer was out of sight. But there seemed anunusual amount of traffic on that not much used road to-day, thoughtMervyn--and then he fell to wondering what if the shine of thatmysterious disc deposited at the top of the sluice path, had caught theeye of any of these? Well, that was not his affair, he thought, grimly,but--something more might have been heard of it. And the thoughtbrought back something of that awful heart-numbed blood-freezing moment,when he had descried Melian coming down the path, holding that symbol inher bare hand.
How had it got there--there where she had found it? _It_? Yes, but--had _it_? To set this doubt at rest--not much "rest" about it, he toldhimself with a mirthless ironical laugh--he had been glad to see thelast of these bright young presences for an hour or two. Old Judy hecould hear now clattering about with pots and pans and firestokingimplements in the kitchen. He was entirely alone--at last.
He went upstairs. The landings, uneven and cranky with age, gave andcreaked beneath his tread. The long narrow passage which led to thedisused part of the house was darkened with dust and cobwebs on theneglected casements, and as he went along, he was drawing on that sameold pair of gloves. He passed several doors, then turned the handle ofone. It opened into a mouldy room, partly stacked with ancient andworm-eaten furniture. He moved aside an old sideboard, which seemed tomanifest an inclination to fall to pieces in the process. Between itand the wall something gleamed at him, something white and shining. Hebent down as though to touch it, then changed his mind.
"Good! That's there," he said to himself. "Now for the other, if _it_is there?"
He went out again and shut the door, removing the gloves as he threadedthe passage; and putting them in his pocket, he went to the front doorand out. The fresh open air--yes, that was life--the pure sweet breathof wood and water, the joyous song of birds. Afar down the long pond,came another joyous sound, that of rippling laughter. It came from theboat, wafted over the water--wondrous sound conductor--and althoughnearly half a mile away he could distinguish Melian's clear note fromthat of her friend. Lightheartedness, silvery lightheadedness, runningside by side, parallel with tragedy! A strange world! Then he divedinto a close woodland path which led down at a steep angle below thehouse.
Soon he stopped, listening--looked around without seeming to do either.A runnel of water trickled down a stony course, partly under the stones;in hot weather it was dry. He moved aside two stones, casually asthough thinking of something else. In the solemn silence of the gnarledoak-wood he could see nobody, but it did not follow that nobody couldsee him.
But--_something_ could--_something_ did. The round, white, eye-likedisc, with its five star points, stared up at him--stared with baleful--almost human, or rather demoniacal glance, from its damp bed, where hehimself had placed it months before. It should have been red withrust--yet it was not. This too struck him, and he began to feel himselfhopelessly enmeshed. That other, its counterpart, who had placed itthere? He had been cherishing a faint and utterly unreasonable thoughtthat in a moment of aberration, he himself might have removed it fromthe original hiding place to which he had consigned it during HelstonVarne's temporary imprisonment. But no. There was the other, in thedisused part of his house. He had just put it there, and he had justleft it there. He could not get away from that.
The beauties of the glorious woodland were around him as he retraced hissteps, the networking of the sunlight through the tree-tops, the cool,moist fragrance of underfoot moss, the tap-tap of a woodpecker coming inchastened echo through the columns of tree trunks, then the gurglingtrill of a thrush. Everywhere peace, the sweet English woodland peaceof a cloudless late spring or early summer day. Yet John Seward Mervynwent up that woodland path wearing a grey, ashen face, and carryingsomething very like utter despair in his heart.
As he arrived at the house, the two girls were coming down the path. Aclear, laughing hail of welcome greeted him.
"We've been in luck, dear," cried Melian, taking a fishing basket fromold Joe, who was walking behind. "Look at this."
She displayed eight or nine perch--two quite big ones.
"Violet caught those," she went on. "I've never caught any as big. Idon't believe there are any bigger ones in Plane Pond; eh, Joe."
"They be middlin' fish, Miss Melun--they be middlin' fish, sure-ly,"answered the old rustic.
"Why, I'm sure the big 'un must be
over a pound," rattled on the girljoyously. "And didn't Violet just prick her fingers over his spines."
Here again Mervyn conjured up another picture as he contemplated thegreat spiny dorsal fin and black stripes of a really finely conditionedperch. She had pricked her fingers with something very harmless thattime, he thought, grimly.
"We have had such a jolly time, Mr Mervyn," said Violet, animatedly."I've enjoyed it no end."
He felt that she was looking curiously at him. Her delighted toneseemed to tail off suddenly.
"I'm very glad to hear it," he said, throwing off his