“‘You mark my words, miss. The Lord knoweth his own.’”
“‘You mark my words, miss. The Lord knoweth his own.’”
“‘You mark my words, miss. The Lord knoweth his own.’”
in her life. But the Lord knoweth His own, miss, and Providence never meant that your sweet face should be spoilt by an ugly patch.”
The maid was pious, and had reached that age at which piety has some chance of being permanent.
“It’s very nice of you to take so much interest,” answered Ellen, in the tone which had won the humbler part of the household from the first.
“And pray who wouldn’t?” inquired the excellent woman. “Mark my words, miss,” she added, as she went out, “the Lord knoweth His own.”
Lionel was in the secret, of course, and watched the cure with secret delight and amusement. Evelyn and Gwendolen also noticed the change, and understood perfectly well that if the governess’s nose paled to a natural colour, she would be decidedlypretty, which was a consummation they devoutly wished. They were uncommonly good judges in those matters too, for they had long ago discovered that the amount of liberty they enjoyed was in direct proportion to the good looks of their governess for the time being, though the length of her stay with them was always inversely as her prettiness. Now Miss Scott had at first been terrible to them; but since she was going to be pretty, one of two things was sure to happen. If she stayed, their brothers would make claims upon her time out of school hours, which would leave them free to follow their own devices; but if she grew too pretty she would be sent away, and the two girls were quite sure that such another terror to their liberty could not be found in the three kingdoms, and that any change must be for the better.
At this stage in the cure of her complexion the governess’s lameness diminished perceptibly, and Lady Jane’s sympathetic maid was sure that the misshapen shoulder was less apparent than before.
“If this goes on,” said Evelyn to her sister in the privacy of their own room, “she won’t stay long.”
“She says the air’s good for her,” answered Gwendolen cheerfully. “I saw Claude staring at her yesterday. He had such a funny look.”
“I know,” answered Evelyn wisely. “That’s always what they call the beginning of the end. I hope we shall have as long a holiday as last time.”
“We’ll have some jolly fishing,” said Gwendolen. “I’ll bet there are heaps of worms in the old corner by the rose bush now, for we haven’t disturbed them for a long time.”
“There are heaps of things I want to do,” rejoined the elder girl in a musing tone. “The men are quite right, you know: fishing with worms isn’t at all sporting. The real thing is a fly.”
“But we’ve got no tackle for that,” objected the junior partner. “I don’t see what we can do.”
“We’ll cabbage it.”
This well-known method of obtaining supplies of all sorts was familiar to Gwendolen, and she nodded gravely.
“There’s another thing I must do,” she said.
“I know,” Evelyn said quickly: “it’s the brown filly Jocelyn bought last month. I want to ride her too. We’ll toss up for the first mount, as we always do.”
“I was thinking,” suggested the enterprising Gwendolen, “that if we could manageto get her and Charley’s Aunt out at the same time, when the men are at dinner, we could have a real steeplechase, straight across the park to the King’s Oak and back to the stables again.”
“That’s an idea. Wouldn’t they be horrified? They’d say it was awfully dangerous, in and out through the trees!”
“Oh, well,” answered Gwendolen philosophically, “you can only break your neck once, you know.”
It soon began to look as if these delightful dreams were to be realised, for Miss Scott’s appearance improved at an almost phenomenal rate. She was so much better that she was able to put another shoe on her right foot, and the sole was not really very much thicker than the other. She had confessed to Lady Jane that she had not always been lame. It had come upon her verysuddenly one day, and she thought that the regular exercise with the girls had done her good; which was doubtless true, though it might be considered to be an independent proposition. Lady Jane was glad, because a lame governess always attracts attention, and that is just what a governess should not do. The good lady now conceived the idea of improving that poor Miss Scott’s looks still further, by suggesting that she should put a little stuffing on the shoulder that was lower than the other. Ellen said she could do it herself, and she produced the desired effect, not by the means suggested, but by reducing the hump itself a very little, and afterwards a little more. At the same time, by some art she had doubtless learned in amateur theatricals, her clothes began to fit her better, until one day the Colonel came upon her accidentally when she wasgetting a book in the library, standing on tiptoe and raising both her hands to reach a high shelf, a position which is usually trying to awkwardly made young women; and it suddenly occurred to the still susceptible father of all the Follitts that poor Miss Scott’s figure was not really so bad after all.
