Part 42 (2/2)

She takes up a large shady hat, and winds a long white veil over her face.

”Won't you come, too?” she asks mildly.

”No, certainly not, and I think you are very foolhardy to go.”

She stares at him in amazement.

”My dear boy, are we to stay in for ever because of old Quamina and her ugly sayings? If the devil is coming for me, he'll come in whether I hide or not; besides, I do not believe in devils!”

”No, but living a.s.sa.s.sins, modern highwaymen, who scout the country to shed blood, seeking whom they may devour. If you take my advice you will stay safely indoors.”

But, for the sake of example, Eleanor shakes her head. If she gives in to him now their life will be one of cowering seclusion. There is something convincing in the light of day that drives from her heart all qualms and misgivings.

”I see no reason why we should not walk abroad just the same as Elizabeth or any other person. You were only attacked once, and that was at night. Look, for instance, at the white woman on the charger.

She was alone. I don't think even a highwayman, though, would tackle her,” with a low laugh. ”She'd be a pretty good handful for anybody.

I could imagine her mesmerising a lion with those eyes. I have no doubt she is a crack shot, too, from the bold way she carried her gun.

She was a regular Amazon.”

”You forget I have never seen the white stranger you allude to.”

”Of course not. She pa.s.sed when you were looking for the dog on that unfortunate day. Well, good-bye for the present, dear. Take care of yourself, and if you like to come and meet me I shall be delighted.”

She leaves the house singing, hoping her bravado will have the effect of re-a.s.suring Carol.

As she goes he flings his book on the ground, stretching out his arms like a caged bird beating its wings against the bars.

”It can't last much longer,” he hisses between his teeth; ”it _won't_ last much longer. Thank goodness I can see the end.”

Eleanor's mind is so full of thought that she does not heed the direction in which her steps turn. She walks like one in a dream, busy with her own thoughts. A thousand ideas flit through her brain. She lives over her miserable past. Even the early days at Copthorne return vividly. She is a merry child swinging on a gate; a lazy girl lolling on a hayrick; a frivolous wife, sporting her gay attire in the Brussels Bois; a weary woman sighing at her lot in the house on Richmond Terrace; and then the realisation of the present rushes over her, and she starts as if suddenly awaking from sleep.

There are steps at her side; she turns, remembering Carol's warning.

Elizabeth Kachin stands before her, they are face to face.

From sheer force of habit Eleanor stretches out her hand in greeting, but draws it back sharply, gathering her scattered wits together.

There is a cold look in Elizabeth's eyes. Eleanor s.h.i.+vers though the sun scorches, for the frosts of sin are very bitter. Mrs. Kachin averts her head, and pa.s.ses her without a word. Little Tombo, who is following in the rear, runs up and raises his face for a kiss, but his mother calls to him quickly, while Eleanor pushes him away. ”Why is she angry with me?” he asks Elizabeth; ”why doesn't she come and see us now?”

Eleanor hears the words. They cut deeper than an a.s.sa.s.sin's knife.

Carol was right. Retribution is on the road, waiting to devour her body and soul. She paces on with bent head, the hot blood in her cheeks, and a lump in her throat.

A third shadow crosses her path, this time it is Big Tombo. Her eyes meet his fearlessly. He bares his head, bows low, and Eleanor smiles sadly.

”Men are kinder than women,” she thinks, as she wanders on. ”They judge less harshly. When their companions sin they do not cast them out to sink lower in the mire, they give them a hand, instead of a kick! But women take upon themselves to dash their sisters with cruel force upon the stones.”

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