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Page 15
"I'm going." She rose wearily and went to the dressing-table. He watched
her reflection in the looking-glass. As she raised her arms to take the
pins from her hair, her white face grew whiter, it was deadly white. He
went to her help, unpinning the black coils, smoothing them and plaiting
them in a loose braid. He did it in a business-like way, as if he had
been a hairdresser, he whose pulse used to beat faster if he so much as
touched her gown. Then he gave her a cold business-like kiss that left
her sadder than before. The fact was, he had thought she was going to
faint. But Mrs. Nevill Tyson was not of the fainting kind; she was only
tired, tired and sick.
It was arranged that Tyson was to leave by the two o'clock train the next
day. He was packing up his things about noon, when Molly staggered into
his dressing-room with her teeth chattering. Clinging to the rail of the
bedstead for support, she gazed at the preparations for his departure.
"I wish you wouldn't go away, Nevill," she said.
"It's all right, I'll be back in a day or two." He blushed at his own
lie.
Mrs. Nevill Tyson sat down on the bed and began to cry.
"What's the matter, Moll, eh?"
"I don't know, I don't know," she sobbed. "I'm afraid, Nevill--I'm so
terribly afraid."
"Why, what are you afraid of?" He looked up and was touched by the terror
in her face.
"I don't know. But I can bear it--I won't be silly and frightened--I can
bear it if you'll only stay."
She slid on to her knees beside him; and while she implored him to stay,
her hands worked unconsciously, helping him to go--smoothing and folding
his clothes, and laying them in little heaps about the floor, her figure
swaying unsteadily as she knelt.
He put his arm round her; he drew her head against his shoulder; and she
looked up into his face, trying to smile.
"You won't leave me?" she whispered hoarsely.
He laid his hand upon her forehead. It was damp with the first sweat of
her agony.
He carried her to her room and sent for Mrs. Wilcox and the doctor and
the nurse. Then he went back and began turning the things in and out of
his portmanteau in a melancholy, undecided manner. Mrs. Wilcox came and
found him doing it.
"I'm not going," he said in answer to her indignant stare.
"I'm glad to hear it. Because if you _do_ go--"
"I am not going."
But Mrs. Wilcox's maternal instinct had subdued her fear of Nevill Tyson,
and he respected her defiance even more than he had respected her fear.
"If you go you'll put her in a fever, and _I_ won't answer for the
consequences."
He said nothing, for he had a sense of justice, and it was her hour.
Besides, he was no little conscience-stricken.
He went out to look for Stanistreet, and found him in the courtyard,
piling his own luggage on the dog-cart. He put his hand on his shoulder.
"Look here," said he, "I can't go. It's a damned nuisance, but it's out
of the question. Leave those things till to-morrow."
"To-morrow?" Stanistreet stared vaguely at his host.
"Yes; you must see me through this, Stanny. I can't trust myself by
myself. For God's sake let's go and do something, or I'll go off my
head."
They spent the afternoon in the low coverts about the Toft, and the
evening in the billiard-room, sitting forlornly over whiskey-and-soda.
A peculiar throbbing silence and mystery seemed to hang about the house.
Stanistreet was depressed and hardly spoke, while Tyson vainly tried to
hide his nervousness under a fictitious jocularity. He looked eagerly for
the night, by which time he had concluded that all anxiety would be
ended. But when ten o'clock came and he found that nothing more nor less
than a long night-watch was required of him, his nerves revolted.
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