her action, and the earnestness of herconduct, immediately softened his rage. For a while he said nothing.She lingered with her arms still clinging to him, and appealed: "Raife,why, I verily believe you are angry with me. Don't, dear Raife. Itwill break my heart if you, my hero, my own true love, should be angrywith me."
Then, as the cloud gradually removed from his stern countenance, shecontinued, pleadingly: "What have I done, Raife? Was it only thatstupid talk about Mr Brookman's American voice? Why, we always talkthat way over there. If you had been away for a long time, wouldn't youlike to hear an English voice, even if it was only dear old Edgson's, orone of your grooms' or gardeners'?"
The conquest was nearly complete. Raife's smile was only half-heartedas yet, however, as he said, in a tone of remonstrance: "Yes, but theytell me you have been riding in that fellow's aeroplane."
Hilda laughed merrily as she said: "Of course I have. You dear heart,you don't have to be jealous about that. You great, big, brave darling.You go up in one, and you will find there's no time for courting whenyou are chug-chugging through the air at sixty to seventy miles an hour.You only want to court the sky, or else the clouds, then!"
He stopped and gazed into her eyes, and a gradual feeling of shame cameover him, as it dawned upon him that his jealousy had savoured far moreof the plebeian than the patrician. He was receiving a lesson from thispure-spirited, ingenuous American girl. She might be impulsive, but shewas frank and pure-spirited. She had given up her love to her hero andshe would be true to him.
He stooped lower and kissed her, saying: "Forgive me, Hilda. I wasjealous, and I was a veritable fool. There seems to be a kink in mycharacter somewhere, and you have made me ashamed of myself."
The reconciliation was nearly complete, and the first quarrel of thelovers had ended. Would there be any further rifts in the lute, or wasthere to be perfect peace after this ill-considered hurricane ofjealousy?
Harold Brookman sailed through the clouds on his northward journey toHendon aerodrome. He arrived without further mishap, and was receivedwith acclamation by his comrades of the air. He was not aware of howimminent had been the quarrel between himself and his host, Sir RaifeRemington. Nor was he aware of the unreasoning ferocity of the otherman's jealousy.
The two lovers wandered, arm in arm, through the gardens. Theirhappiness was apparently restored, but Hilda Muirhead had received thefirst shock to her ideals. The wound was there. Would it be allowed toheal for ever, or would the malignant curse of the long years ago enterinto her young life also?
Their progress was slow, and there was little conversation between them.Here and there a gardener saluted them, and inwardly envied the youngmaster and his bride "that was to be." Lady Remington watched them fromthe library window as, occasionally, they came into view. To her, also,happiness had, in part, returned after the distressing incidents of themorning. Her heart ached for her wayward son, and the future wasfraught with danger. She loved Hilda already with a mother's love, andshe was very anxious lest Raife's vagaries should destroy the peace ofthe young girl's life. She descended the broad staircase and met themas they sauntered along the terrace. She was the first to speak, withthe intuitive knowledge that, by doing so, she might save embarrassment.She addressed herself to Raife:
"Wasn't it strange, Raife, that Mr Brookman should come fromCincinnati, and be married to Hilda's old college friend? What was hername, Hilda?"
Raife winced, blushed, and stammered: "You didn't tell me he wasmarried."
Hilda replied, with some show of spirit: "No, Raife, you didn't give mea chance. In any case, I don't see that need make any difference. IfMr Brookman, or any other fellow countryman in distress, wereunmarried, I should feel it my duty to be civil to them."
Every word, uttered with an accentuated intonation, was a stab to Raife,who cursed himself for his foolish impetuosity.
Hilda concluded: "Yes, Harold Brookman married my college chum, LottieDevine. They've been married about four years. They have two childrenand are very happy. Lottie wouldn't be my chum if she were not a nicegirl, and if Harold Brookman were not a nice man, he wouldn't havemarried Lottie. He's over here training for a Transatlantic air race,and I hope he'll win."
Raife Remington's discomfiture was complete.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
ANOTHER MYSTERIOUS VISITOR IN THE NIGHT.