“Won’t you let me help you?” he asked, approaching her of his own accord for the first time since she had been in the house. “What book are you looking for?”
“Oh, thank you,” Ellen answered, dropping her hands and colouring slightly, though merely from surprise. “If you would—it’s the first volume of Macaulay’s History. I’m just too short to reach it.”
The Colonel was close to her now, and was looking at her curiously, but not without admiration. He had been vaguely awarefor some time past that her complexion had improved, but with him the habit of not looking at a plain young woman was very strong. What he now saw was a complete surprise. Poor Miss Scott’s complexion was as clear and radiant as that of the girls themselves, her brown eyes were bright and soft, and though her thick hair was of no particular colour, it waved charmingly.
All this was so unexpected that Colonel Follitt positively stared at her, though quite unconsciously. But Ellen understood, and was not offended, though she turned to the books again to avoid his gaze. He was at once conscious of his own rudeness, and feared that he had made a bad impression, so he lost no time in getting down the volume that was just out of her reach.
By way of prolonging the interview, however, he made a great show of dusting it,debating meanwhile whether it would be safe and wise to offer a little apology.
“I really didn’t mean to be rude just now,” he said with much humility, as he handed her the history. “Our Yorkshire air is doing you a lot of good, isn’t it?”
Miss Scott smiled pleasantly, and might have made some answer, but at that moment Jocelyn entered through the open door, and saw the two standing close together in the bright light, directly before him. He suppressed an exclamation of surprise. It was not the first time that he had come upon his young-hearted parent in pleasant conversation with a pretty governess, but it was certainly the first time that he had thought Miss Scott in the least good-looking; for he had inherited his father’s knack of keeping his eyes off such unpleasing sights as red noses and blotched cheeks. Besides, he hadin reality been too much occupied of late in admiring Anne Trevelyan to pay any attention to governesses. What he felt now was genuine surprise and nothing else, and he at once came nearer in order to inspect the phenomenon. His impassive face did not betray his thoughts. By the time he was close to the Colonel he had made sure that Miss Scott was really transformed from almost repulsive ugliness to undeniable prettiness, and he merely asked his father an unimportant question about the stables, and added that he had come to hunt up the pedigree of a certain Derby winner about which there had been a discussion in the mess-room after breakfast. For the library at King’s Follitt contained a noble collection of turf annals.
But the Colonel’s own mind was a perfect encyclopædia of such information, and
“‘Where are the girls?’ she inquired, in a frigid tone.”
“‘Where are the girls?’ she inquired, in a frigid tone.”
“‘Where are the girls?’ she inquired, in a frigid tone.”
before his son moved to get the volume, he was already running off the pedigree in question as glibly as a quick schoolboy would say the multiplication table.
And now another thing happened; for coincidences, like misfortunes, do not often come singly. Lady Jane herself made her appearance; and though she considered Miss Scott’s cure to be due to her own kindly efforts, she had not fully realised the result until she saw the charming young face smiling in admiration at her husband’s marvellous memory, while Jocelyn stole another glance at Ellen to convince himself that the amazing change was real. Lady Jane had come in almost noiselessly.
“Where are the girls?” she inquired, in a frigid tone.
The Colonel started as if he had heard a runaway motor-car close behind him inthe road, and even the impassive Jocelyn turned his face sharply towards his mother.
“The girls are in the schoolroom,” answered Miss Scott, with smiling calm. “I came to find Macaulay’s History for them, and the Colonel was good enough to get it down for me.”
With this simple and truthful explanation she left the group and went away, taking the book with her.
But from that moment Lady Jane’s peace of mind faded away like a pleasant dream, and the familiar spectre began to haunt her again with its green eyes and whispered suggestions. She was ashamed that her manner showed some change towards Miss Scott herself, but she could not help it. Only yesterday at luncheon she, too, had seen Claude looking steadily at the governess with that expression which the girls had atonce recognised—the alert glance and expectant readiness of the sportsman when birds are about; and now she had found two others of her flock in close conversation with the new charmer. As if that were not enough, she realised in a flash that this pretty creature was the undesirable governess whom her eldest son had been treating with so much kindness and familiarity for the sake of the learned and useful Herbert Scott. Coming upon her all at once, it was too much for Lady Jane to bear.
“I really think you might employ your time better,” she said in icy tones, and thereupon she turned and went away, leaving the Colonel and Jocelyn together.
