ejaculated. It was all I could say.
"Godfrey!--you?"
And she looked from me to Lucie inquiringly, for having met us walkingat that hour by that lonely brook she doubtless believed us to belovers.
"I am Godfrey Leaf," I said, grasping both her hands. "Yes, I cannotrealise that you are really Ella--my own Ella--from the grave?" And Istill stood there stupefied.
"From the grave? What do you mean?" she asked, surprised.
"They told me that you were dead," I cried quickly. "They said that youhad caught typhoid, and that it ended fatally."
"It is true that I had a bad attack of fever, and the doctors gave meup, yet somehow--I suppose by the perverseness of Fate, because I had nofurther desire to live--I recovered. But you were abroad constantly,and therefore heard nothing of me."
"I was in Russia when I received news of your death, Ella," I said in alow voice, for there, in the presence of my love, I had become a changedman. "I have mourned for you until to-day."
"I had no idea of this!" she exclaimed. "I have been living in Irelandwith my father. I have scarcely ever been in London since--since thatnight when we parted," she faltered, lowering her eyes, as thoughfearing to meet my reproachful gaze.
"And how came you here?" Lucie asked, as amazed as I was at herappearance.
"We came over from Bournemouth to Swanage this afternoon, and itsuddenly occurred to me to come and see if you were in England. Iwanted to see the dear old Manor again--the house where you and I havespent so many very happy hours long ago. Minton did not recognise me atfirst, but when he did he told me that you had gone out to the villagetwo hours ago. I then made inquiries as to the direction you had taken,and fortunately found you here."
"Then your father is now at Swanage?"
"Yes. We are staying the night there. To-night a motor-car belongingto a friend of my father's is coming from Winchester to take us for atrip through Devonshire and Cornwall."
"Well, Ella, you certainly gave us both a turn, appearing so suddenly,"declared Lucie. "Only half an hour ago we were speaking of you, and,like every one else, believed that you were dead."
"I wonder who started such a report?" she said. "Why did they say thatI had died?"
"To trace the source of a false report is always difficult," I said."Somebody surmises something and tells some one else, and the secondperson, in recounting it, declares the surmise to be the truth. It isalmost always so."
"There certainly could be no motive in saying that Ella was dead, as faras I can see," Lucie declared. "But," she added, "why let us worryabout the past? You have come back to us--back really from the grave."
"Yes," I said, still holding her hand. "I believed, Ella, that you weredead long ago. The memory of that last night when we walked through thewet streets of Bayswater has ever remained a bitter one."
"No, no," she cried. "Do not recall it. I, too, have suffered agoniesof regret. Why is it that we meet again--like this?" and I noted thather splendid eyes were turned upon her friend in askance.
Yes. She suspected that Lucie and I were lovers, and such a conclusionwas, after all, but natural.
"You are surprised, no doubt, to meet us together," laughed Lucie. "Butif you knew the truth regarding our acquaintance you would be even moresurprised."
"Then Godfrey is not--"
"He is certainly not my lover," she exclaimed. "I may as well make thatquite clear to you at once, dear. We came here because he had somethingto explain to me, and we naturally had no desire that the villagersshould gossip."
My Ella turned again to me, and I saw that all anxiety had faded fromher beautiful countenance. She was sweet and smiling--her olddelightful self again.
What had happened in those years I knew not. My love might be married,for aught I knew. She wore gloves, therefore I could not tell if herhand bore a wedding ring. She made no mention of Blumenthal, and Icould not well inquire of him. So we were both of us somewhatrestrained, neither knowing of the exact position of the other.
I only knew that all the great passion I had entertained for her swelledwithin my heart, filling it to overflowing. The touch of her hadthrilled me and I longed to kiss those sweet red lips once again--torepeat to her my love and to assure her that I was still unchanged.
But with Lucie present I could say nothing. I could ask no question,nor could I make any declaration. Yet in those few moments I had beenlifted from the depths of despair and despondency to the pinnacle ofhappiness.
Ella, my well-beloved, still lived! And while she lived she was stillmine in heart, even though, perish the thought, she might be wife ofanother.
Darkness was now falling, yet there was still sufficient light to revealher wondrous beauty. As she stood before me in her pale grey dress andlarge black hat I recognised that she had grown even more beautiful thanshe had been in the days of our love romance. Her figure was perfect inits symmetry; her countenance so lovely that even the uncommon beauty ofLucie paled before her. Those blue eyes that I knew were sounfathomable were turned upon me, and even there I saw in them thelove-light that was unmistakable, that expression mysterious andindescribable that no woman is ever able to feign--the look, oftenunconscious, that tells a man that he is the object of passionateaffection.
My heart leapt within me with wild ecstasy, yet I could not speak.
I only grasped her hand more tightly. Then in order to cover theemotion that I saw was rising within her, I turned and made a casualremark to Lucie that it was almost time we returned.
"Of course," she said quickly, recognising the situation. "You two havemuch to talk over alone. Let us go."
And together we moved forward along the path by, which my lost love hadreturned to me.
How can I describe to you my feelings in those moments? Sometimes Ifound myself doubting whether it was not all some dream or some strangechimera of my unbalanced brain. But I held her hand, and found that itwas real flesh and blood. My well-beloved still lived; she for whom Ihad mourned so long had returned, even more sweet and beautiful.
The village bells were pealing, the ringers practising probably.
"Hark!" I said, as I walked at her side, treading on air from sheerbuoyancy of spirits. "They are joy bells, Ella. They ring because youhave returned to me." She laughed, turning those dear, wide-open eyesto mine, and said:--
"How often have I wondered where you were, and whether--" and she pausedwithout completing the sentence.
"Whether what?"
"Well--whether you had, after all, forgotten me," she said. "I neverdreamed that you believed me dead. I thought, of course, that if youreally loved me, as you used to say, that you would surely write to meor endeavour to see me when you knew that, after all, I had not marriedthat man."
"Then you did not marry Blumenthal after all!" I cried quickly. "Wasthe engagement broken off?"
"Yes. Because of his ill-health. He released me when the doctors toldhim the truth--that he had only a few months to live. He died threemonths later." And she grew silent again, and yet it seemed as if shewished to tell me something further. Indeed she was about to do so, butchecked herself.
"Well!" I asked, in order to allow her an opportunity to speak.
"He was generous to me after all," she went on. "The day before he diedhe sent for me, and I went and sat at his bedside. He knew his end wasnear, and after he had expressed deep regret that he had come betweenus--for he knew quite well that I loved you very dearly--he drew frombeneath his pillow a large sealed envelope, making me promise to take ithome, but not to open it until the day after his decease. Next day hedied, and on the day following I broke the seals and discovered, to myamazement and joy, that he had presented me with the mortgage deeds ofWichenford. Some years before my father had mortgaged our old home tohim, and those very deeds he had made my price as his wife."
"Then for the great injustice he did you, Ella, the fellow endeavouredto atone," I said. "The mortgage, therefore, does not now exis
t."
"Of course not. I gave the deeds at once to my father, and they werethat day destroyed, much to the chagrin of the heirs of the estate, whohad long been scheming to become possessors of Wichenford."
"A most generous action," Lucie declared.
"Yes, whatever I may have said of him, and however much I have hated himin the past, I cannot help acknowledging that before his death herendered me the greatest service."
"Yet you were prepared to perform a noble self-sacrifice, Ella," I said,in a low, serious voice. "You kept your secret, and before we partedtold me what was untrue. But Lucie has revealed to me the astoundingtruth. Only to-night, for the first