CHAPTER XVII
A CONFERENCE OR TWO
In the wood half-way between the Yellow House and home I met BruceDeville. I should have hurried on, but it was impossible to passhim. He had a way of standing which took up the whole path.
"Miss Ffolliot," he said, "may I walk home with you?"
"It is only a few steps," I answered. "Please don't trouble."
"It will be a pleasure," he said, sturdily.
I looked at him; such a faint, acrimonious smile.
"Haven't you been almost polite enough for one day?" I asked.
He seemed to be genuinely surprised at my ill-humor.
"You mean, I suppose, because I walked home with that girl," heanswered. "I did so on your account only. I wanted to know what shewas going to do."
"I did not require any explanation," I remarked.
He seemed perplexed. Men are such idiots. In the end he ignored myspeech.
"I wanted to see you," he began, thoughtfully. "I have been to call atthe Vicarage; your sister would not let me see your father."
"I am not surprised at that," I answered; "you do not realize how illhe is."
"Have you had a doctor to see him?" he asked.
"No; he will not let me send for one," I answered. "Yet I know he isin need of medical advice. It is very hard to know what to do for thebest."
"If I may advise you," he said, slowly, "I should strongly recommendyour doing exactly as your father wishes. He knows best what is wellfor him. Only tell him this from me. Tell him that change will be hisbest medicine. I heard yesterday that the Bishop wished him to go toEastminster at once. Let him get an invalid carriage and go thereto-morrow. It will be better for him and safer."
I stopped short, and laid my hand upon his wrist. I tried to make himlook at me; but he kept his face turned away.
"You are not thinking of his health only," I said; "there is somethingelse. I know a good deal, you need not fear. You can speak openly. Itis that girl."
He did not deny it. He looked down at me, and his strong, harsh facewas softened in a peculiar manner. I knew that he was very sorry forme, and there was a lump in my throat.
"What is she going to do?" I asked, trembling. "What does shesuspect?"
"Nothing definite," he answered, quickly. "She is bewildered. She isgoing to stay here and watch. I am afraid that she will send for adetective. It is not that she has any suspicion as to your father. Itis you whom she distrusts--you and Adelaide. She thinks that you aretrying to keep your father from her. She thinks that he could tellher--what she wants to know. That is all."
"It is quite enough!" I cried, passionately. "If only we could get herto go away. I am afraid of her."
We were standing by the gate, I held out my hand to him; he grasped itwarmly.
"Remember my advice to your father," he said. "I shall do my utmostto prevent the girl from taking any extreme measures. Fortunately sheconsiders herself under some obligation to me."
"You saved her life," I remarked, thoughtfully.
"Yes, I am sorry for it," he added, curtly. "Goodbye."
He turned away and I hurried into the house. Alice was nowhereabout. I went softly into my father's room. He was dozing, and as Istood over him and saw how pale and thin his face was, my heart grewsick and sorrowful. The tears stood in my eyes. After all, it was anoble face; I longed to have that barrier broken down between us, tohear the truth from his own lips, and declare myself boldly on hisside--even if it were the side of the outlaw and the sinner. As Istood there, he opened his eyes. They were dull and glazed.
"You are ill, father," I said, softly, "you will get worse if you willnot have advice. Let me go and bring the doctor?"
"You will do no such thing," he answered, firmly. "I am better--muchbetter."
"You do not look it," I answered, doubtfully.
"Never mind, I am better, I feel stronger. Where is that girl? Has shegone away?"
I was glad he asked me the question outright. It was one step forwardtowards the more complete confidence which I so greatly desired. Ishook my head.
"No, she has not gone away. She seems to have no idea of going. Shehas found a friend here."
"A friend?"
"Yes; she has met Mr. Deville before. He saved her life inSwitzerland."
He tossed about for a moment or two with closed eyes and frowningface.
"You have seen her again, then?" he muttered.
"Yes; I met her this afternoon."
"Where?"
I hesitated. I had not wished to mention my visit to AdelaideFortress, at any rate until he was stronger; but he saw my reluctanceand forced me to answer him.
"At the Yellow House," I said, softly.
He gave a little gasp. At first I was afraid that he was going to beangry with me. As it chanced, the fact of my disobedience did not seemto occur to him.
"The Yellow House?" he repeated, quickly. "What was she doingthere? What did she want?"
"I don't know what excuse she made for calling," I answered. "Sheseems to be going round the neighborhood making inquiries for PhilipMaltabar. She has quite made up her mind that he is the man who killedher brother. She says----"
"Yes----"
"That she is quite sure that he is here--somewhere--in hiding. She islike a ferret, she will not rest until she has found him."
He struck the bedclothes vigorously with his white, clenched hand.
"It is false! She will never find him. Philip Maltabar is dead."