Ellen understood very well what had happened, and she regretted her readiness in submitting to the cure. Her life at King’s Follitt had been very delightful,and she foresaw that her stay was now to be limited. On the other hand, she had never intended that it should last very long, and she had meant from the first to leave as soon as she was sure of having made a good impression on Lady Jane. It looked as if the moment had now come, and she talked the matter over with Lionel. It was always easy enough to get rid of the girls for half an hour in the course of a walk; and two or three days after the little scene in the library, Lionel and Ellen were sitting together again, on the rock by the moorland road, while Evelyn and Gwendolen tickled trout in the pool below on the other side of the knoll.
“I must do one of two things,” Ellen said: “I must either redden my nose and go lame again, or I must go away, since I have ceased to be undesirable.”
Lionel looked at her, and then at the ground, and was silent. He meant to marry her before long, but he was inclined to put off the moment when he must tell his father and mother of his intention. The Follitts were not timid people, as a family, and, in spite of his mild ways, the Colonel had distinguished himself in active service; but they were not more remarkable for moral courage than average people usually are, which was one reason why everybody liked them. People with noble qualities are sometimes very hard to live with: the daily exhibition of self-control is both discouraging and fatiguing to ordinary people who have not much of it, and those superior individuals who have no moral timidity rarely hesitate to show us what poor creatures we really are. In this respect Lionel, as well as his father and brother, was very like ordinarypeople. But Lady Jane was not, and they knew it, and their genuine affection was tempered by a wholesome dread.
“Which shall it be?” Ellen asked, after a long time.
“Which would you rather do?” asked Lionel weakly.
This time it was she who glanced at Lionel and looked down; but she was not silent, as he had been. “I should like you to make up my mind for me,” she said, in a rather low voice.
He knew what that meant, but it no more occurred to him that she was pressing him to make a much more important decision than such a thought had crossed her own mind. The words had come quite naturally, and they were the right ones under the circumstances. Lionel knew that it was time to act if he was not a coward, and themoral timidity of the Follitts had never gone so far as that. They would all put off a difficult interview or a disagreeable scene as long as possible, but when it was positively necessary to stand up for their beliefs, or their likes or dislikes, they did not run away.
“We must be married in June,” Lionel said, after a moment’s thought. “In the meantime you had better go back to your father and leave me to settle matters with my mother. It has been an amusing little comedy, and no one need ever know the truth but you and I. To begin it over again would not be worthy of you, and I should be a brute if I allowed it. Besides, I am sure those girls would find you out.”
“That’s very likely,” answered Ellen.
“My mother has grown very fond of you, too, and though she is afraid that we shall all make love to you if you stay,the good impression will remain if you leave, and that’s something, after all.”
“She will never consent to your marrying a foundling,” Ellen said gravely. “That will be the real difficulty.”
“Why need she know that you are not really Herbert Scott’s daughter?”
“Because I won’t marry you unless she knows the whole truth,” answered Ellen with determination. “She will probably be very angry in any case, but she will forgive us in time. Don’t you see how dreadful it would be if there should be something more to tell after she has accepted the situation?”
Lionel saw that she was right, and made up his mind to face the whole difficulty at once. He said so.
“Then I’ll speak to Lady Jane to-morrow morning,” Ellen said. “She will probably be only too glad to let me go at once.”
“You may be sure of that!” laughed Lionel, for she had told him what had taken place in the library.
“Then this is going to be good-bye until you come to town again?” she said, rather sadly.
“I suppose so,” Lionel admitted disconsolately.
They looked at each other a moment.
“Are you quite—quite sure that you want it?” she asked presently.
“Quite sure,” he answered, without hesitation.
“Because men have done such things and have been sorry afterwards. Since I’ve been here I’ve understood that it’s not going to be nearly so easy for you as I had thought. I’ve not spoken about it, but I must before you take the final step. It’s all so different from what I had expected, or even dreamed of.”
“What is different?” Lionel asked.
“The way you live. You see, you never told me anything about it. You only said that your father was a country gentleman, decently well off, and that you could give yourself up to study because you would have enough to live on. You never gave me the least idea that you were very rich people, nor that it was a great old estate and entailed, and all that sort of thing. It makes a difference, you know.”
“I don’t see why,” Lionel objected.
“I do. It’s one thing for the son of a quiet, retired officer of no particular position to marry a foundling and a governess. It’s quite another, now that you turn out to be great country people, related to half the peerage, and perfectly frightfully rich. I wish you were not.”
