Chapter XXXIII: The Bull-Drop

She went to meet him with the feeling that now--now was her chance. He must not go until she had inquired as to the exact facts, which he seemed to suppose that she knew already.

He came to invite herself and Miss Wilson to go down to the docks the following day to inspect one of the great captured enemy ships which was lying there for the inspection of visitors. She accepted the invitation, and they drifted into talk, which grew by degrees more and more absorbing. He told her some of his more poignant experiences at the front, and she gave him a sympathy which he appeared to find most gratifying. Though he never said a word that could be called love-making, she yet felt increasingly that he was wooing her; and the fact that he was doing so with Nin's voice and Nin's smile, and every now and then with Nin's very expression, filled her with sensations that she could not analyse. She was half fascinated, half revolted, and she had a feeling that if it went on--if she should be much in his society--she would succumb to the curious attraction.

A dozen times she tried to lead round the talk so that she could touch upon the one subject without too great effort.

In vain. As soon as she found herself within measurable distance of the words "your brother," her throat began to swell, her heart quickened its beat. He had risen to take leave before she was aware.... He had gone, and her chance was over for the present.

He called the following day, and they motored down to the docks, after which he gave them lunch at the great new Anzac restaurant.

It was as he was putting them into the car afterwards, and stood laughing and animated on the kerbstone making his farewells, that her eyes, straying past his in order not to meet their challenge, fell upon a lady whose face seemed familiar to her. The lady in question was young and handsome in a showy way, and as she strolled slowly past Olwen thought her eyes rested upon their party with a look of special interest. The impression was momentary, the stranger had moved on and was lost in the crowd surging thickly on the pavement.

As they drove home her mind held the picture of the backward glance and the expression; but sub-consciously, and all mixed up with Wolf's charm and the magnetism of his personality.

She felt that the hours she and he had passed together that day had made a great, a real difference.

If matters were to advance at this rate, she must face the situation which might ensue. She reached home in restless mood, wondering how to pick up once more the thread of a life which seemed to have broken off short. The war and its resulting activities had filled in at first the blank which lay void after her departure from Guysewyke. Now even that palliative was taken away. It showed itself as the mere stopgap that it had always been. In truth, though peace had returned, life was exciting enough, had she felt that politics and social economy were things that could absorb her. She did not so feel. Hers was, like her father's, a nature which craved love as its starting-point. The fabric of her life must be built on love, so she felt, or go to pieces.

The Colonel had taken care not to part without an arrangement for another meeting before long. He was to lunch the following day at Orchard Row, and take the two ladies to see over one of the great new institutions prepared for the reception of those permanently disabled in the war.

He came accordingly, and the time passed charmingly. Aunt Maud thought him the most fascinating man she had ever seen. The situation piqued her curiosity. Not a word of confidence had Olwen given her, not a sentence had she ever let fall concerning this man's twin brother with whom she had spent so many hours at the Pele. Miss Wilson's conviction that some reason other than what appeared had all along existed for the girl's sudden departure from her post gained strength every minute.

As for Olwen, she felt that she was skating on very thin ice. Easily though Wolf talked, he avoided any mention of his home or his family. He seemed to assume that Olwen knew of his brother's fate, and he did not allude to it. Their talk was always superficial, gliding lightly over a surface beneath which were unknown depths.

That day Wolf asked permission to bring his cousin, Lady Caryngston, to call upon Miss Wilson and Miss Innes. The plan was carried out very soon afterwards, and with her ladyship came that Elma Guyse who so strongly resembled her cousin Ninian that it was agony to Olwen to be in the same room with her.

Every minute some tone in her voice, some curve of her mouth, some gleam in her mischievous eye, recalled Nin in his most captivating mood. Olwen's emotion increased every moment. She felt that she could no longer endure the strain of going on in her present ignorance. She would ask Wolf all about Ninian, even though in the attempt she found herself compelled to betray her own feeling.

Her chance came, for the Colonel did not depart when the other visitors left. Aunt Maud had a committee at half-past five, and so made her escape from the drawing-room, going out of it with the two ladies. Wolf and Olwen found themselves left together; and this was obviously the moment for which she had waited so long. He went to the window, glancing out to see if it rained. Now or never.

She moistened her dry lips, and was just opening them to pronounce the fatal words, when the Colonel swung round, saying carelessly:

"By the way, I heard from my brother this morning."

Silence fell. She hardly breathed for a few moments. Something within her rose up in tumult, and she had to beat it down. For the second time, upon the mention of Nin, she showed Wolf an ashen face.

