“I think I know what he wants,” Walter said. “May I suggest, Countess, that you go up to the poor man’s bedroom at once?”
Silva’s face lighted up as his eyes fell upon his mistress. He pointed to the bandages about his throat. His lips moved, but no sound came from them.
“I know exactly what has happened,” the Countess said. “No, pray don’t distress yourself. You must not try your strength. You will never get better if you exert yourself.”
A melancholy smile came over Silva’s face. The expression of his eyes told as plainly as possible that he had no delusions on the score of his recovery. Then he went through the motion of writing with an imaginary pencil upon an invisible paper. Countess Flavio turned impulsively to the nurse.
“Is it quite safe?” she asked. “I don’t think the poor fellow will rest till he makes me understand; and you see, being Italian myself, anything he may write—”
“I think it will be a very good thing,” the nurse replied.
She came to the bedside with a sheet of paper and a pencil, which she placed in Silva’s hand. His unsteady fingers began to trace certain signs on the paper. The marks were feeble and straggling enough, but a little care on the part of the Countess enabled her to make out what the characters represented.
“It is quite plain to me now,” she said, looking down into Silva’s eager face. “You want me to find the diary, do you not? You mean the Count’s diary, which was not produced at the trial?”
Silva nodded feebly. Evidently he was fast lapsing into unconsciousness again. But with an effort he managed to concentrate his mind upon what the Countess was saying.
“The diary is locked up in a little desk in your bedroom,” the Countess went on. “I am to find it and give it to Mr. Walter Lance to read. My good Silva, this is most extraordinary! What possible interest could Mr. Lance take in that diary? Are you quite sure that I have not made a mistake?”
Again Silva opened his eyes and nodded almost vigorously.
“Very well,” the Countess said reluctantly. “I see you are in earnest. I will get the diary at once, and Mr. Lance shall have it without delay. If there is anything more—”
It was idle to speak to Silva any longer. Just for an instant a smile flickered over his face, and then he was completely lost to the world and his surroundings. Puzzled and mystified, the Countess crept from the room. Silva had made this request on what was practically his dying bed, and he must be obeyed. What good it would do at this moment the Countess was quite at a loss to see. She found the little desk presently and broke it open. Inside lay a small parchment-covered volume with gilt lettering on the outside. With this in her hand the Countess Flavio walked out on to the lawn where Walter was strolling up and down and accosted him.
“This is for you,” she said. “I don’t know why, but Silva told me to deliver it into your hands, and perhaps when you have read it you will have a different opinion of Vera’s mother.”
XLII
Run to Earth
Without waiting for a reply the Countess turned away, and went back into the house again. In the drawing-room Vera was seated, talking earnestly to Lord Ravenspur. There was an awkward pause as the Countess Flavio entered the room. Then Vera rose with a crimson face, and came in the direction of her mother.
“I suppose there is no occasion,” she said, “to introduce you to one another, though it is so many years ago—”
“I have never seen Lord Ravenspur before in my life,” the Countess said coldly, “and I am quite sure that he has never seen me, either. We are absolute strangers.”
“But I thought,” Vera stammered, “that Lord Ravenspur and yourself—Oh, I don’t know what I thought.”
The girl paused abruptly, conscious that she was saying too much. For some time past she had been hugging what appeared to be a shameful secret to her breast. Her face paled with remorse now when she thought how she had misjudged these two people. But the embarrassment was not all Vera’s, for Ravenspur was looking unhappy and uncomfortable. Only the Countess appeared to retain her cold self-possession. For some time no one spoke.
“Sooner or later, I suppose, I shall be entitled to an explanation,” the Countess said at length. “It is now eighteen years since I was cruelly deprived of my child. It is just possible that Lord Ravenspur can explain his extraordinary conduct.”
“I think I might manage to do that if we were alone,” Ravenspur replied. “But, after all, you are Vera’s mother, and what I have to say I could not utter in the child’s hearing. Oh, I know that sounds like a cowardly remark, but my conscience tells me that I am only doing what is right.”
Vera rose as if to go, but Ravenspur stretched out a hand and detained her. There was a determined look in his eyes.
“Not yet,” he said; “there will be time for that later on. After dinner, if the Countess will give me the honour of an interview, I may be able to satisfy her that I am not the scoundrel she takes me to be. There are always two sides to a question.”
“Yes, where the man is concerned,” the Countess said coldly. “Let us hope in this case the same remark will apply to the woman—that is, if