Lionel laughed. “If I were not,” heanswered, “I should not be able to do as I please without asking leave of any one. I should have to go to work to earn our living, and I have not the faintest idea how I should do that. As a matter of fact, I should not have had the right to ask you to marry me, just for the pleasure of starving together.”
“That would be better than nothing,” answered Ellen, without much reflection. “As it is, I am not sure that I have a right to marry you—though I will, if you’ll have me! Every one will call me a scheming adventuress.”
“I think not,” said Lionel, and his rather gentle and melancholy face grew suddenly obdurate and almost remorseless. “Of course there will be one row and a general exchange of pleasant family amenities. But there will never be another.”
“And what will happen if I change mymind, and tell you that it has all been a mistake, and that I think it would be very wrong of me to marry you, because I should ruin your life?”
“I don’t know what would happen,” Lionel answered, with a confident smile. “You had better ask a dramatist or a man who writes novels.”
He was right in that, for they were the least dramatic pair in the world, and Lionel’s courtship had been of the simplest and most conventional sort. Their affection for each other had begun quietly, and had grown the more steadily and strongly for having been quite undisturbed, until it had entirely absorbed their two existences into one growth. The idea of separation seemed as absurd to them now as that the law of gravity should be suddenly reversed, or that trees should grow upside down. They did not realisethat such attachments really have in them the character of fate—the very kind which most surely ends in tragedy when it does not lead to perfect happiness.
Even now, when action was unavoidable and the first great moment seemed to be at hand, they parted without much show of feeling. Each felt perfectly sure of the other, and both were certain that there would not be many more partings.
Ellenknocked at the door of Lady Jane’s morning room and composed her face for the coming interview. She was quite sure that her request to be allowed to leave at once would be granted with enthusiasm, but it was necessary to play her little part with circumspection and dignity.
She found Lady Jane armed to the teeth: to be plain, she was dressed for motoring, and presented a formidable appearance, besides being evidently in a hurry. But Miss Scott was not intimidated; on the contrary, she judged that the interview would be the sooner over.
“I’ve come to ask if you will let me off myengagement, and allow me to go home,” she said quietly.
Lady Jane stared hard at her for a moment, before speaking.
“Why?”
That was all; but the question was not exactly easy to answer, and she was quite unprepared for it.
“I shall be very grateful if you will let me go,” she said.
“But why? You must have a reason, and I think I have a right to know what it is.”
Ellen felt inclined to recall to Lady Jane the tone of the advertisement, but was afraid that she might be thought vain of her present improved appearance.
“You have been very kind to me,” she said, after a moment’s thought; “I shall never forget it. But the greatest kindness of all will be to let me go home.”
Lady Jane was still standing; she made a step forward, so that she was quite close to the governess, and she gazed steadily into her eyes.
“Some one has annoyed you,” she said suddenly, with great decision. “I am quite sure of it. No, my dear, you need not shake your head. I know it. The fact is, that from being perfectly”—she was going to say hideous, but checked herself—“from being distinctly plain, you have grown to be as pretty as a picture! And the usual result has followed! You’ve turned all their heads!”
“Really, Lady Jane!” cried Miss Scott in a tone of deprecation, and she could not help blushing in the most charming way possible.
“It’s quite true.” Lady Jane sat down and looked disconsolately at her neat gaiters.“It’s all my fault for giving you my lotion and making you dress better,” she added, evidently in extreme dejection.
Ellen bit her lip. “I can’t help being grateful to you for it,” she said.
“The worst of it is that I’ve grown to like you,” responded Lady Jane in evident despair. “If it was only because you’re such a good governess, and have such wonderful influence over the girls, it wouldn’t matter much, would it?”
Ellen smiled, in spite of herself, but could find nothing to say.
“You see,” Lady Jane continued, “I have never had a governess I liked, till now. If you knew what I’ve been through with them! There was that Miss Kirk, with her violet eyes—oh, that Miss Kirk! I wonder I did not beat her! One of the most delightful moments of my life waswhen I told her to go. But you! You’re the ideal! What possessed me, to give you my lotion! I might have known it would cure you.”
She was really distressed, but Miss Scott did not know what to say.
