When Anthony left us that morning there was much speculation as to where he had gone and deny it as I might, I am pretty certain that the company generally regarded me as being in his confidence.

“What’s his game, Bill?” demanded Arkwright. “You must know—from—what’s the correct term—information received.”

I declared my ignorance. “Bathurst has not told me his destination—and what’s more, I haven’t asked him. I told Jack just now I knew nothing of his movements or intentions—for to-day! He has, of course, confided one or two matters to me during the past few days. I think, perhaps, I’ve helped him a bit—once or twice.”

I spoke with a sense of pride.

“Well, I for one, wish him success,” cut in Jack Considine, crisply. “Gerry Prescott was one of the best. A thunderin’ good all-round sportsman, and we can ill afford to lose him. I tell you I’m more than sorry that he’s gone—there are plenty of fellows the world could have spared before Gerry Prescott! I know we shall miss him in the ‘House.’”
247

This outburst of Jack’s startled me somewhat, and I noticed Helen Arkwright and her husband look at him curiously.

Sir Charles himself, also seemed a trifle taken aback.

“Seems to me we have to wait till we’re dead—to be thoroughly appreciated,” I put in.

“Something like that, Bill,” said Mary. “I’ve noticed that.”

She rose and went into the garden. To me she had grown more lovely than ever, during the past few days. The blow that had befallen Considine Manor, and the sorrow that it had brought in its train, seemed to have invested Mary with a serener beauty. It was almost as though the charming winsomeness of the maid had merged into the more steadfast beauty of the woman. The sadness and sorrow had hastened the hand of Time. It was borne upon me at that moment, that Life to me meant Mary Considine, and I determined to put into active form a resolution that had been but a thought to me for many months past.

I found her in the garden.

“The roses are going off, Bill,” she said—pointing to the rose trees. “What a pity they don’t last two or three months longer.”

I looked at them. “Tell me their names, Mary?”

“Sharman Crawford, Caroline Testout, Daily Mail, La France, Betty, Xavier——”

I interrupted her. “Some roses are always with us,” I ventured.
248

“Why, what do you mean, Bill?”

“I meant you,” I replied. Lamely, I’m afraid. It sounded so, at least.

She smiled very sweetly. “That’s very nice of you, Bill. I hope you really meant it.”

“Of course I meant it. I never meant anything half so much in my life before.”

“You mustn’t make me conceited, Bill—and I’m afraid you will if you talk like that.”

“I couldn’t make you anything,” I declared. “Only a master could make you, and I’m only a big lump of commonplaceness and ordinariness. You’re just lovely. And to me, Mary, the loveliest, dearest and sweetest girl in the world,—for I love you.”

“Oh, Bill,” she gasped.

I caught her by the hand. “I want you to marry me, Mary. After all, I’ve got some little right to ask you. I’ve watched you grow up, you know. Give me the right to watch you grow up always.”

I watched her face anxiously. And I fancied I saw her sweeping lashes brim with tiny tears. “Tell me—you will, darling?” I urged.

“This is very sudden, Bill—I know that sounds silly—but I can’t think of anything else to say—and it’s very dear of you to think so much of me.”

“Then you will?” I said with eagerness.

“I don’t know, Bill. I’m not quite sure. Of course, I like you—as we all do—but——”

I tried to take her in my arms but she evaded me.

“There’s no one else——?” I asked. “Say there’s no one else!”
249

“No.” She spoke very quietly. “You may be easy on that point. There is no one else.”

“Then why do you hesitate, dear? Put me out of my misery!”

“You must give me a little time to think it over, Bill.” She held out her hand to me, and I took it.

“How long, Mary? How long? It isn’t as though I’m a stranger to you.”

“Not very long, Bill. I’ll promise that. I just want to feel sure—you know.”

She broke away and left me.

The rest of the day passed miserably for me. Anthony’s absence didn’t make it any the brighter and Mary’s reception of my proposal had left me in an agony of apprehension. One moment I rose to heaven’s heights and “struck the stars with my uplifted head”—the next found me in the depths of an intolerable despair. But generally, I was able to find courage and with courage—optimism! “There is no one else,” she had said. Perhaps I had tried her too closely after Prescott and Prescott’s death. “There is no one else!” Prescott belonged to the past tense. Would she have said that a week ago? I pondered the whole thing over in my mind. And the wondering with its attachment of doubt and uncertainty brought me the alternating moods that I have just described.
250

So the day wore on to the evening and dinner. Anthony had not returned, and everybody seemed very quiet. The meal passed uneventfully and conversation was desultory. I watched Mary carefully, trying to read my answer in her face. She seemed cheerful and smiling. Jack and Arkwright went into the drawing-room together, and in the buzz of their conversation I caught Prescott’s name. The girls started music and we settled down comfortably. All the Considines have good voices, and they were always well worth listening to. After a time, Jack Considine and Arkwright strolled into the garden, but I refused the invitation to accompany them. I was thinking about Mary. Suddenly two revolver shots rang out on the evening air. Shots that were succeeded by shouts.

Captain Arkwright came running up.

“Somebody’s tried to murder Jack,” he shouted. “In cold blood. Two sh............