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BEFORE THE WIND
Janet Laing


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BEFORE THE WIND
d. m. 1. Benedict
June 21+ /17





BEFORE
THE WIND
BY
JANET LAING

E. P. DUTTON COMPANY
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
681 FIFTH AVENUE


TO
FRANCIS M. CAIRD, Esq., F.R.C.S., EDIN.
REGIUS PROFESSOR OF CLINICAL SURGERY AT THE
UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH
AND, AT THE TIME IT WAS BEING WRITTEN,
“SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE,”
THIS RECORD OF THE WRACK-STRAWS
TS
DEDICATED


CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER
I. IN WHICH A TAG OF SEA-DRIFT SHARES RESPONSI-
BILITY WITH THE KAISER . . . . . . .
II. WHICH TREATS AMONGST OTHER THINGS OF RUGS AND
ROSE PARLOURS . . . . . . . . . .
III. IN WHICH FOR THE FIRST TIME MENTION IS MADE
OF THE WRACK-STRAWS . . . . . . .
WHICH BEGINS WITH POLITE LITERATURE AND ENDS
WITH AN ORDINARY TAPER . . . . . .
IN WHICH BRITAIN GAINS A NEW RECRUIT AND
GERMANY LOSES ONE . . . . . . .
WHICH GIVES SOME ACCOUNT OF AN ENCHANTED
WOOD AND OF WHAT BEFEL A HERO THERE . . 115
VII. IN WHICH ANN CHARTERIS FALLS FOUL OF TWO
WRACK-STRAWS IN ONE EVENING . . . . . 130
VIII. IN WHICH TWO MORE WRACK-STRAWS ANNOUNCE
THEIR ARRIVAL INSTEAD OF ONE, AND JAMES
GREEN RECEIVES A MIDNIGHT MESSAGE . . . 156
IN WHICH MRS. DODSWORTH IS VERY NEARLY LATE
FOR BREAKFAST AND ANN RECEIVES A MID-
NIGHT COMMUNICATION . . . . . . . . 181
IN WHICH MISS ELDERSHAW ATTRACTS MORE ATTEN-
TION THAN SHE HAS EVER DONE BEFORE IN THE
WHOLE COURSE OF HER LIFE . . . . . . 205
XI. IN WHICH MISS CAROLINE IS FORCED TO EVOLVE
ANOTHER DEA . . . . . . . . . . 227
XII. IN WHICH TWO PEOPLE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE WRACK-
STRAWS ARRIVE AT BARTONSMUIR . . . . 252
vii


BEFORE THE WIND
CHAPTER THE FIRST
IN WHICH A TAG OF SEA-DRIFT SHARES RESPONSIBILITY
WITH THE KAISER
It was a dark November night.
A man who, but for the accident of his birth, would have
cut a grotesque and insignificant figure on this planet, was
sitting in Berlin carefully guarded from intrusion, dreaming
fantastic dreams of world-empire.
Because of those dreams thousands upon thousands of
better men, out to materialise them, were sacrificing all that
they had once held dear and sacred; flames from desolated
homes were lighting up the gloomy heavens; fair lands
were lying waste under cover of the darkness: and a tired
young woman, by name Ann Charteris, was driving across
London from Victoria to St. Pancras.
She was on her way to Scotland to take a post as com-
panion and passing at the same time from the known to
the unknown. Behind her lay seventeen sunny years of
youth and one more which had been as the valley of the
shadow of death to her.
In the autumn of 1914 she had been at school, a famous
school, all spacious beauty and high tradition. In the
teeth of the war and of all that it might mean for them her
mother had sent her back there after the fateful summer
holidays.
"We'll find the money somehow," the dauntless woman
had said. "Now that Jim has enlisted it may fall to you to
carry out our plans for his future.”


10
BEFORE THE WIND
Ann knew how ambitious these plans were, and how
passionately they had been cherished. Despair had seized
her when she thought of her powers as compared with those
of her brilliant brother. At the same time, however, pride
had arisen within her and a determination to justify her
beloved mother's belief in her.
Her father was a doctor and had been a notable one in
his own place until three years before, after a bad illness,
he had had to sell his practice and retire to the Alum Bagh,
a quaint summer pleasure-house on the south coast, which
had been left him about that time by an Anglo-Indian
uncle. This old white villa with green outside shutters
stood about a mile from the little sea-port of Lowhampton,
and only the breadth of a road separated the sands from
the wall surrounding its wind-swept garden set about with
tamarisk bushes.
It was a loveable dilapidated abode with something de-
bonair in its appearance even in the worst of weathers.
"It's like me,” said its new owner to Dr. Warren of Low-
hampton whom he had summoned just after his arrival to
give him a general overhauling. “It's in its last stages, but
it's still cheerful.”
Dr. Warren had been a fellow-student. When he had
finished his examination, he sat back silently in his chair,
and there he remained for a moment looking at his stetho-
scope with a curious expression on his handsome weather.
beaten face.
Then raising his eyes he met those of his patient fixed
upon him with such evident enjoyment of his shocked state
of mind that, in spite of every reason against it, he could
not help his gravity relaxing.
“You are an extraordinary man, James Charteris," he
said laughing a little.
“That's right, David," said his patient. "I know quite
well what you are thinking, so that there is no need to say
it, is there? And besides, believe me, sympathy is not the
treatment. I never found it answer in these cases. What
:
not mind that, inuch evident met those of hi


BEFORE THE WIND
11
you've got to do, sir, is to help me to die decently, and the
only way to do that is to ignore things altogether. So never
ask me how I feel. You know how I am bound to feel.
But come and see me often and have a smoke when you
have time, and be ready always when I am at my tether's
end to come and stand by the women.”
It was from her father that Ann at school received a
letter one afternoon about a year before this record opens.
It had been a day of relief and rejoicing after many weeks of
heavy anxiety. The tide of invasion had been turned back
from Paris. The retreat from Mons was at an end. A girl
had come in waving a letter from her brother who had come
safe through everything, and was sure the war would be
over by Christmas.
“And here's a letter for you, too, Ann," she added,
handing it over joyously.
Ann was surprised. It had been her seventeenth birthday
the day before and she had received quite a packet of letters
from home including one from her father who did not write
often. Yet here was another from him. She tore open the
envelope. Her father's letters were always a pleasure to
read, long and gossipy, full of amusing little odds and ends
of news.
This one, however, was very short.
"My own little Ann," it ran. "Your dear mother died
very suddenly an hour ago. We must be glad that she was
spared illness. At breakfast-time she seemed well and
happy. Jim has just arrived on three days' leave, and is
taking this to the post. We need you badly, my dear. ..."
Afterwards Ann recalled the feeling of utter surprise
that came first, as of one who has received a mortal blow
from a beloved hand, her sharp sense of astonishment that
she who had opened the door for her to endless vistas
should have failed her now on the very threshold. It kept
her calm and composed during the interview with the head-
mistress and all the subsequent good-byes.