“I saw it coming,” Lady Jane went on, presently. “I’ve seen this coming for days and days! Why in the world must all my men be such utter butterflies—the whole hive of them! I mean—of course, butterflies don’t live in hives, do they?—oh, you know what I mean! But when I saw how well you behaved—with such dignity, so unlike that Miss Kirk—well, I thought you would give them all a lesson, and that there would be peace. But I suppose that was impossible.”
“But it’s not that, I assure you,” objected Ellen.
“Nonsense! It’s very nice of you to say so, of course, and you may be sure that I shall not ask you to go into details. That wouldn’t be quite nice of me, would it? But you can’t go! You simply can’t, for I won’t let you; and I’m sure I don’t know what is to be done if you stay.”
“I really think I must go, Lady Jane.”
“Oh, no!” cried Lady Jane, with the utmost decision. “That’s quite ridiculous, you know, so we needn’t talk about it. The question is, what will happen next? Do you think, perhaps, that if you stop using the lotion, your complexion will—er——”
“Get blotchy again?” asked Ellen, completing the sentence. “It may, I suppose; but I think the thing is quite gone. Will you look at my cheek?”
Lady Jane bent down a little, for she wasmuch the taller, and carefully examined the cheek in question, poking it with one of her heavily gloved fingers.
“No,” she said regretfully, “it’s just like a healthy baby’s. Of course,” she added, with what seemed a happy inspiration, “you could do your hair as you used to again, like a skinned rabbit. And I suppose you could wear your clothes in a bunch; and it’s not necessary for your health for you to stuff out your shoulder. By-the-bye, it’s awfully well done!”
She put out her hands with the evident intention of touching the stuffing; but as there was none, Ellen sprang back, dodging away from her and laughing.
“Oh, please don’t!” she cried.
“What’s the matter?” asked Lady Jane in surprise.
“I’m so dreadfully ticklish about theneck! I really cannot bear to have any one touch me. I should have a fit!”
“How very odd! Were you always like that? But some people are. Never mind, I won’t touch you, my dear. Only, if you were willing just to make those little changes in your appearance—er—it’s a great deal to ask, I suppose, isn’t it?”
“Well—frankly, it is, Lady Jane,” Ellen laughed, in spite of herself.
But she was immensely disturbed by the unexpected difficulty that faced her, and she had a vision of being obliged to run away as the only means of escaping.
“I don’t see what else we can do,” returned Lady Jane. “As for parting with you, it’s out of the question. My girls are different beings since you have had them in hand. If you knew what my life has been, since they were out of the nursery, comparedwith what it is now, you really wouldn’t have the heart to talk of leaving me, nor the conscience either!”
“I’m very, very glad that you are pleased,” Ellen answered, with an air of meek gratitude, “but I assure you I must——”
“No doubt, but you shan’t, my dear, and there’s an end of it!” Lady Jane was ready to lose her temper, but laughed to hide the fact. “It’s out of the question at this moment,” she continued. “We are all going off to-day, and you must see yourself that the girls cannot be left alone in the house with Lionel! They would set the place on fire, or go to town by themselves and get lost, or do some dreadful thing. Don’t you see?”
“I did not know you were all going away,” said Ellen, somewhat disturbed.
“Yes. We only made up our minds lastnight, or I would have told you. Jocelyn is going up with the Trevelyans in their balloon to-morrow morning, and my husband and I want to see the start; and Claude is to play for Yorkshire at Lords to-morrow, and when we’ve seen the ascent, the Colonel wants to watch the match, and I mean to chase the balloon in the new motor. I’ve got an electric searchlight, with accumulators, fitted up so that I can see it all night. Rather sporting, that, isn’t it? We may fetch up at John O’Groat’s House, or at Land’s End, you know—so delightfully uncertain—you cannot tell which way the thing will go. But just fancy my anxiety if I knew all the time that those little pickles were riding steeplechases in the park, or motoring across country and breaking their necks. It’s too awful to think of!”
“Quite too dreadful,” assented Ellen.“But you won’t be away long, I suppose? I will stay till you come home, at all events, if you wish it.”
“Wish it? I should think I did! Besides, you must, my dear. So that’s settled, and we’ll be off, for it’s getting late.”
A quarter of an hour later the huge motor was bowling down the Malton road, and King’s Follitt was left to Lionel, Miss Scott, and the two girls, very much to the surprise of all four. For on the previous evening Lionel had gone off to his books soon after dinner, and had finished breakfast with his sisters and the governess before any of the others appeared. Indeed, it was not till luncheon that he knew of their abrupt departure.