Long after Hilda had retired to bed one night, Raife and Mr Muirheadhaving put on their heavy motor coats, sat enjoying the moonlight, andchatting over the events of the day. There was much to talk of, forthere were many questions of settlements, entailing long consultationswith lawyers. No reference was made between the two men to Raife'sjealousy of the last few days. An interview was arranged with MrKellaway, the family solicitor, and the late Sir Henry Remington's oldfriend. The services of Messrs. Gordon and Gordon, the solicitors ofEdinburgh, whom the late Sir Henry Remington had chosen to make hiswill, would have to be enlisted.
Mr Muirhead explained that, whereas, he did not own valuable estateslike Aldborough Park, his financial interests in American securitieswere extensive and sound. He proposed to endow Hilda with enough of hisworldly wealth to enable her to play the Lady Bountiful among Raife'speasantry and elsewhere, and, at the same time, support herself in thosedirections in which every independent-minded American girl isaccustomed.
They were talking earnestly in this manner, when Mr Muirhead remarked,"Your servants are about late, to-night. I suppose that's a gamekeeper.I haven't much knowledge of such things. We don't preserve game in theUnited States--at least," he added, "not to the extent that you appearto do."
Raife glanced in the direction indicated, and he saw a figure creepingstealthily in the dark shadows of the clump of cedars and pines. "Thatis not a gamekeeper," he said.
He rose, followed by Mr Muirhead, and started in the direction of theretreating figure, which immediately commenced to run. Raife threw offhis motor coat, exclaiming: "Heavens! I wish I had my revolver."
Mr Muirhead, as is the practice of many Americans, had his. It was anold-fashioned Deringer. He handed it to Raife, saying: "Take mine."
Then began a chase, but the retreating figure had, by now, a good start.Down the beech avenue for a hundred yards, then through a gap into acroft, skirting a hedgerow and over a gate at the end, Raife arrived intime to see his quarry jump into a grey car. There were two shots, oneat Raife as he clambered over the gate, and one from Raife as the carsped down a side lane that led to the main road. Raife was near enoughto see that the figure he had hunted was the omnipresent phantom Apache,who had haunted him half-way over Europe and Egypt.
In the morning Hilda appeared fresh and bright, garbed in a gown of greytweed. She and Raife were strolling down a long, straight path, wherenectarines and peaches were trained against a high, grey-red brick wall,buttressed and lichen-covered on top. On the other side were espalierapple-trees and all those things which go to make an old English garden.They passed through an arch in the wall into an orchard. The blossomof an orchard in springtime is the most inspiring sight that humanitycan wish for. There is hope in every petal.
They had talked lightly of many things. Most of their conversationpertained to the beauty of everything around. Hilda had thrown away thepaper that she had found under the window of her bedroom, but in spiteof her determination to forget the incident, some strange impulseimpelled her to allude to it now, although many days had passed. So shesaid: "Oh, I say, Raife! In my room, the first night I was here, Ipicked up a piece of paper. On it was typewritten something like this:`It is dangerous to rob.' It was placed under the window that opens onto the balcony. I suppose some one who stayed there before me was fondof texts and that sort of thing, but it struck me as strange."
Raife's face clouded. The supreme happiness of that spring morning,with its exquisite environment, had vanished. He had practicallyforgotten his chase after the elusive Apache the night before. He hadbeen happy for a brief period while among his
own on a superb springmorning--and he now counted Hilda among his own. Why should he bepersistently pursued by a malevolent fate? He laughed at the incident,and said: "Yes, I expect that is so. You see, I have been away so long.I expect mother has had some dear old lady staying here, and shedropped one of her texts, and the maid did not notice it."
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Doctor Malsano sat in his den. It might be called a studio, a library,a laboratory, for he was a master of many crafts. A maid knocked at hisdoor and announced, "There is a man named Lesigne wishes to see you,sir."
"Ask him in," snapped the doctor.
A pale-faced young man, whose features resembled a combination ofcunning and
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