12
BEFORE THE WIND
“What a queer girl Ann is!” the girls said that evening
when she was already far away. “She doesn't seem to
mind a bit about her mother."
But the head-mistress had seen deeper. She, too, had
passed that way and had not seemed to mind a bit either.
“My dear," she had said, holding the girl's cold hands in
hers while her strong, clever, resolute face changed and
softened and was as Ann neyer before had seen it, "you
will need all your courage soon, and God's at the back of
that, remember.”
Her father, very grey and haggard, met her at the door
of the Alum Bagh.
"It is no longer herself, my dear," he said later when
they stood together in the upstairs room looking down at
the beautiful face so aloof, so strange in its indifference.
“I can feel her with us telling us that, trying to comfort us,
eager, desperate. We must not drag her spirit down. We
must do our best together.”
And Ann had tried her level best, but it had been very
hard for both father and daughter in the first weeks.
They had begun to adjust themselves, however, when
like another bolt out of heaven came the news that Jim's
regiment was ordered to the front.
The war was not over though Christmas had come and
gone and the light-hearted prophet of victory was in his
grave near Béthune, Everywhere there was arming for
battle. Every day there were farewells.
Jim wrote in great excitement and eager for the fray.
"And she would not have had it otherwise," said the
father, “though I believe the thought of his going helped
to kill her. Well, we must rise to this new occasion, Ann,
my girl.”
So again to the best of her ability Ann rose, and the
rising turned the school-girl into a woman, changing her
affection for her two charges into a passionate devotion.
They were so helpless and so dependent upon her. It
my 5!!! her. Ough is not harment and


BEFORE THE WIND
13
broke her heart to think of her inadequacy. But she spent
herself in their service to the last ounce of her capacity.
She was everything that she could be to them.
Jim tried to say something of this to her before he left,
when he came home for one night's leave to say good-bye.
At the darkening when the father, worn out with the
sorrow of parting, was dozing in his chair by the fire, the
brother and sister strolled out together into the garden.
On the low white wall beyond the tamarisk hedge they
leaned side by side looking out over the water. It was
mild and still. There was not so much wind as to stir the
feathery branches of the bushes behind them. A full moon
was making a glittering pathway across the sea. With a
shiver Ann remembered that at the other end of that fairy
road two long lines of determined men were lying in wait
to kill each other. Even now as though in response to her
thought three moving red lights appeared on the horizon,
ammunition-transport-boats laden with broken guns for
repair waiting there for the tide to rise and bring them up
the river to the harbour.
For a long time the brother and sister talked there
together of trivial things, conscious all the while of the
depths of the unspoken, and a sense of utter incompetence
was growing upon the girl when Jim suddenly laid his big
hard hand on her shoulder.
"You've been a brick, Ann," he said huskily. "If any-
body could have made up for-her, you would have done it.”
"Oh, Jim " Ann began, and then could say no more.
"It will be harder for you than for me,” Jim went on
steadily. “But I want you to know that it's all the world
to a man to have many one like you to back him."
He paused, but Ann was still speechless. As by an
inspiration from the mother who was gone she realised in
that moment what this departure might mean for the boy
at her side, so wistful amid all his eager courage, so beauti-
ful, so strong, with such depths of hidden tenderness in
him. She had a glimpse of what life in another time might
the ti waiting the pert-boats laden appeared


14
BEFORE THE WIND
have meant for him, as lover, husband, father, and of what
it now might mean for him. Later when she had time to
think she raged at the reasons for it all. That night there
was no room in her heart for anything but Jim himself, her
Jim, her mother's Jim, who might be going to mutilation
or death.
The grip on her shoulder tightened suddenly.
"Try if you can not to cry,” said Jim. "I–I can't
bear it.”
Ann dashed away her tears.
“I'm not crying, dear," she said. "I only wish I was
going with you. It's grand for you to be a man."
“Yes. Isn't it?” said Jim all aglow again in a moment.
“Isn't it?"
No letters in all the breadth of Britain were more im-
patiently awaited, more joyfully received, more eagerly
read than Jim's were. Ann would watch for the post-girl
coming along the sandy road from the town, and run out
to meet her at the white gate between the tamarisks. In
their afternoon walks at first she and her father always
went in the direction of Lowhampton so that they might
meet the girls the sooner. A time soon came, however,
when the letters arrived at longer intervals, and, that none
might witness their disappointment, they no longer went
to meet her. Sometimes many days would elapse without
any word coming from beyond the sea save the meagre
censored messages in the newspapers telling of the huge
struggle in which lives seemed to be of no account except
as a means of destroying other lives.
“Ann, my dear,” said the father at last after a long
blank three weeks, "we must pull ourselves together, my
girl. It can do our boy no good to go grizzling about him
day after day. What we've got to do now is to send him
thoughts of courage. That will be of more use to him than
all our parcels.”


BEFORE THE WIND
15
Wonderfully often after that they did rise to the exalted
plane from whence alone thoughts of courage could be
sent forth, and whether they did or not they tried to cheer
each other. They worked hard too. One night Dr. Warren
found his patient wrestling with large wooden knitting-
pins.
"Swabs for the hospitals, sir,” he said looking up at him
gaily. “They shall see that James Charteris can still do
something for them.”
“Isn't father wonderful?” said Ann afterwards when
as usual she went downstairs with their visitor to lock the
front-door after his departure.
But the doctor, though he did not say so, thought her
the more wonderful of the two. He hardly ever spoke to
her, but he had long since taken to watching her from
behind the clouds of tobacco smoke as he sat talking with
his old friend. He could do this the more easily because
she generally read to herself while she was knitting, judging
him apparently to be interested only in his patient. He
liked to see her slim brown hands busy among her knitting-
needles, her flower-like face with its crown of chestnut hair
bent gravely over her book in complete unconsciousness of
his observation. It was no saint's face either. The grey
eyes under the level brows, for all their abstraction at times,
were very human. They could twinkle with merriment
and flash with fire. About the corners of the mouth, too,
there was always humour lurking.
"She's a chip of the old block with her mother's beauty
too," the doctor would say to himself as he wended his way
homewards, and in his strenuous day-times even a distant
glimpse of the Alum Bagh with its white wall and its
tamarisk trees would warm his heart like a cordial.
It pleased him too, though he knew that it was selfish
of him to be pleased, that the dwellers there had so few
other visitors. Ann's mother had not troubled to make
many friends in Lowhampton, and those she had were
mostly old people who found the long sandy road too much
glimpseards, and in his say to himself as her mother's bea