"I wish that we could make her believe it," I answered. "But wecannot. We shall never be able to."
"Why not?"
"Because it is not true. Philip Maltabar is not dead. She knows it."
"What do you mean?" he said hoarsely, raising himself from thepillows. "Who says that he is not dead? Who dares to say that PhilipMaltabar still lives?"
"I do!" I answered, firmly. "It is you who have called yourselfPhilip Maltabar in days that have gone by. It is you for whom she islooking."
He did not attempt to deny it. I had spoken decisively, with the airof one who knows. He fell back and half closed his eyes. "Does shesuspect it?" he whispered. "Is that why she waited? Is that why shecame here?"
"I do not think so," I answered. "Yet she certainly does believe thatPhilip Maltabar is somewhere here in hiding. She suspects me more thanany one."
"You!--how you?"
"She has an idea that he is a friend of mine--that I am shielding himand trying to keep you away from her, lest she should learn the truthfrom you. That is what she thinks at present."
"Cannot you persuade her that there is no such person round here asPhilip Maltabar?" he murmured. "She can make her own inquiries, shecan consult directories, the police, the residents. It ought not to behard to convince her."
"It is impossible," I answered, shortly.
"Impossible! Why?"
"Because she has seen the photograph, in Adelaide Fortress's cabinet."
"What!"
The exclamation seemed to come from his parched, dry lips like apistol shot. His burning eyes were fixed upon me incredulously. Irepeated my words.
"She saw his photograph at the Yellow House. It was in the secretaperture of a cabinet. She touched the spring unwittingly, and it flewopen."
My father turned over and groaned.
"When Fate works like this, the end is not far off," he cried, in abroken voice. "God help us!"
I fell on my knees by the bedside, and took one of his white hands inmine.
"Father," I said, "I have asked you many questions which you have notanswered. This one you must answer. I will not live here any longer inignorance of it. I am your daughter, and there are some things which Ihave a right to know. Tell me why this woman has your likeness?"
"My likeness!" he said fiercely. "Who dares say that it is mylikeness?"
"It is your likeness, father," I answered. "I saw it, and there can beno mistake. She has admitted it, but she will tell me nothing."
He shook h
is head.
"It may happen that you will know some day," he answered, faintly,"but not from me--never from me."
I tightened my clasp upon his hands.
"Do not say that," I continued, firmly. "There is something bindingyou three together, yet keeping you all apart. You and Bruce Devilleand Adelaide Fortress. What is it? A secret? Some common knowledgeof an unhappy past? I alone am ignorant of it; I cannot bear it anylonger. If you do not tell me what it is I must go away. I am not achild--I will know!"
He lay quite still and looked at me sorrowfully.
"There is a secret," he said, slowly, "but it is not mine totell. Have patience, child, and some day you will understand. Onlyhave patience."
"I have been patient long enough," I answered, bitterly. "I cannot bepatient any longer. If I cannot be trusted with this secret now, Ishall go away; Alice can take my place here. I have been at home solittle, that you will not miss me. I will go back to Dresden. I havemade up my mind."
He caught hold of my hands and held them with burning fingers.
"A little while," he pleaded, looking at me piteously. "Staywith me a little while longer. Very soon you may know, but notyet--not--yet----"
"Why not?"
"The secret is not mine alone. It is not for me to tell. Be patient,Kate! For God's sake, be patient!"
"I have been patient long enough," I murmured. "I shall go away. I cando no good here. I am not even trusted."
"A little longer," he pleaded. "Be patient a little longer. It is aterrible burden which has been placed on my shoulders. Help me to bearit. Stay with me."
"You have Alice----"
"Alice is good, but she is not strong. She is no help--and some day Imay need help."
"I do not wish to leave you," I cried, with trembling lips. "I do notwant to go away. I want to do all I can to help you--yet--imagineyourself in my place! I am groping about in the dark corners, I wantthe light."
He looked up at me with a faint, weary smile.
"Child," he said, "you are like your mother was. Won't you believethat I am helpless? If you really mean that you will leave me if I donot tell you, well, you must go. Even if you go straight to that womanand tell her all that you know--even then my lips are sealed. Thissecret is not mine to tell. When you do know, it will not be I whoshall tell you. All I can say is, go if you must, but for God's sakestay!"
His face was ineffably piteous. I looked at his worn, anxious face,and my heart grew soft. A lump rose up in my throat, and my eyes weredim. I stooped down and kissed him.
"I will stay," I whispered. "I will not ask you any more questions,and I will not leave whilst you need me--whilst you are ill."
His lips touched mine, and a little sob was caught in his throat. Ilooked into his face through the mist of my blinding tears, and Iwondered. The light on his features was almost spiritual.
The Yellow House; Master of Men Page 17