one."
"Yes, I am back," said Annie, and she did that which comforted him most;she laid her head on the pillow beside him, and kissed his cheek,already cold with the dews which precede the moment when the great Angelof Death carries the soul he has released from its prison away.
"I am going to God," said Mr Brooke. "It is a wonderful happiness thatI am soon to be admitted into the presence of the King of Kings. Thereis no saying, Annie, what marvels will be revealed to me and whatglories mine eyes shall look upon. I shall see in His good time theSaviour of the world. When I am ready for that sight of all sights, itwill be given to me. But, my own little Annie, even in that moment ofsatisfaction, when I wake up after His likeness, I shall carry you, mychild, in my heart of hearts. I shall look for you, my little one. Youwill come to me--not yet, my darling, for you are very young, but someday. Promise me, my dearest dear."
Annie's choked voice sounded low and faint.
"I cannot hear you, my sweetest. Say the word I want--say the word Iwant to take away with me."
"What shall I say, Uncle Maurice?"
"Say `Yes'--one word, my darling, that I may carry it with me into thegreat eternity of God."
"Yes--oh, yes!" said Annie.
"Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace," said the old man.Then the Angel of Death did open wide his glorious wings, and two brightspirits passed out of that room where one had come in.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
VERY DARK DAYS.
Mr Brooke's death was followed by total collapse on Annie's part. Thetime between the death and the funeral was passed by the girl in a sortof delirium, in which she was too restless to stay in bed, but toofeverish to go out. On the day of the funeral itself, however, she didmanage to follow her uncle to his last resting-place.
A pathetic little figure she looked in her deep mourning, with herpretty face very pale and her golden hair showing in strong reliefagainst the sombre hue of her black dress.
Saxon and Annie were the only relations who followed the Rev MauriceBrooke to the grave. Nevertheless the funeral was a large one, for thedead man had during a long lifetime made friends and not one singleenemy. There was not a soul for miles round who did not know and loveand mourn for the Rev Maurice Brooke. All these friends, therefore,young and old, made a point of attending his funeral, and he himselfmight well have been there in spirit so near did his presence seem tolonely Annie as she stood close to the graveside and saw the coffinlowered to its last resting-place.
She and John Saxon then returned to the Rectory. Annie was better inhealth now, but very restless and miserable in spirit. Saxon wasconsistently kind to her. Her uncle's will was read, which left her allthat he possessed, but that all was exceedingly little, not evenamounting to sufficient to pay for Annie's school expenses at MrsLyttelton's.
Saxon asked her what she would like to do with her future. Her replywas almost inaudible--that she had no future, and did not care whatbecame of her. Saxon was too deeply sorry for her to say any harshwords just then. Indeed, her grief touched him unspeakably, and healmost reproached himself for blaming her so severely for not attendingto his first letter.
It was two or three days after the funeral, and Saxon was makingpreparations to leave the old Rectory, where Annie herself could remainfor a few weeks longer under the care of Mrs Shelf, when one morning hegot a letter which startled him a good deal. Colour rose to his cheeks,and he looked across at Annie, who was pouring out tea.
"Do you know from whom I have just heard?" he said.
"No," said Annie in a listless tone.
She did not much care whom her cousin heard from, as she said over andover to herself, nothing ever need matter to her any more. But his nextwords startled her, and she found that she had a heart andsusceptibilities, and that once again cruel, terrible fear could visither.
"This letter is from a man whom I happen to know exceedingly well; Ihave met him several times in Australia. He is a certain Mr Manchuri."
"Yes," said Annie, her lips parted and the colour rushing into hercheeks.
"He says he knows you--he met you at the Hotel Belle Vue at Interlaken--and that, seeing your uncle's death in the paper, he has written for adouble purpose--to convey his condolences to all those who loved yourdear uncle, and to request me to meet him in town on important businessin connection with you."
"Oh!" said Annie. She had been standing; she almost fell into her seat.
"He says further," pursued Saxon, "that a great friend of yours, a MissPriscilla Weir, is staying with him."
"She told him, of course," said Annie.
"What did you say, Annie?" John Saxon looked at her, a puzzledexpression between his brows. Then he started to his feet. "I shallrun up to town," he said. "I will go to-day and see what this means.It was through Miss Weir he learned that I was staying here. But forthat he says that he would have come himself to have an interview withyou; as it is, he thinks I can manage matters best."
"Don't go!" said Annie in a choked voice.
"Don't do what, my dear Annie?"
"Don't go; don't mind him. He means mischief."
"I don't want to be cross to you, dear Annie, but really this is silly.Mr Manchuri is a most excellent man; I and my father before me have bothknown him. My father has transacted some business with him from time totime. He is a first-rate man of business, and straight, in every senseof the word. Of course I shall go; I cannot possibly neglect youraffairs. Why, what is it, my dear?"
"You can go if you like," said Annie. "I--I don't feel well; that isall."
She crept out of the room, tottering as she did so, and supportingherself by catching hold of various articles of furniture. When shedisappeared John thought for a minute. Then he went into the kitchen,where Mrs Shelf was busy.
"Mrs Shelf," he said, "I have just had a letter which obliges me to goto London at once; I shall catch the next train. It is scarcelypossible for me to be back to-night, but I shall certainly come earlyto-morrow. In the meantime you will look after Annie."
"You needn't doubt it, Mr John," said Mrs Shelf.
Saxon lowered his voice. "I don't quite like her appearance," he said."She is suffering a good deal; I think you ought to watch her. Don'tlet her out of your sight."
"Oh, I will see to her, Mr John. The poor child is fretting; she hasfound her true heart at long last. The death of my beloved master hasrevealed many things to our Annie."
"Well, be careful of her," said the young man. "I will be back as soonas I can." Shortly afterwards he started for town.
As soon as ever the sound of the horse's hoofs which was conveying JohnSaxon to the railway station died away on the road, Annie, who had beencrouching rather than lying down in her room, ran to the window andlooked out. The semi-peaceful, semi-stunned expression on her face hadgiven way now to the old watchful, almost crafty look which used tocharacterise it. She was quickly making up her mind. Mr Manchuri couldonly want to see John Saxon on one subject--the necklace. Priscilla,horrid Priscilla, had told him everything. He had given Annie onehundred pounds for the necklace, seventy of which she had kept forherself. In all probability, if Mr Manchuri carried things out to thebitter end, she could be locked up for theft. She might even see theinside of a prison. The terrified girl felt nearly mad. She paced upand down her little chamber, fearing--she knew not what. She would haveprayed, but she did not dare. She would have cried to God, but as sheknew nothing would induce her to be good and to confess her sin, she wasequally certain that God would not listen to her.
She remembered her promise to her uncle that she would meet him. Ofcourse she never would. They were parted for ever and ever. But shemust not think of that now. She must think of the present, and therewas not a single minute to lose.
There was only one thing for Annie to do. She must go away. She had inher possession at that moment seventy pounds. With seventy pounds shecould go a good way. She could leave England; there was nothing el
sefor it; she must be well out of the country before John Saxon returnedfrom London. He would probably come to Rashleigh Rectory accompanied byMr Manchuri and that horrible Priscilla, and then the whole story wouldget out--the whole awful story--Annie's conduct with regard to theprize, Annie's conduct with regard to Susan Martin's poems, Annie'sdreadful conduct with regard to Dawson and her uncle's cheque which shehad kept for herself.
John Saxon would remember how she had borrowed twenty pounds from him,and that too would be told against her. But her last and very greatestcrime seemed to be in connection with the pearl and silver necklace.Her theft was biggest here, her craftiness greater, her double dealingmore marked.
Oh yes; such a