16
BEFORE THE WIND
for them. Everybody besides was too busy with war-work
for any call-making. The energetic wife and daughters of
Mr. Atterbury, the family lawyer, who had been commanded
by him to make friends with Ann, contented themselves
with asking her to join a Red Cross work-party, and as
she could not accept their invitation that intimacy came
to nothing. Mr. Atterbury himself was too busy to come
as often as he would have wished to chat with cheerful
Charteris as he called him. His junior partner was in the
field and he was over head and ears in business.
There remained the vicar, but he had just been made a
war-chaplain and was too much absorbed in the military
part of his flock to take much interest in the other. His
only motive indeed for calling on civilians at that time
seemed to be to get them to help him to fill up the pro-
grammes of music which he had rashly pledged himself
to provide for the soldiers every Thursday evening. There-
fore when he had asked Ann if she sang or played or recited
or acted and had been answered in the negative, the in-
habitants of the Alum Bagh, for all the benefit of clergy they
received, might, as Mary the maid said, have been black
savages.
All this was nothing to Ann, however, for it was being
alone with her father that she liked best, when he read
aloud while she knitted, and their chairs were drawn up
to a great fire of drift-wood. In long silences they would
sit listening to the sighing of the sea and the wind whisper-
ing in the tamarisk bushes. The spirit-world would seem
very near them then, and the things unseen the only things
that mattered.
Thus refreshed from time to time they held on to hope
whether the letters came or did not come. At last, however,
they ceased coming altogether.
"Oh, daddy,” said Ann one night when months had
passed without a word, “I'm afraid I'm so afraid that
we'll have no more letters.”
"Then, my dear,” he returned, "if visible communica-


18
BEFORE THE WIND
trying to take hold of hers. Looking up she found his eyes
open and looking at her. There was even a faint glimmer
in them of the old gaiety.
Afraid to speak she patted his hand with her free one.
The stiff lips moved and she bent down to listen.
“Thoughts of courage he whispered.
“Yes, daddy, yes,” she answered eagerly.
But no more words came and he seemed to fall into a
quiet slumber.
Ann after a time slept also. Returning about midnight
Dr. Warren found them still hand clasped in hand.
Ann was awakened by his touch on her shoulder.
“Miss Charteris,” he began, "your father "
“He is dead,” said Ann quietly as soon as she saw the
doctor's face. “I knew he was dying just now when he
spoke to me.”
“Then he has died as he wished to die-conscious," said
Dr. Warren. "Thank God for that, Miss Charteris."
“Yes,” said Ann again with the feeling as though some
one else were speaking.
The doctor watched her for a moment irresolutely, as she
still kneeled motionless looking at the quiet face upon the
bed.
Then going out softly he closed the door behind him.
"Sympathy is not the treatment,” he quoted with a
twinge of remembrance.
On the evening of the third day after this, Ann was seated
alone in the darkening sitting-room trying to realise what
Mr. Atterbury the lawyer had been saying to her during
the last half-hour. From much that was incomprehensible
to her this at least had emerged, that the war rolling on its
course had torn not only her loved ones from her, but her
means of living, and her home itself, the dear old Alum
Bagh, the place of memories. Her mother's income had died
with her, and her plans had been cut short in their midst.
Bold strategist and clever manager as she had been, she yet


BEFORE THE WIND
19
had taken no account of anything so unlikely as her own
immediate death. Of what had been left the war had made
short work. They had been living latterly upon capital.
There was literally no money. Even the sale of the house
and of all it contained would not be sufficient to pay up
everything. It was unlikely indeed that the Alum Bagh,
out of repair as it was, would sell at all just now. So Mr.
Atterbury had said.
“Yes, but I am there, Mr. Atterbury,” Ann had replied
almost immediately. "I shall of course make it my busi-
ness to pay everything as soon as possible.”
Mr. Atterbury had blinked kindly at her then over his
eye-glasses. He had been hearing rumours of late. Did
this speech of Ann's mean that Lowhampton for once was
not talking absolute nonsense?
"I am glad to hear that you have prospects,” he had
begun tentatively.
"I have no prospects at all,” Ann had replied bluntly.
“No prospects of skilled work at least. I have no certifi-
cates. I am not trained for anything. But I think I could
be a companion.”
"I'll vouch for that, Miss Charteris," the lawyer had said
warmly. Ann's eyes had filled then with sudden tears, but
she had forced them back.
“Do you know of any one wanting a companion im-
mediately?" she had said as steadily as she could.
Then Mr. Atterbury had considered for a moment, his
eyes bent on the fire and a strange expression on his coun-
tenance.
At last, however, as though he had made up his mind, he
had risen briskly.
“I almost think I do,” he had said. “Will you leave me
to manage the matter?”.
Half-an-hour afterwards Dr. Warren, seated at his belated
dinner-table, swore to himself as the maid announced that
Mr. Atterbury was in the consulting-room.


20
BEFORE THE WIND
mu? Ah, yes, for ther day to Mrsanion which
“What the devil does he want just now?” he said.
Nevertheless he rose and went to him.
His temper was not improved by hearing that all the
Atterburys were in the best of health, and that what the
lawyer had come for at that untimely hour was to inquire
about the post of lady's companion which the doctor had
spoken of the other day to Mrs. Atterbury.
"Ah, yes, for my old friends the Miss Bartons of Bartons-
muir?" said the doctor, affecting an interest he did not feel.
"You must remember the Miss Bartons here years ago
rich hospitable old people with a place of their own in
Scotland. They used to come here every year at one time
and live for months at the hotel.”
“Of course, of course,” said Mr. Atterbury. “And there
was a niece Lottie, too, I recollect that drove all of us young
men for miles round crazy, and who used to ride to hounds
with you. What has become of her?”
"She married,” said the doctor shortly. "Did you say
you had heard of a companion for the Miss Bartons?” he
added.
His face betrayed nothing even to the keen eyes watch-
ing him.
Mr. Atterbury adjusted his eye-glasses.
“Yes,” he said. “I have heard of somebody wanting
a post of that kind immediately, because she's proud and
hard-up and in need of money to pay her debts with.”
"Do I know her?” said the doctor.
“Yes. Miss Charteris.”
This time the doctor distinctly changed countenance.
“What?” he exclaimed. "Surely you don't mean
that?”
“You were a friend of her father's," said Mr. Atterbury,
"and in any case I am betraying no confidence. She gave
me leave to make inquiries for her, though she did not
know that I was coming here. There is no dishonour about
the debts. They are simply the result of these cursed times.
But she considers their existence a slur upon the memory


BEFORE THE WIND
21
of those that are gone, and she cannot rest till they are
paid up."
"But, Atterbury, is there nothing?” exclaimed Dr. War-
ren. “I thought you were in charge of their affairs?”.
"So I am," said Mr. Atterbury, “but you can't make
money of nothing. Every single thing they had money in has
either gone down half since the war or failed altogether.
I've done my best. I've tried all I could to save something.
But I'm no more to blame than a chauffeur who has lost
his master's motor in an avalanche.”
“But the house—the Alum Bagh-can't you sell that?”
"Not now certainly,” said Mr. Atterbury, "and you
know what it's like. A bad storm any night might strew it
along the shore. If it holds together till the war is over we
might get something from a mad artist for it perhaps.”
“Good Lord!” said the doctor.
After that there was silence till Mr. Atterbury rose and
slowly took up his hat from the table.
“Then may I tell Miss Charteris that I have heard of a
post for her?” he said.
"Yesoh, yes—certainly,” said the doctor rising also.
"I shall write to-night to the Miss Bartons. That is "
he paused for a moment. “I shall write to-night,” he re-
peated abruptly.
"I wonder if he really will,” said Mr. Atterbury to
himself as the door closed behind him and he went down
the steps.
And his mind, in spite of many distractions, kept occupy-
ing itself with this problem all the evening.
About two hours later Ann was still seated thinking in
her upstairs sitting-room. Twice Mary the maid had come
in, once with supper and once with the lighted lamp. Both
times Ann had sent her away. She wanted nothing. She
would rather be in the dark she said. Mary therefore, being
practical, had eaten the poached egg herself and left the
biscuits and the milk and the lighted lamp on the landing.


