He had taken her quite unawares, with that noiseless footstep of his which we noticed before, and the colour left her face for a moment.
“You!” she exclaimed; “I did not expect you.”
As he took her hand his all-seeing gaze detected a slight indication of anxiety, and he knew that his presence was not at that moment desired by Mrs. Wylie. Due credit is not always given to us men for the possession of eyes. Our womenfolk are apt to forget that we move just as much as they, and in most cases infinitely more in the world, and among the world’s shoals and quicksands. We may not be so quick at reading superficial indications as our mothers, sisters, or wives; but I think many of us (while keeping vanity in bounds) are much more capable of perceiving when our presence is desired or distasteful than is usually supposed. There are some of us, methinks, who, if chivalry failed to withhold our tongues, could tell of very decided preferences shown, and shown unsought; of glances, and even words, advanced to guide us whither the water runs smoothly. And let us hope that if such have been the case, we turn to the rougher channel we love better, without a smile of self-conceit.
Twice within the last hour Theodore Trist had perceived that there was a reason why those who held Alice Huston dearest should desire that he avoided meeting her. What this reason was her own husband had unwittingly told him; confirming brutally what he had read in Brenda’s unconsciously expressive face a few moments before. And yet, in face of this undoubted knowledge, he seemed deliberately to court the danger that the two women feared, and sought to avert.
He was not a man to be blinded by a false impression. Nor was he one of those who act impulsively. His mind was of too practical, too steady, and too concentrated a type to be suddenly conquered by a mere prompting of the heart. At this juncture of his life he acted coolly and with foresight. Of Alice Huston he knew enough to feel quite sure of his mastery over her. If she loved him (which supposition had been thrown in his face many times since the evening when he had first been called upon to give assistance to those who stood in Captain Huston’s little cabin), he did not appear in the least afraid of his own capability of killing that love.
He turned from Mrs. Wylie and greeted the younger woman, who followed her, with a self-possessed smile; and from his manner even Mrs. Wylie could gather nothing, and she was no mean reader of human faces. She glanced at them as they stood together on the stairs and asked herself a question:
“What part is he playing, that of a scoundrel or a fool?”
She could not conceive a third alternative just then, because she did not know Alice Huston so well as Theo Trist knew her.
Before Mrs. Huston, who was blushing very prettily, had time to speak, Trist imparted his news with a certain rapid bluntness.
“Your husband is upstairs,” he said. “Brenda will keep him in the drawing-room for a few minutes. I have a bag here with some necessaries for you. Will you come with me, or will you go upstairs to your husband?”
“Will … I … go with you?” stammered the beautiful woman in a frightened whisper. “Where to, Theo?”
Mrs. Wylie leant against the broad balustrade and breathed rapidly. She was really alarmed, but even fear could not conquer her indomitable placidity.
“I will conduct you to a safe hiding-place tonight, and Brenda will join you tomorrow morning,” said Trist in a tone full of concentrated energy, though his eyes never lighted up. “Be quick and decide, because Brenda is alone upstairs with … him.”
Mrs. Wylie’s eyebrows moved imperceptibly beneath her veil. She thought she saw light.
Mrs. Huston played nervously with a tassel that was hanging from her dainty muff for the space of a moment; then she raised her eyes, not to Trist’s face, but to Mrs. Wylie’s. Instantly she lowered them again.
“I will go with you!” she said, almost inaudibly, and stood blushing like a schoolgirl between two lovers.
Mrs. Wylie raised her head, sniffing danger like an old hen when she hears the swoop of long wings above the chicken-yard. Her eyes turned from Alice Huston’s face, with a slow impatience almost amounting to contempt, and rested upon Theodore Trist’s meek orbs, raised to meet hers meaningly. Then somehow her honest tongue found itself tied, and she said nothing at all. The flood of angry words subsided suddenly from her lips, and she waited for the further commands of this soft-spoken, soft-stepping, soft-glancing man, with unquestioning obedience.
He moved slightly, looked down at the bag in his hand, and then glanced comprehensively from the top of Mrs. Huston’s smart bonnet to the sole of her small shoe. He could not quite lay aside the old campaigner, and the beautiful woman was moved by a strange suspicion that this young man was not admiring her person, but considering whether her attire were fit for a long journey on a November evening.
“Come, then!” he said.
Still Mrs. Huston hesitated.
Suddenly she appeared to make up her mind, for she went up two steps and kissed Mrs. Wylie with hysterical warmth. This demonstration seemed to recall Trist to a due sense of social formula. He returned, and shook hands gravely with the widow.
“Go to Brenda!” he whispered, and the matron bowed her head.
Again she raised her eyebrows, and there was a flicker of light in her eyes like that which gleams momentarily when a person is on the brink of a great discovery.
The next