At the first opportunity, Ellen told him about the interview in the morning, and added that she meant to disappear as soonas the family returned. That would be the only way open to her.
Lionel was as much surprised as she had been by Lady Jane’s attitude, but it seemed promising for the future. At all events, when the time came for him to declare his intention of marrying Miss Scott, he could remind his mother that she had liked Ellen for her own sake; and as she was a truthful and just woman, she would not deny it. That would be something, at all events: matters would have been far worse if she had hated the governess, as she had hated the former ones, each and all.
“We must be married in June,” Lionel said again, for having once made up his mind he was not likely to change it. “We will spend the summer abroad, and go to India next winter. By that time they willhave got used to the idea, and a year hence we can come home.”
“That sounds delightful,” Ellen answered. “I wish we could take my father, for no one knows India as he does. But then, we couldn’t be alone all the time, if he came.”
“I should like to take him,” said Lionel. “Perhaps we could bargain for so many hours a day!”
But they did not take Mr. Herbert Scott of the British Museum to India, or anywhere else; for things turned out very differently. The Fate of the Follitts had been dozing comfortably for some time, but now she suddenly woke up refreshed with sleep, and got into the balloon with Jocelyn and the Trevelyans, and did queer things, which nobody else could have done.
Thewind was fresh from the south-west, with rain, and the night was dark. The balloon was driving along at a dangerous rate, considering the low altitude.
“I give it up,” said Bob Trevelyan, who had not spoken for a long time. “We’ve been travelling five hours, and I haven’t the vaguest idea where we are.”
“Does it matter much?” inquired Jocelyn lazily.
For he was comfortable where he was, and hoped that it would go on a long time, since he was pleasantly close to Anne Trevelyan in the bottom of the car. No one who has not been up in a gale can have anyidea of the profound quiet which seems to enfold the balloon as it is borne noiselessly along in the arms of the wind, perhaps at thirty or forty miles an hour. If it rains, you hear the drops pattering on the envelope overhead; if you are near the ground at night, the howling of the wind through the unseen trees comes up to you in a rather dismal way; but no matter how hard it blows, there is peace and tranquillity in the car.
Anne Trevelyan and her friend Lady Dorothy Wynne were poring over a map, by the light of an electric lamp which Jocelyn held for them.
“It might matter a little,” Anne said, looking up with a laugh as she spoke; “for the only thing that is quite certain is that we are bound to get to the sea pretty soon. I think I’ll have a look.”
She got up, and all three scrambled to their feet and peered over the edge of the car.
“It really is rather a dirty night,” observed Lady Dorothy, with great calm.
“Distinctly,” said Anne, admitting what could not be denied.
Jocelyn said nothing, for he knew that a woman who is inaccessible to physical fear is much more reckless than any brave and sensible man has a right to be, and he was beginning to wonder what the end would be like, and how many arms and legs, or even necks, would be broken before morning. For it was his first ascent, and though he was not scared he realised that there was danger.
There had been a good deal of delay at the start, and the breeze had been light from the south during most of the afternoon, though the sky had been threatening. The wind had strengthened, however, as it hauledto the south-west, and at dusk it had freshened to a gale. Then the darkness had come on quickly, almost suddenly, as it does even on land, when the sky blackens with heavy clouds just at sunset. It was now quite impossible to distinguish anything on the face of the earth below, but all around the horizon there was a faint belt of grey, which was not light, but was not quite pitch darkness. The ominous moaning of the wind amongst the trees began to make itself heard.
“It’s not wildly gay here,” said Lady Dorothy. “Can’t you manage to get above the clouds?”
Bob pointed to the inky sky overhead. “Those clouds are half a mile thick,” he said quietly. “There you are! We’re in another!”
“How are we off for ballast?” inquired Anne, as the chilly fog filled the car.
“Six bags gone already, and only two left,” Bob answered with grim calm.
“Not really?” cried Dorothy in some dismay.
“Yes. How can you expect any balloon to keep up in this rain? She’s being battered down by it. We are getting lower every minute.”
At that moment the balloon shivered like a live thing, and flapped her loose sides. Bob shovelled some sand overboard.
“We’ll keep the last bag,” he said; “but to-morrow’s breakfast must go. Pass me the bottle of milk—that’s heavy.”
Jocelyn got a big stoneware bottle from the basket by the light of the electric lamp, and gave it to Trevelyan.