22
BEFORE THE WIND
Then feeling sleepy as she always did when the wind was
rumbling in the kitchen chimney, she had decided that, as
her mistress did not seem to need her, she might as well
retire for the night.
Ann, quite indifferent to what her handmaid did, leaned
on at her upstairs window. The gale was rising with the
tide. Out at sea a great storm was brewing. In the gather-
ing darkness the tamarisk trees were waving wild arms
skywards. She was watching them fascinated when the
garden gate banged and a tall figure crossed the garden.
A moment later the door-bell rang. It rang again after a
little, but no Mary answered it, for the good reason that
she, sensible girl, was by this time sound asleep. Ann rose
uncertainly, but footsteps were already on the stair and
she had guessed who her visitor was before she met him
on the landing. He had been her stand-by in her day of
trouble, her ever-ready, ever-willing helper. She was glad
he had come now. She had been too distraught before to
thank him. She had some books too of her father's to give
him. From the first he had refused money payment.
"This is good of you to come, doctor," she said. “And
on such a night,” she added, as another great gust shook
the house.
He carried the lamp into the sitting-room for her while
she drew the curtains across the windows. Then they sat
down facing each other beside the dying fire.
"I'm glad,” she began bravely, “to have this chance of
thanking you, Dr. Warren, for all you have done for us
My father— " But she could go no further. She paused,
striving to regain her composure.
"Miss Charteris," the doctor broke in, "indeed it is I
who have to thank you. I cannot say what your father's
friendship has been to me, nor what a blank in my own life
he leaves behind him, I shall miss him more than I can
tell you."
Ann sat still speechless, blinking back her tears, looking
younger and slighter than ever in her black dress, the dim
do prete you. Die Best composed to be


BEFORE THE WIND
23
bleakness of the room, the fierce turmoil of the storm
outside, emphasising her forlornness. Giant hands seemed
to be rattling at the rickety windows and threatening to
tear from her even their frail shelter.
"He was an inspiration to me," the doctor went on.
“His life during those last months was a triumph of spirit
that it did a man good to see. But,” he went on more
hurriedly, leaning forward, elbows on knees, his strong
capable hands clasping each other, “if there was anything
finer than his courage it was yours, Miss Charteris. Don't
try to speak—it was and seeing you bearing up so splen-
didly through everything hashas made me feel as if-as
if I couldn't do without you—that's all.”
"Don't try to speak yet,” he went on, as Ann sat look-
ing at him speechless now from sheer amazement. “I am
saying it badly. I am past all the romance of youth, and
old enough to be your father. But if you care to have the
the love of a man who needs you-needs you badly in his
lonely house and in his lonely life along there at Low-
hampton-it is yours. And so I have just come to ask you
if—if you will be my wife, dear,” he concluded.
No fervid eloquence could have moved Ann at that
moment as those simple words did. As she listened wonder-
ing she realised that at the heart of her grief was the sense
of not being needed any more by anybody. Yet ... His
wife . . . She sat staring at him scared and trembling.
The man's rugged face softened as her eyes met his
questioningly, and a great pity for her awoke within him.
This beautiful slim brown-haired creature, so proud yet
so sweet-was this the kind of wooing she should have had?
Ah, twenty years ago he would have done it better! He had
known how to woo then. He had been something like a
lover then, though it had all been for nothing.
"Oh, I know," he went on as Ann still was silent. "It's
not much I have to offer you. A country doctor- "
"My father was a country doctor too,” Ann broke in
suddenly, finding her voice all at once and dashing away the


24
BEFORE THE WIND
· impeding tears. “And I thank you-oh, I do thank you,"
she went on, "for—for honouring me—but, oh-you will
understand I know-you who always understand—I can't
marry you, I can't indeed.”
Here she fairly broke down.
But he rose and, going over to her, took her hands gently
away from her face and held them.
“Of course I understand," he said. "The idea is all new
to you. You had not thought of me like that.”
"No-only as a good kind friend,” she managed to say,
looking up at him through her tears, "the best and the
kindest.”
“Well now you must go on thinking of me as a friend,”
he said, "as a friend who expects nothing from you except
what you want to give, a friend who will be there thinking
of you and—caring for you always, and ready to help you
at any time when you have gone out into the world as you
mean to do-do you not?”
“You know?" she whispered.
“Yes, Atterbury came to me. He knew that I had been
inquiring about some one for just such a post as you want.
Two old friends of mine—Miss Bartons whom I used to
know long agowrote to me the other day. I should like to
think of you with them. They will pay you well and they
are kind souls. May I tell them you will come?"
“Yes. Oh, yes please,” she exclaimed all eagerness.
Then with a quick graceful, unexpected movement she
stooped suddenly and kissed his hand. .
"Ah, you are good!” she whispered.
It was only for a moment, but she had worked magic
unawares. It was the first touch of a woman's lips that he
had felt for twenty years. Fires that he had thought long
dead flickered from their old grey ashes suddenly. ...
Almost roughly he laid her hands down in her lap, and
turning away from her he began doing something to the lamp.
"I shall write to the Miss Bartons to-night then,” he said
after a moment. "How soon can you be ready to start?”
e one forliss Bartons. I sh


BEFORE THE WIND
.
25
.
"Any time," said Ann at once.
She turned to speak to him almost cheerful again.
Here once more was her father's friend, the familiar
adviser in emergency. Her tears for the moment were
dried. There were a hundred things she wanted to ask him
about the Miss Bartons. But now, just as she wanted to
talk, it seemed he wanted to leave her.
He was already on his way to the door.
“I must be off," he said. “There's a man very bad in
the cottages beyond you here. I should have been there an
hour since."
Heavy rain was lashing by this time on the windows.
“I'll come down,” said Ann rising, “and light you to the
door."
She had done it before many a time, but that night he
would not have it.
“No, nogood night,” he said without even thanking her.
"If she had come near me again,” he muttered as he
hurried away down the stair, “it's ten to one I would have
made an absolute fool of myself.”
Ann stood listening till the door banged behind him.
She was chilled and perplexed by this abrupt leave-taking.
Had she, after all, offended him she wondered.
Yet he had seemed to understand. ....
But men were like that, or so at least they said in books.
They wanted everything from you when they fell in love
with you or nothing, so that now the doctor whom she had
learned to trust was really nothing to her, or rather she was
nothing to him. ...
Sitting down again to think this out with the storm
howling round the house, it seemed to Ann to add the last
drop of bitterness to her returning misery. A terror seized
her of what she must now suffer. Already she could feel
the first chill of coming agony. Nowhere was there any
help. Even the household gods were alienated-her father's
chair drawn up to the round table, the lamp that had shone
on so many happenings, the eight-day clock that had ticked