"Your ... brother?" she said at last, feeling that at all costs she must not betray the extent of her stupefaction.

"Yes. I think you said you knew what a horrible fate befell him?"

Weakly she shook her head; she could not speak.

He seemed surprised. "But I thought, the day we first met, you said you knew----"

"No, I don't know anything. I beseech you to tell me."

"Well, but at least you knew he was a prisoner of war?"

"Not--even--that."

"Yes; he got taken, poor chap, the very first time he went into action--right at the beginning, before we turned them on the Marne. He was badly hit, and they picked him up and took him to Griesslauen, the most remote of all the military camps--a place where unheard-of things went on.... We didn't know for nearly a year whether he was alive or dead. He was reported missing, you know. Rough luck, wasn't it?"

"Ye-es. _Rough luck_.... Is he at home now?"

"Oh, yes; he's been back more than six months now, and his native air has done a good bit for him; but he's very much changed."

"Is he--maimed, do you mean--or disfigured?"

"Oh, no, not as bad as that. He had a horrible suppurating wound in his leg, the result of neglect and semi-starvation; but the Guysewyke air healed that in a couple of months. Of course, things are very depressing for him; in fact, he's just had another bad blow, poor chap, and I'm afraid he's taking it frightfully hard."

"Tell me ... if you think you might? I ... want to hear."

He came and sat down opposite, fixing his eyes upon her quivering face. She was so rapt that she had ceased to heed what he might be thinking. Ninian was not dead. _He was not dead_. He lived. She heard, but could not realise; she felt as though a blow had stunned her.

"I don't know whether I ought to tell you," said Wolf thoughtfully. "Nin might give me socks if he knew. But you seem to take some interest in the poor old chap, after all."

She made a sound which she meant for a laugh, but which was merely a sob. "Perhaps I do."

"I don't suppose he ever conversed with you on the subject of finance," went on Wolf softly; "but you may perhaps have gathered during your stay with us that he was pretty hard up?"

He was narrowly watching her face, but she replied frankly enough:

"Of course I knew it. I knew he was fighting as hard as he could so as not to--not to have to sell the Pele."

"Oh, you knew that? You knew how set he was upon the old place?"

"Indeed, yes, I knew."

"Well, when the war came there was no way out of it. He was bound to raise such a sum of money as should make my mother independent in case of his death. He went to our cousin, Caryngston, and offered to sell to him, upon conditions."

"Conditions?"

"Yes. Caryngston was to give an undertaking not to sell again, and to allow my mother to remain in possession for the duration of the war."

"Then--then it is actually sold?"

"Yes. At that time Caryngston was fearfully keen, for his son was just engaged to Miss Leverett, daughter of an American millionaire----"

"Wash-white Slick-Soap," she murmured.

"Just so. Her father found the purchase money, because he fancied his daughter in a feudal pile; and the deal went through. Since that time, however, the whole situation has changed. Poor Noel went to the front three months later, and was to be married as soon as he got his first leave. Well, he never got any leave. He was shot before he had been out a month. Miss Leverett never became Mrs. Guyse, and the old man wants his money back. Caryngston can't repay him unless he sells the Pele, and he has written to Nin to say that he will be reluctantly compelled to do so."

"Oh, what a shame! What an utter shame!" burst forth Miss Innes, springing to her feet in her vehemence.

"I'm afraid, from what he says, that it has just about broken poor old Nin. The last straw, you know."

Olwen sat down again as suddenly as she had uprisen. Her very knees were shaking. Perhaps Wolf saw that she could not speak, for he filled in the pause glibly.

"I wonder whether, when you were at the Pele, you ever heard the odd story--legend, I should say--of the Bull-drop?"

She brought back her mind with an effort. "The Bull-drop?"

"Yes; the causeway leading to the Pele. There was a tale of a bull having jumped out of the keep through a breach made by the besiegers, and they prophesied that if such a thing ever happened again there would be a fair Guyse, and the family would recover its old importance."

"Of course I remember. Why, of course!"

"Well, a curious thing happened just about the time you left us. Do you remember meeting a messenger-boy on your way to Raefell? As a matter of fact, he had a cablegram for you in his pocket, and he told us where to look for you. We questioned him and found that he had seen you on the road."

"I remember well."

"Like all boys, he was fascinated by the desire to walk on the parapet of the causeway. It was in a bad state, for the long frost had caked the old snow upon it so thickly that the rains had not removed all of it. He slipped and fell into the ravine."

"Was he killed?"

