Flowering Wilderness

“Yes?”

“Listen!”

Again that faint creaking.

“It began above,” whispered Fleur; “I think you ought to see.”

He got out of bed, put on his dressing-gown and slippers, and, opening the door quietly, looked out. Nothing on the landing, but the sound of someone moving in the hall! He slipped down the stairs.

There was a dim figure by the front door, and he said gently:

“Is that you, Di

“Yes.”

Michael moved forward. Her figure left the door, and he came on her sitting on the coat ‘sarcophagus.’ He could just see that her hand was raised, holding a scarf over her head and face.

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“No. I wanted some air.”

Michael checked his impulse to turn the light up. He moved forward, and in the darkness stroked her arm.

“I didn’t think you’d hear,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Dared he speak of her trouble? Would she hate him for it or be grateful?

“My dear,” he said, “anything that’ll do you good.”

“It’s silly. I’ll go up again.”

Michael put his arm round her; he could feel that she was fully dressed. After a moment she relaxed against him, still holding the scarf so that it veiled her face and head. He rocked her gently– the least little movement side to side. Her body slipped till her head rested against his shoulder. Michael ceased to rock, ceased almost to breathe. As long as she would, let her rest there!

CHAPTER 35

When Wilfrid left Adrian’s room at the Museum, he had no plan or direction in his mind, and walked along like a man in one of those dreams where the theme is repeated over and over, and the only end is awakening. He went down the Kingsway to the Embankment, came to Westminster Bridge, turned on to it, and stood leaning over the parapet. A jump, and he would be out of it! The tide was ru

He stood there a long time, leaning on the parapet, watching the bright water and the craft creeping by; and every now and then a passing Cockney would stand beside him, as if convinced that he was looking out at something of sensational interest. And he was! He was seeing his own life finally ‘in the blue,’ unmoored, careering like the Flying Dutchman on far waters to the far ends of the world. But at least without need for bravado, kowtowing, appeal, or pretence, under his own flag, and that not at half-mast.

“I’ve ‘eard,” said a voice, “that lookin’ at the water long enough will make ’em jump sometimes.”

Wilfrid shuddered and walked away. God! How raw and jagged one had got! He walked off the bridge past the end of Whitehall into St. James’s Park, skirted the long water up to the geraniums and the large stone males, females, and fruits in front of the Palace, passed into the Green Park, and threw himself down on the dry grass. He lay there perhaps an hour on his back with his hand over his eyes, grateful for the sun soaking into him. When he got up he felt dizzy, and had to stand some minutes to get his balance before moving towards Hyde Park Corner. He had gone but a little way when he started and swerved off to the right. Coming towards him, nearer the riding track, were a young woman and a little boy. Di

“I’m off early tomorrow morning, Stack. To Siam. I probably shan’t be coming back.”

“Not at all, sir?”

“Not at all.”

“Would you like me to come too, sir?”

Wilfrid put his hand on the henchman’s shoulder.

“Jolly good of you, Stack; but you’d be bored to death.”

“Excuse me, sir, but you’re hardly fit to travel alone at present.”

“Perhaps not, but I’m going to.”

The henchman bent his eyes on Wilfrid’s face. It was a grave intent gaze, as if he were committing that face finally to heart.

“I’ve been with you a long time, sir.”

“You have, Stack; and nobody could have been nicer to me. I’ve made provision in case anything happens to me. You’d prefer to go on here, I expect, keeping the rooms for when my father wants them.”

“I should be sorry to leave here, if I can’t come with you. Are you sure about that, sir?”

Wilfrid nodded. “Quite sure, Stack. What about Foch?”

Stack hesitated, then said with a rush: “I think I ought to tell you, sir, that when Miss Cherrell was here last—the night you went off to Epping—she said that if you was to go away at any time, she would be glad to have the dog. He’s fond of her, sir.”

Wilfrid’s face became a mask.

“Take him his run,” he said, and went on up the stairs.

His mind was once again in turmoil. Murder! But it was done! One did not bring a corpse to life with longing or remorse. The dog, if she wanted him, was hers, of course! Why did women cling to memories, when all they should wish should be to forget? He sat down at his bureau and wrote:

“I am going away for good. Foch comes to you with this. He is yours if you care to have him. I am only fit to be alone. Forgive me if you can, and forget me.—WILFRID.”

He addressed it, and sat on at the bureau slowly turning his head and looking round the room. Under three months since the day he had come back. He felt as if he had lived a lifetime. Di

Her smile, her eyes, her hair! Di

“MY DEAR FATHER,—

“England doesn’t seem to agree with me, and I am starting tomorrow for Siam. My bank will have my address from time to time. Stack will keep things going here as usual, so that the rooms will be ready whenever you want them. I hope you’ll take care of yourself. I’ll try and send you a coin for your collection now and then. Good-bye.

“Yours affectionately,

“WILFRID.”