26
BEFORE THE WIND
out so many hours. . . . They were no more hers either.
Nothing at all was hers.
A madness of grief came upon her. She could bear no
more to sit there. Yet the thought of bed was intolerable.
She felt she must make for the open. Without waiting to
take the lamp with her she fled down the stair. At the
door the hurricane fought against her, but she forced her
way with the strength of desperation. Hatless, coatless,
with her hair loosening behind her, she struggled down
the pathway to the gate. She could have told where it
was even in the darkness by its creaking. But though the
moon was half-hidden amid the flying clouds, she could
see the waving branches against the white background of
the breakers.
Once at the gate, however, she had to stay there clinging
to it. She could go no further. All the tempest seemed to
be meeting her, choking her breath from her, killing her,
annihilating her. A horror of great darkness took possession
of her as well, and shook her soul even as the storm-wind
was shaking her frail support. A sense of her utter im-
potence and insignificance overwhelmed her.
What was the good of battling on? she asked herself.
She would have to go under at last. Even Jim had had to,
and what was she in comparison? They had all gone-all
her loved ones into the darkness. Even her father himself-
and what had he known of what was beyond more than
any other? Had he only, like Socrates, wished to give her
an opinion to support her spirit in its passage into nothing-
ness? Had all the thoughts of courage and the rest been
but toys he had given her to play with?
No thoughts of courage were coming to her now. Would
those who loved her if they were anywhere at all have
suffered her to remain without them?
No—it was impossible.
They must be nowhere in existence then, except as that
of which she dared not think, in the cemetery at Low-
hampton, in that shallow grave behind the trenches. ...


BEFORE THE WIND
27
They as well as she had been tricked and deluded into
striving and praying and being brave, only to find out their
mistake at the end of it. ...
She had just reached this conclusion when a long frag-
ment of sea-tangle flying, landwards with the rain and the
foam struck her sharply across the eyelids.
At any other time she would hardly have noticed such a
thing, but at this moment it seemed an insult direct from
omnipotence, and clinging to the gate, blinded, maddened,
like a creature at bay-
“I hate You—bate You—hate You, God!” she shrieked
aloud into the universe. ...
A moment afterwards she started violently, for a hand
had been laid on her cold hand where it clutched the gate-
a strong warm kindly hand.
“Child, is that you?" said the doctor's voice.
It was quietly spoken, yet so near she could hear it
through the storm. The gate-latch clicked and next
moment he stood close beside her. She turned to him as
she had so long been accustomed to turn and forgetting
everything but her terror and her loneliness
“Oh, I am glad you have come!” she panted.
There was a moment's silence. Then the doctor spoke
again.
"I am on my way back from the cottage," he said. "It
is a wild night for you to be out."
Even as he spoke a terrific blast laden with sleet and
spray swept over them, and before it had passed, or either
of them had realised what was happening, she was sobbing
on his breast with his arms about her.
For a long moment they stood thus in the troubled moon-
light, with the tempest roaring and beating round them,
while forgotten the years fell from the man and his lost
youth returned and ran like fire through all his being.
"Dearest, you need me too I think,” he whispered,
trembling like any boy lover. “Let us hold together al-
ways-shall we?”


BEFORE THE WIND
"If you really want me," sobbed Ann.
“Want you?” he cried. “Want you, sweetheart?"
There was something quite new in the voice. The girl
responded to it instinctively.
“I'll come, I'll come then," she answered breathlessly
as, drifting themselves now, with the wind behind them,
they went up the path to the house together.
A moment later they were in the little hall lit only by the
lamplight from the open door of the room above.
“Come soon,” he whispered, drawing her yet closer.
Even as he spoke, however, sharp remembrance came to
her. Her half-conscious glance had fallen on her father's
old hat and coat and stick still in their places as he had
left them.
She withdrew herself a little, pushing back the wet hair
from her forehead.
"I cannot come to you with the debts unpaid," she said.
"Oh, my dear, I have enough for everything," he
answei
"I know and I know how generous you are,” she returned,
"but they would have thought it a dishonour. If—if there
is nothing more—their memories at least must be safe-
guarded. I must pay their debts before I do anything else,
even if I never come to you at Lowhampton."
She would not be moved from this resolve though he
argued on for some time still pleading with her.
"You strange stubborn thing," he said at last, holding
her from him in the dimness. “You are like these tamarisks
of yours-fairy-like to look at, but tough enough to with-
stand anything."
As he spoke he caught her to him again and kissed her
cold lips passionately.
“Good night, good night, my own darling," he whispered.
Then he went out into the roaring darkness.
As soon as he reached his house at the other end of the
town, he wrote and dispatched his promised letter to the


BEFORE. THE WIND
29
Miss Bartons. After the business-like opening he added
"She is the daughter of an old friend who died in debt
owing to the war. She considers it to be a sacred duty to
clear off this liability, and until she has done so she refuses
to come here as my companion though she has promised to
do so ultimately. In other words, she is engaged to be
married to me and you are the first to whom I have an-
nounced the fact, remembering your kindness to me in the
old days and glad that my little Ann is to be with you
until I am allowed to bave her.”
After he had sent this off, he sat on thinking and he
thought so deeply that his pipe had long gone out when he
turned in his chair and, unlocking a drawer near him, took
out of it a faded photograph.
It was the picture of a pretty girl in old-fashioned riding
costume, with her hat set jauntily on one side, a merry
maid with mischief lurking in every little curl and dimple.
He smiled a little—no one could have helped it-in
response to the laughter in her eyes.
"Lottie,” he said softly.
Then he flung it suddenly into the fire, where it smiled
still till the flames caught it.
Ann meanwhile had made her way back to her sitting-
room, dazed and shaken it is true, but no longer the frenzied
being who had left it. The old room also seemed different
when she re-entered it. The spirits of her dead seemed to
greet her there and to be glad that she was the promised
bride of him whom they had known and trusted. In a
strange dream-like apathy she made up the dying fire,
piling on the drift-wood recklessly as she had been wont to
do in happier times. Then wrapped in her white dressing-
gown she seated herself before the blaze to dry her hair and
listen the while to the storm still rising. ...
Three days later she left the Alum Bagh. The wind
had sunk again to a faint sighing, but great waves were
still breaking on the beach beneath the tamarisks when she
was arriving at St, Pancras on her way to Scotland.
do in happiezted herself berm still rising. Bagh.


