Part 28 (2/2)

He will give her more companions, keep his house full of guests, pleasant accommodating people who will not object to early breakfast, and dinner that invariably waits half-an-hour later than it should on account of his business.

He writes to Eleanor as the clock strikes two. His letter is full of promises for the future.

He paints a picture of delightful plans. They will have the house full until Easter, when he will take her abroad. She shall go wherever she pleases, and he will be her trusting, adoring slave. He will make it impossible for her not to love him.

For nearly an hour he pores over the sheet, telling Eleanor these good resolves.

”Dearest,” he says in conclusion, ”can't we begin our lives over again--love as we did in quiet Copthorne--before we drifted apart? I will try and be a better husband. Do come back to me soon, for I find I cannot get on without my little Eleanor. She is all the world to me.”

Then he seals the envelope, and falls into a restless sleep, which is broken by haunting dreams of dimly suspected terrors.

Early in the morning Philip wakes, unrefreshed and heartsick. Still the question burns on his brain--Why has Eleanor not written?

He rises before the household is astir, and lets himself out into the mild air.

Hailing a hansom, he tells the man to drive him as quickly as possible to Richmond Terrace. Perhaps Erminie is right, and Eleanor has written to Lyndhurst after all.

Sarah starts as she sees Mr. Roche on the doorstep.

”Good-morning,” he says, ”are there any letters for me?”

He does not wait for the answer, but walks straight in, and takes up a pile of envelopes on the hall table.

A few circulars, a bill, and three letters addressed to Eleanor at Copthorne in his own handwriting, and forwarded back by Mrs. Grebby to Mrs. Roche at Lyndhurst.

He stares at them in mute amazement, as if in those white envelopes a horrible mystery lies unrolled.

He tears them slowly open one by one, reading what he knows so well already, the casual news, the fond farewells, penned only for Eleanor's eyes.

How is it she has never received them? How is it they have been sent back by Mrs. Grebby when Eleanor is there?

For the moment he is unnerved. Then he pulls himself together, places the letters in his pocket, picks up his stick, and turns to go.

”Are you coming home to-day, sir?” asks Sarah.

”Coming home!” The words grate on him.

”No,” he replies, ”I am going to Mrs. Roche, at Copthorne.”

Then he dashes out of the house, and reaches Trebovir Road just as Erminie and Nelson are at breakfast.

”We could not think what had become of you,” cries Mrs. Lane, running out to meet him. ”Why did you go out, and where have you been?”

Then she sees how pale he is, and the questions die on her lips.

”Come in,” she says gently. ”I have got some hot coffee for you, and your favourite dish. What! you won't eat anything?”

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