“Don’t murder anybody below,” he said.
Bob dropped the thing overboard, and almost immediately a dull thud was heardout of the darkness as it struck the earth. But there was no sound of breaking; they were over a meadow or a ploughed field.
“Give me that pie,” said Bob. “Wasn’t there a magnum of champagne somewhere? It’s got to go too.”
“Hullo! What’s that?” cried Anne joyfully. “I believe it’s the moon, and we’re out of the clouds!”
“By Jove!” ejaculated Jocelyn, who was not easily surprised, and was not at all enthusiastic about the beauties of nature.
The inky cloud had not been so deep as Bob had supposed, and the balloon, responding the instant her ballast was lightened, had struck upwards to the clear outer air; the moon had risen, and was still almost full, and in the far sky, beyond her radiance, the stars twinkled softly as on a summer night.
The four young people almost held their
“The huge black shadow of the balloon ran swiftly over it.”
“The huge black shadow of the balloon ran swiftly over it.”
“The huge black shadow of the balloon ran swiftly over it.”
breath while they were silently borne along in a vision of transcendent beauty. Beneath them, the dark clouds had been whirling in the gale that tore and churned and wrung them with its unseen airy hands; above, there was the peace of heaven itself and the loveliness of earth’s first moonlight on the evening after the first day. The moving mass of cloud below looked suddenly motionless, vast and solid as grey rock, and the huge black shadow of the balloon and the car ran swiftly over it, clear and sharply outlined.
It only lasted a few minutes, for the heavy rain had soaked everything and a descent was inevitable. Soon the wet fog rose and closed overhead again, the moon took strange opalescent colours, and was dimmed and then disappeared, as the balloon sank steadily into the storm.
“If we had only had a fine night, we could have got to Scotland,” said Dorothy Wynne, in a tone of profound regret.
“Don’t you be too sure!” answered Bob. “With this wind it looks more like the North Sea!”
“Then if our ballast had held out we could have got across to Norway,” retorted the young lady, who was not to be daunted by trifles.
But at this moment the car jerked violently, throwing all its four occupants against one side of itself. It turned and rolled and jumped like a skiff in a breaking sea.
“Hang on, girls!” cried Bob Trevelyan. “We’re on our trial rope already!”
The two young women were already hanging on by the rigging for dear life; and Jocelyn was making it especially easy for Anne to hang on. Indeed, she had a sensation which was very like being carried along in his arms—which surprised her, for she knew she was not particularly light in spite of her slim waist. A slender ash sapling can be as heavy as a common pine nearly twice its size.
Presently the jerking was varied by a violent wrench, which laid the car on its side, and almost upset it.
“Bad for that tree-top,” observed Bob, as the balloon sailed away again. “What next, I wonder? Does any one see anything? One ought to, with that moon up there; but it’s as dark as Erebus.”
“It’s the blackest moonlight night I’ve ever known,” laughed Anne.
Possibly she found it more amusing than the other did, and she certainly felt more safe than Lady Dorothy possibly could. Jocelyn was a surprisingly strong youngman, and may have exaggerated her danger a little.
“I believe we are over a desert island,” said her friend cheerfully. “I’ve not seen any lights for an age.”
The conversation was interrupted by a tremendous wrench, and the car was wrestling with another tree-top.
“That was a rather thrilling moment!” laughed Anne Trevelyan.
“I tell you what,” said Bob, not laughing at all, “at the first open space we come to, down we go! We’re sinking every minute, and I don’t want to stop her with my nose against the next oak we strike.”
He spoke quietly, but the others understood their danger, and all four peered down over the edge of the car in breathless silence, while the balloon moved on in a series of irregular bounds, as the trail-ropeencountered more or less resistance. A faint grey line now became visible ahead, where the belt of trees ended.
“If we clear the trees, I’ll pop the valve,” said Bob quietly. “There must be open ground beyond. Be ready with the anchor, Anne; Jocelyn will help you. It’s a night for the ripping line, and I’ll manage that myself.”
All four clung to the rigging in silence for some moments. Then the report of the suddenly opened valve rang through the air like a muffled gunshot. Two seconds passed, not more, and Bob ripped.
“Look out for the bump, girls!”
The fast sinking car descended, slanting on the wind, till it struck the ground with considerable force and was instantly overturned. The four clung on with all their might, almost where they were, while Trevelyan ripped again; the balloon swayed wildly, darted forward a couple of yards, wrenching the car along after it, and then collapsed like a dying game-cock.