- 30
BEFORE THE WIND
CHAPTER THE SECOND
WHICH TREATS AMONGST OTHER THINGS OF RUGS AND
ROSE PARLOURS
“THIRD class, miss? Yes, miss,” said the porter cheer-
fully.
"Here's a Ladies Only. Will that do, miss?”
At that moment anything would have done for Ann.
All she wanted was to get into the train, anyhow, any-
where, and go to sleep.
The porter deposited her belongings in the rack, her rug,
a provision-basket from the doctor, violets from the doctor,
books from the doctor, papers, sweets, from him.
The sight of all these love-gifts, tired as she was, warmed
her heart as she settled herself in her corner. She drew
off her left-hand glove to look at the engagement ring
which had been his last present to her. It was beautiful.
Diamonds. It flashed like fire in the dimness of the com-
partment, just as his love for her had flashed out from the
dark night of storm and misery.
It had been a strange three days since, full of bitter
grief, yet with gleams of comfort at times and even happi-
ness. Her lover had hardly spoken again of love to her.
He had been lover-like only at meeting and parting. The
rest of the time he had been simply a good comrade, re-
minding her now of her father, now of her brother. And
she had learned to call him David. She thought no more of
him as “the doctor.” As she took the ring off and slipped
it on to a gold chain under her blouse she said the name
softly over to herself. David. She might well call him that.
He had overcome giants for her. He stood now between
her and the powers of darkness, the terror, the horror that
had almost driven her frantic. He had come out of the
He had been ime he had bether, now of theu


BEFORE THE WIND
31
all-surrounding cruelty and folded her to his breast for
shelter. She was his. He was hers. She was no longer
desolate. She belonged to him, he belonged to her for
always.
On the last evening at the Alum Bagh, he had sat with
her before the drift-wood fire and had told her to leave the
Beyond alone as being outside her comprehension.
"Our mental vision, we must remember," he had said,
“is just as limited in comparison with what there is to be
seen as our physical vision is. My hand before your eyes
here, and he had suited the action to the word, "prevents
you seeing even this little room, even one who loves you."
Then he had spoken to her of her work and of Bartons-
muir, gazing into the fire as he described it, as though he
saw it before him there. He had made her see with him
the old grey house among windswept trees on the shores
of that other sea.
"There is a path that you will like," he had said, "among
the dunes between the heather and the sands. There are
cowslips there in spring in the sheltered places, and queer
little red moths flutter about among the flowers."
He had been silent then until she spoke, and soon after
that he had risen to go, but first, as they had stood in the
firelight, he had taken her face between his hands and
looking deep into her eyes-
“So, little one,” he had said, “we'll begin all over again.”
Ann was still far away in the firelit room at the Alum
Bagh when a clear young voice close at hand recalled her
to her surroundings.
"Yes, Miss Brownrigg," said the voice. "It's a Ladies
Only, and there are three seats left.”
A moment later the head and shoulders of an elderly
gentlewoman wreathed in a grey motor-veil appeared at
the carriage window. She had an anxious and hawk-like
appearance and mobile eyes on the look-out for objections.
“This will do,” she said, however, after inspecting the


32
BEFORE THE WIND
Ladies Only label. “Well, now we must get the luggage.
Where is that porter? He was to meet us here."
"Oh, he'll come all right,” said the school-girl behind her
with all the nonchalance of youth. “Milly has gone along
there to look for him. Shouldn't we just get in and keep
the seats?"
“And leave Millicent wandering about there at mid-night?
No, certainly not, Evelyn," said Miss Brownrigg sharply.
“Besides who knows if the porter will appear at all? We
may have to carry along our luggage ourselves, as people
have to do now constantly."
"Oh, very well,” said Evelyn, shrugging her shoulders,
“I don't mind I'm sure. We must just leave our seats to
providence then or this lady," she added, turning to Ann
with an engaging grin.
"I'll keep them for you if I can,” said Ann.
"Thank you so much,” said Evelyn, as she ran after
Miss Brownrigg, who already at her utmost speed was
making for the luggage-office.
It was only after they had disappeared that Ann, now
thoroughly awake to current events, realised with a thrill
followed by a hot feeling all over her that she had for-
gotten to take her ticket to Edinburgh. She had been
much too early on the platform and had passed through
the barriers before the ticket-checkers were at their posts,
and nothing till that moment had occurred to remind her
of the important omission. Now it was perhaps too late.
Everywhere there were signs that the departure of the
train was imminent. Barrow-loads of luggage were being
trundled along to the vans. Crowds of people were hur-
rying past the windows. The guard was exchanging part-
ing remarks with another guard. Men porters and women
porters were scurrying about together. It was now or
never if she was to get her ticket at all.
She had leaped out of the compartment and gone some
yards along the platform before she remembered the three
seats she had promised to reserve, Rushing back she threw


BEFORE THE WIND
33
her muff, her bag, her magazines, and her rug into the
four corner-seats. Then she made off again.
But she need not have been in such a desperate hurry.
When she returned breathless with her ticket, the train
was pretty much as she had left it. The carriage doors
were still standing open. When she came to her compart-
ment, however, she found one of the corners already oc-
cupied. The seat where she had thrown her muff had
been taken by a man in shabby khaki, just out of hospital
apparently, ghastly, emaciated, with drops of perspiration
on his forehead.
His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily. The
girl's heart contracted with pain as she looked at him. It
was to her as though Jim were seated there, flung aside,
abandoned broken.
He might have been like Jim once. He looked no older.
He had been big and strong like Jim, handsome perhaps
too, though now he was dreadful to look at—sunken-eyed,
hollow-cheeked. Ann's eyes filled with tears.
Just then, however, a chatter of loud voices began outside
the window.
"I say,” exclaimed Evelyn. “What did I tell you, Miss
Brownrigg? Here's a man in the carriage."
“But I thought you said it was a Ladies Only,” said
another voice, presumably Milly's.
“So it is,” said Miss Brownrigg with an air of finality.
"There's a notice on the window. My good man,” she
began, addressing the soldier in the corner.
But the good man never so much as opened his eyes in
response.
"He's asleep," said Evelyn in a lowered voice, "and he
looks very ill. It seems a shame to wake him."
"Nonsense,” said Miss Brownrigg, "he can't be asleep
yet. He can only have been two minutes in the carriage.
There is plenty of room in the other carriages. Call the
guard, Millicent. Call the guard.”
"No, don't please,” said Ann rising hastily and gather-


34
BEFORE THE WIND
ing her belongings together. “Let me rather leave the car-
riage. Then there will be three seats.”
"You are very kind,” said Miss Brownrigg. stiffly, "but,
as you perceive, I have two young girls with me, so that
your going out will not improve matters. Call the guard,
Millicent. The man must be told that this is a ladies'
carriage and that there is plenty of room elsewhere."
At this a fury of rage that almost frightened herself rose
up in Ann.
"Don't dare to call the guard,” she said, her eyes flashing,
her hands clenched. "If there is plenty of room elsewhere,
go yourselves there, rather than disturb this man who has
been to hell to keep you comfortable!”
For a moment the three faces outside stared blankly at
her. Then the elderly hawk-like one flushed and softened.
"You are quite right, my dear,” she said. “Come along,
girls. She is quite right. We'll get seats I daresay in an-
other compartment.”
Ann, left mistress of the field, made her dispositions
to remain so. Pulling down all the blinds and closing the
door, she leaned out of the window to hide the empty seats
behind her. So absorbed was she in keeping disturbances at
bay that until the train started she hardly looked again at
her fellow-traveller. It was only then that with a sharp
stab of fear she noticed that he had fallen limply forward.
In two steps she was by his side. His hands were deathly
cold.
“Sure enough he has fainted," she muttered.
Well, thank goodness she had seen fainting before, and
there was a flask in the doctor's provision basket. She was
wiry, too, for all her slightness. In a few minutes she had
him laid flat on the seat, with his tunic unbuttoned, and was
forcing brandy between his teeth. She was chafing his
hands after that, when, looking up, she found his eyes
open and fixed upon her.