"Not a bit of it. He fell quite near the farther end, among the underbrush on the slope. However, he broke a rib or two and was pretty bad. But the funny part of the story is, that when we put the chap to bed and sent for the doctor, we discovered that his name was Tommy Bull."

As he hoped, this story diverted her attention from the consideration of Ninian's tragedy.

"Bull? It seems like the fulfilment of the prophecy! Oh, what did Sunia say?"

"She was perfectly certain that it was, as you say, the fulfilment of prophecy. She was so completely reassured by it that she was able to bear up under the sale of the Pele and the departure of her sahib for the war. She said that things must come right; it was merely a question of waiting. But I think she has lost heart at last. This latest blow is too heavy."

"You say--did you tell me--that the tower is actually sold? I mean that Lord Caryngston has actually sold it?"

"I believe not. He wrote to warn Ninian that it was to be sold, and he mentioned that he had already had an offer of more than he gave. Of course, he is breaking his contract, but he knows Nin has no money to fight him."

"No, but Mr. Guyse is in the Pele, and possession is nine points of the law," cried Olwen passionately. "If I were he I would decline to turn out, and surely the Courts would support him if anybody tried to evict him."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. Maybe not. I don't believe the conditions made are legally binding. He trusted to Caryngston's honour."

She sat, hands locked together, mind so busy that it seemed to whirl.

"Does Mr. Guyse know that--that you and I have met?" she asked at length.

"No. I didn't say anything about it. It's a sore subject, you see. He has never got over your turning him down." As the colour flew to her cheeks, he added, "I beg pardon. I had no right to say that."

"It is hardly accurate, moreover. Mr. Guyse only offered to marry me in order to satisfy a somewhat fantastic sense of honour. He would have been much surprised had I taken advantage of his proposal."

Wolf's most expressive glance was upon her. "I wonder if you expect me to believe that?" he asked mischievously.

Olwen drew herself up. "Whether you believe it or not hardly concerns me, Colonel Guyse."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you are a person of importance now," said he, "and can take your pick of the fortune-hunters. I can tell you one thing, however. You will never find a man among them fit to tie up old Nin's shoe-string. But I had better say 'Good-bye,' before I offend past forgiveness!"

He rose and held out his hand. "Then we meet at eleven to-morrow morning?" he said.

She let him go, scarcely heeding what she did. The world was upside down, and she wanted time in which to readjust her ideas. When he had left the room, she went towards the door almost as though she were blind, groping for the handle. Just as she emerged upon the landing the parlourmaid came up from the hall, bearing a note upon a salver.

It had been delivered by hand, and was marked "Urgent."

She carried it up with her to her room, locked herself in, flung down the envelope on her toilet-table and herself upon the bed.

Floods of tears came to her relief, and for a while she lay there helpless, overswept by a torrent of feeling, while a host of plans, hopes, wishes, fears, thrills careered madly through her mind.

Not until the first bell reminded her that Parkinson would be arriving almost immediately to dress her for dinner did she arise; and going to the glass to survey the ravages of the past hour's emotion, remark the note lying on the jewel tray.

It did not look at all important. She expected one of the appeals which reached her with distressing frequency from some impecunious person who had "heard she was celebrated for her kind and feeling heart." The contents were surprising. It was dated from an address at Finchley, and written in a pretty, ladylike hand.

"DEAR MADAM,--Pardon my troubling you, but as Colonel Guyse seems to be very often at your house, I am writing to inform you of what you may not know--namely, that he is a married man. I saw you talking to him in Regent Street the other day, and I have watched him since. If you need proof, I can show you my marriage lines, but if you show him this letter he won't deny it. We were married in Canada years ago, and I adored him so that I fell in with his idea that to have his marriage with me known would spoil his whole future. Now I feel that I have had enough of it. He has a Colonel's pay, and he ought to acknowledge me, instead of which he says he is going to reduce my allowance. I have come up to London unknown to him, for when he said he was going to cut me short I guessed there was something going on. I feel I must put a spoke in his wheel before it is too late. I have borne a great deal, but if he thinks he is going to deceive a nice young girl like you, who has done good all through the war, he is mistaken. My cousin from Canada was one of the boys you nursed, and I don't forget it. Write to me if you like, but if you are the girl I take you for this letter ought to do the trick.--Yours truly, LILY GUYSE."

Lily Guyse! There was but little need to inquire what the lady's maiden name had been. She was Lily Martin, and the face which Olwen had noticed as Wolf took leave of her in Regent Street was the face she had seen between the leaves of a book in the Pele library.

Wolf's wife!