Bob crawled out of the wreck first, and then helped the others, and in the gloom the two young girls silently straightened their hats; for that is the first impulse of feminine humanity after an accident. If a woman could be raised from the dead by radium, which begins to look possible, she would straighten her hat before doing anything else.
“This is all very well, but where are we?” asked Lady Dorothy, as soon as that was done.
“In a meadow,” answered Jocelyn. “Lucky it’s not a ploughed field.”
“What a night!” groaned the young girl.
For they had been dry and comfortable under the vast shelter of the inflated balloon, but they were now almost instantly soaked through and through by the lashing rain, and the two girls staggered as they stood up and faced the raging gale. Again Jocelyn’s arm was very useful to Miss Anne.
“We must make for shelter at once,” her brother said. “After all, we are in England, and we can’t be very far from civilisation. No one will steal the balloon on a night like this.”
“The old thing looks comfortable enough,” observed Jocelyn. “Rather done, though!”
He and Anne followed her brother and Dorothy, who led the way, linking arms and bending their heads to the storm, while they waded through what felt like a field of wet bathing sponges. Against the dim greylight they could see the trees over which they had lately passed, writhing and twisting in the gale.
“If this is a meadow, it’s a pretty big one,” said Anne.
At that moment Bob uttered an exclamation: he and his companion had struck a narrow path covered with fine white gravel that gleamed in the uncertain light.
“We’re in a park!” cried Trevelyan. “What luck! That means a good-sized house, at all events.”
“And a possible dinner,” added Lady Dorothy cheerfully.
But Jocelyn and Anne said nothing, because they were so busy in helping each other to walk. All four tramped steadily along the path for a couple of hundred yards or more, till they brought up short before an insurmountable obstacle that suddenly loomed up out of the dark; it was nothing less than a stone wall, at least fifteen feet high, which evidently enclosed the grounds, and seemed to be topped by a row of murderous-looking split spikes. The path turned aside some twenty feet from it, and seemed to wander away aimlessly towards the trees.
“This is an odd sort of place we’ve dropped into!” said Lady Dorothy; and all four stood in a row and stared at the forbidding wall.
“They evidently don’t encourage trespassers,” observed Trevelyan.
“Only an idiot would waste all that money,” said Jocelyn, who was still hard up, and momentarily looked at everything from the financial point of view.
“I rather wish we were on the other side of it,” Anne said.
“You’ll be left waiting, dear,” answered Lady Dorothy, who adored American slang.
“Follow the path,” Jocelyn advised. “It must lead to the house in the end.”
There was clearly nothing else to be done, and for some minutes no sound was heard but the regular tread of four pairs of strong shoes crunching the fine gravel, and the swish of the driving rain, and the howling of the wind in the trees not far off. They could still see the wall stretching away into the gloom.
Suddenly, there were lights in the distance, and a big house loomed against the stormy sky; an ugly, square, uninviting house, as they saw in a few minutes, for the sight had revived their spirits, and they walked faster. Before long they struck the drive, towards which the path led, and across the gravelled space to the front door.Trevelyan rang, and the others huddled round him on the steps, to get shelter from the rain.
A footman in a quiet brown livery opened in a few moments, and they did not notice that he seemed exceedingly surprised when he saw them; indeed, his astonishment was altogether out of proportion to the circumstances, for his jaw dropped, and he gasped audibly. All the four were dazzled by the blaze of light from the vestibule, after having been so long out of doors in the dark, and did not notice the man’s manner. Trevelyan at once explained what brought them; and as soon as the footman understood, he let them in, shut and locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and went off, muttering something about the master of the house.
A few moments later the latter appearedin person, in evening dress, and carrying his napkin in his hand, having evidently left his dinner in the utmost haste. Though tired and half stupefied by the storm, the four aëronauts were strongly impressed by his personality. He was by no means an ill-looking man, yet there was something extraordinary and almost terrifying in his appearance. He was tall, lean, strongly made, and of a dark complexion, with smooth iron-grey hair; his jaw was broad and square, his lips thin and determined. One sees many such men in England, but not with eyes like his. They were round, but deep-set, and they were at once luminous and hard, like those of the nobler birds of prey. I know a tamer of wild beasts who has just such eyes as those; one would almost say that he could not shut the lids if he tried, even for sleep, and it is easy to