BEFORE THE WIND
35
“I see I have made an ass of myself,” he whispered.
“You are very good. I am very grateful.”
“Then if you are,” said Ann, rubbing away, "please
don't speak any more just now.”
There was a faint smile on his lips when he closed his
eyes again.
"He'll sleep, perhaps,” said Ann to herself, and presently
he did sleep. Then rising she laid his warmed hands on
his breast and getting down her travelling-rug from the
rack, she tucked it closely round him. As she did so she
noticed a crumpled piece of paper lying on the floor. She
picked it up and looked at it. It was a railway pass to
Edinburgh and must have fallen out of his pocket.
“Well, he'll not be roused till he's there at least," she
resolved, "that is if I can help it.”
She sat down to keep watch, and thus they remained
through the chill small hours as the train sped on under
the stars. After a little Ann dozed in spite of herself also,
waking always with a start to find her charge still sound
asleep. She had been lavish with her brandy. A warm
flush was on his face. His hands too were now quite warm.
"He's sleeping it off splendidly,” said Ann to herself.
“When he awakes he will be quite different.”
She was determined that he should not awake, however,
until he did so of his own accord, and to that end, at
every stoppage she posted herself at the window, prepared
to cope with all intruders.
Once at a great station, amid hubbub of talking and
clatter of crockery, a kindly voice asked if there were any
soldiers in the compartment.
“Yes, one,” said Ann, “an invalid. But he is asleep."
“Oh, but,” persisted the benefactress, “I am sure he would
be much the better of this."
At the same time a large steaming mug of tea and a
huge muffin were held in at the open window.
“You are very kind,” said Ann, hastily taking them.
"I'll be back in a minute for the mug," said the bene-


36
BEFORE THE WIND
factress who was in a great hurry, and she took her
departure.
Ann, in the seclusion of her corner behind the window-
blind, thoroughly enjoyed the mug of tea and the huge
muffin.
“Where is he?" said the kindly giver as Ann handed the
mug back to her.
“Over there resting,” said Ann. "He has been very ill.”
“But didn't he feel much better for the tea?”
"Oh, yes, thank you—very much,” said Ann.
"I thought he would," said the woman. "Well-good
journey to you! How glad you must be to get him back
home again!”
At the word keen grief awoke in Ann once more, as the
train rolled slowly out of the station. The woman had
spoken as though it had been Jim. ... Ah, would that it
had been! Would that it had been!
She went and stood for a moment beside the sleeper
and the hot tears fell in silence, till a sob breaking from
her unawares startled her back to her seat, in terror lest
she should have awakened him.
She had not done so, however, because he had been
awake for some time, watching her out of half-closed eyes,
listening to her, wondering at her, and ever more and more
delighting in her.
"Nevertheless you had better stay as you are, Fred
Lorimer," he reflected, “for you'll just go off again if you
sit up now and give her more trouble, the splendid little
darling."
The sob almost broke down his resolution, however.
"She is grieving for some one she loves,” he thought.
“That's why she's so kind to me."
A babyish jealousy of this other for whom the tears
were shed mingled with his other reflections. He felt re-
lieved when she stopped crying and little by little went to
sleep.
When it was that he followed her example he never
she shouwares startled her Silence, till a sotside the sleeper


BEFORE THE WIND
37
afterwards could remember, but when he awoke the train
was at a standstill and an old porter with one eye was
informing him that it was Edinburgh. He sat up giddily.
"I'll gi'e ye a hand,” said the porter kindly. “You jist
button up yer tunic there, an' I'll fold up yer rug for
ye."
"My rug?" said Fred amazed. “But I have no rug with
me."
“What's this then?" said the porter, holding up a large
green plaid. "If this is no' a rug, I dinna ken what it
is.”
"But it's not mine," said the bewildered traveller.
“Weel it was a' tucked roond ye when I cam' in,” said
the porter, regarding him humorously out of his one eye.
"If it's no’ yours it'll be the bonny young leddy's. My,
hut you soldier-laddies has a' the luck the now!”.
A slow flush had mounted in the traveller's face.
"It was her that told me ye was sleepin' here an' sent
me to look after ye,” added the porter, "so I'd better jist
roll it up."
"Well, so it seems,” said Fred laughing ruefully. "But
she shouldn't have done it. Is she really gone?”.
"Ay, she's gone,” said the porter. “She was gettin' into
a taxi when I saw her. But dinna you pit yersel' aboot.
The rug'll gi'e ye a chance to see her when ye tak’ it back
to her.”
"But that's just what is putting me about,” exclaimed
the other. "I can't give it back. I don't know either her
name or her address, my friend.”
"Hoots, man!” said the porter. “There's queerer chances
in the world than you meetin' her again. I met my
wife "
Fred rose hastily.
“See if there is a taxi left for me, will you?” he said.
"I want to catch the first train to Rathness."
But the taxis were all gone, and he missed the first train,
and did not get to Rathness until that afternoon.


38
BEFORE THE WIND
His long sleep had worked wonders, however, and he felt
almost well until he saw his hostess's face when she met
him at the station.
He had seen her looking out for him before the train drew
up at the platform-a smart little woman in her forties
with something of the coquette in the set of her neat black
hat, something of the sportswoman in her upright carriage
and sun-tanned cheeks. Fred's heart warmed when he saw
her as every one's did, for she radiated kindliness as the sun
radiates heat. A queen of good comrades she was, a regular
good sort.
He rose hurriedly from his seat.
She was still staring about her, however, when he ap-
proached.
"Don't you see him, Mrs. Alleyne?" said a man in uni-
form who was in attendance.
And she was shaking her head when Fred held out his
hand to her.
"How d'ye do, Aunt Lottie!” he said.
“Good Heavens!” she exclaimed. “Is this Fred
Lorimer?”
There was consternation in her honest eyes.
Fred giggled slightly. He felt suddenly terribly weak.
“I wouldn't have known you, boy,” she said. “There,
that's right-take my arm. ... Porter! Take these things
and put them into Captain Piffard's motor. Captain Piffard
—this is my nephew-in-law, Fred Lorimer. Fred—this is
my friend, Captain Piffard. He will take your other arm.
Now wouldn't you like to go up in the luggage-lift?”
“No, certainly not!” exclaimed Fred. But he was thank-
ful when he reached the motor nevertheless. Captain
Piffard had almost to lift him into it.
“And now, my dear, not one word,” said Mrs. Alleyne,
“until I have put you into bed at least.”
For about one minute then she was silent herself as the
motor slid smoothly into the darkening town. But as they
turned the last corner-


