Part 26 (2/2)

There was not a soul to be seen. With the exception of the swans, the inhabitants of the Manor did not seem to be early risers. Lenox and Diana grew bolder, and ventured nearer. By degrees they got right to the edge of the moat. The view here was beautiful, for it took in the bridge and the embattled tower, with the coat of arms over the doorway. It was exactly what they wanted to carry home to America. Lenox snapped it with huge satisfaction, including the swans, which luckily swam into the scene at the psychological moment.

”I'd give worlds to be able to go inside and explore,” said Diana. ”I wish I could make myself invisible. D'you think we dare just toddle across the bridge, and perhaps peep in through a window? There's n.o.body watching. O-o-o-oh!”

She might well exclaim, for, in direct contradiction to her words, the door at that moment opened, and an elderly lady made her appearance. She walked slowly with the aid of a cane, but it was evident that she had seen the intruders on her property, and was coming to tackle them.

Swift and hasty flight seemed the only way out of the difficulty.

”Quick, Lenox! Run!” gasped Diana.

She turned, as she spoke, to make a dash for the cover of the shrubs, but in her hurry and agitation she tripped on her dangling shoe lace, missed her footing, slipped, tumbled down the bank, and fell backwards with a splash into the moat.

It was not very deep, and Lenox hauled her out in a minute. There she stood upon the bank a dripping object, her nice dress all coated with duckweed and green slime. Her hat was floating away in the direction of the swans. The lady had crossed the bridge, and with the help of her cane walked painfully down the bank. Lenox and Diana felt like a pair of naughty school children caught stealing apples. The situation was most ignominious. Their faces would have made a study for a comic artist, especially Diana's, with smears of duckweed on her cheeks, and her moist hair hanging over her shoulders. They wondered what Mrs. Elliot was going to say to them.

She came slowly up, blinking her eyes rather nervously, looked Diana over from dripping head to muddy shoes, then made the obvious comment:

”You're very wet!”

”Ye-e-es!” s.h.i.+vered Diana, with chattering teeth.

”You'd better come indoors and have your clothes dried.”

The relief of receiving such a charitable reception, instead of the stern rebuke they felt they deserved, was intense. Lenox suddenly burst into a flood of gentlemanly apologies. He explained rapidly that his name was Clifford, that he had seen his father's coat of arms in the church, and had been tempted to trespa.s.s in order to secure some photographs of the house that was probably the old home of their family.

Mrs. Elliot listened till he had finished.

”I'd have given you permission if you had asked,” she replied calmly.

”Now it's time that your sister--cousin, is she?--took off those wet clothes, or she'll catch cold.”

Diana marvelled at Mrs. Elliot's goodness. She was taken indoors, and lent some garments while her own were dried. The household was an earlier one than they had supposed, and in answer to the mistress's bell came servants who were too well trained to express surprise in their faces at the sight of a dripping visitor. An elderly maid showed Diana to a bedroom, rubbed her hair for her with a towel, helped her into a pink silk kimono dressing-gown, and brought her a cup of hot tea. These precautions against cold having been taken, Mrs. Elliot most kindly volunteered to show the young people over the house. It was a funny little procession: the elderly lady with her cane; Lenox, in his khaki, still blurting out apologies; and Diana trailing the pink kimono, which was much too long, and shuffling in bronze-beaded shoes that were two sizes too large. The glories of the old Manor left them gasping: the big banqueting hall with its armour and tapestries, the panelled oak boudoir, the library with its family portraits, the wide staircase, the drawing-room with its cabinets and priceless china, the state bedroom with the carved four-post bed where Queen Anne had slept, the courtyard and dove-cote where pigeons were strutting and preening their feathers, and the little chapel with its coats of arms in the stained gla.s.s, and chained Bible. Through a window they could see the garden, with clipped yew hedges and smooth lawn, and a peac.o.c.k spreading its gorgeous tail to the morning sun.

”If your great-grandfather went to America a hundred years ago you are probably descended from either Guy, Charles, or Humphrey Clifford,” said Mrs. Elliot, showing Lenox a family genealogical tree that hung in the hall.

”I know my great-grandfather's name was Humphrey,” answered Lenox, ”and the dates would seem to correspond.”

Diana's clothes were dried at last, and brushed. Even her hat, by the aid of a fis.h.i.+ng-rod, had been recovered from the moat. Though rather crushed and spoilt they were quite wearable. She felt herself again when she had put them on. Mrs. Elliot sent a servant to conduct the young people to the lodge, and order the gate to be unlocked for their exit.

She received their renewed apologies and thanks in the same calm manner in which she had greeted them.

”I hope the photos will come out well,” were her last words, as she stood at the door watching them walk across the bridge.

When Lenox and Diana returned to the inn, and burst upon the rest of the party, who were having breakfast, their extraordinary story was at first scarcely believed.

”Bunk.u.m, my boy!” said Giles, shaking his head.

But the two witnesses gave such a circ.u.mstantial account of their adventure that incredulity turned to amazement, and then amus.e.m.e.nt.

”You cheeky young cubs!” declared Mr. Hewlitt. ”I think Mrs. Elliot was far too good to you.”

”You got more than you deserved; but I'm grateful to her for drying you, Diana,” commented Mrs. Hewlitt.

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