BEFORE THE WIND
39
"Fred, I must say it once,” she said. “It was perfectly
glorious, and we are all so proud of it!”.
Fred groaned.
“Yes, I know, my dear,” she went on hastily. "I got
your letter last night saying you would only come on con-
dition that no notice was taken of it. And I've done my
very best. Fourteen people are coming to-night to meet the
V.C. It was too late to put them off. But you shan't see
one of them. And then I had told all the servants of course.
And they'll all be there waiting to receive you most likely.
Yes ... There they are ... with old Margaret and
Johnson in front. But if you like I am quite ready to tell
them that you won't see them.”
"You'll do nothing of the sort,” said Fred holding her
back. “Of course I must see Margaret and Johnson. It's
strangers that I can't be bothered with just now. They get
on my nerves somehow and make me feel idiotic.”
The verdict in the servants' hall that night was that Mr.
Lorimer was the genuine article and no mistake, and it
was accounted a special merit in him that though he was
a gentleman born he had joined as a private, and come
home with hardly a stitch except an old plaid rug. He
was the sole topic of conversation below stairs both before
and after the dinner party.
The party itself was a huge success. In the absence of
the hero his aunt-in-law made a speech, and there was
great drinking of healths and singing of "For he's a jolly
good fellow.”
The whole house from top to bottom resounded with up-
roarious noise. Fred heard it in his luxurious room upstairs
where he lay in bed in charge of old Margaret.
It was twenty years, she reminded him, since she had
last put him to bed, and then it had been as a punishment
for being naughty.
"And little, sir, did I think ” she added, or rather
began to add, for he stopped her short.
"For God's sake, Margaret,” he exclaimed, “let me


40
BEFORE THE WIND
hear no more to-night about that V.C. I can't stand
it!”
Seeing, however, that she was shocked and a little hurt,
and feeling quite sprightly himself after a champagne supper,
he invited her presently to take her knitting and pull her
arm-chair close to his bedside. Then to her great satis-
faction he, as she afterwards declared, told her Everything.
“Which I tell you, Johnson, was as good as anything
you've ever been to cinema or no cinema,” she added.
At last, however, she shaded the light and withdrew to
the fireside with her knitting.
But never had Fred felt more wide-awake. The distant
sound of revelry was rather soothing. The moment he
closed his eyes, however, he always found himself in the
swaying railway carriage where in the corner opposite
there sat a girl with anxious eyes and chestnut hair that
shone red when the light fell on it. Sometimes she only
sat and watched, sometimes she would come so near that
he could smell the violets she was wearing and see the tears
that were on her lashes. ...
Then all at once he started violently, for a light hand
had touched his hair.
“Dear boy," said Mrs. Alleyne all radiant in her dinner-
gown, "I am so sorry I wakened you. It's only me. We're
having a great time, though it's the play without Hamlet.
I just ran up to peep at you. Margaret told me you were
asleep."
As she spoke she turned to the mirror behind her and
tucked a stray curl into place.
"Now be a good boy and go to sleep again,” she added.
"Is there anything I can get you by the way?”
"Is—is my rug there, Aunt Lottie?” said Fred unex-
pectedly.
“Good heavens, are you feverish?” she exclaimed, clutch-
ing at his wrist as she spoke. "Are you feeling shivery
under all those blankets?”
Fred laughed.


BEFORE THE WIND
41
“Oh dear no,” he said, "and you are not to go for
Margaret or for your thermometer either, for I will not have
my temperature taken. It's only that I—like that rug."
“What creatures of habit we all are to be sure!” said
Mrs. Alleyne as she went to get it for him. “And just to
think,” she added as she tucked it round him, “what this
old green thing must have seen in the trenches!”
"Didn't know they had 'em there,” said an old Mr. Tosh
to himself after his hostess had related this incident in the
drawing-room. "They'll be having hot bottles and down-
quilts next. No wonder they're all so damned dilatory."
Just about this time, for it was still early in the evening,
the owner of the rug was seated with her knitting in the
drawing-room at Bartonsmuir. On one side of her was Miss
Caroline and on the other Miss Emily Barton.
"I'm like Alice in 'Through the Looking-glass' with the
Red Queen and the White Queen,” she reflected as she
noted, while apparently absorbed in her work, how her two
mistresses were scrutinising her.
She at the same time was scrutinising them.
On her right sat Miss Caroline, large and stately, in a
great high-backed deep-cushioned easy-chair. She had
that serenity of manner peculiar to Personalities, and she
was grande dame, too, in every sense of the word. Her old
dove-coloured brocade and her gorgeous Indian scarf might
have figured in the salon of Madame de Pompadour. Her
square, pale, heavily aquiline countenance with its double
chin would have been noticeable anywhere. It was crowned
and framed in a wealth of faded hair, amber-grey in colour
which must once have been quite wonderful, and was
now confined, or supposed to be so—for her hair-pins had
an extraordinary way of escaping—in a quaint net-cap
made entirely of seed-pearls. This had two tassels which
hung down on either side and were so long that they almost
touched her shoulders. When she talked they glimmered
and trembled all the time in strange contrast to her large


42
BEFORE THE WIND
still eyes. These gazed out upon the world from under
thick amber-grey eyebrows and were the most remarkable
thing about her. They were not beautiful, they had hardly
any colour, but they seemed always, whatever they were
looking at, to be aware of far distances. This lent a curious
air of detachment to their owner's manner and sometimes
a weird effect of inspiration to her utterances. She was
born to command evidently as Miss Emily was born to
serve her, and she was totally devoid of any hampering sense
of humour.
Miss Emily, on Ann's right, was, except for a slight family
likeness, utterly different from her large and dominating
sister. She was small and thin and anxious-looking, and had
a narrow wrinkled little face. Her grey eyes, darker than
her sister's, took note of no far horizons. They were rest-
less, always fully occupied with things near at hand, and had
generally a shade of apprehension in them. She wore a black
gown, a plain white shawl, and on her head a lace cap with
lappets, and she was precise and neat from her tight grey
side-curls to the tips of her black velvet slippers.
"And she's the practical one," Miss Caroline had said in
a soft rather hoarse voice, indicating her sister with a knit-
ting-pin.
“If I am, Miss Charteris,” Miss Emily had retorted,
"she's the clever one. She gets ideas.”
Miss Caroline received this statement with a sigh.
“They are sometimes a great trouble to me," she re-
marked.
“A great trouble,” she repeated dreamily.
“Yes, poor dear,” said Miss Emily. "But I carry them
out for her when I can. Don't I, Caroline?”.
“Then,” said Ann, “I hope you will let me help. I
should love to."
Both old ladies beamed with satisfaction, Miss Caroline
with a veiled effect as of sunshine through mist.
“You are very different, Miss Charteris, from our last
companion,” said Miss Emily.


BEFORE THE WIND
43
"Don't speak of her,” said Miss Caroline, waving away
even the memory with her knitting. “I can never forget
how she spoiled my Rose Parlour.”
“You see,” said Miss Emily, “my sister changed her
mind, just after the roses were put up. You know you did,
Caroline."
“That was no reason why she should have refused to
take them down again,” said Miss Caroline gloomily, "but
rather the contrary.”
“I am glad she did, nevertheless,” said Ann cheerfully,
“because now I shall have the chance of doing them for
you.”
Again the old ladies beamed across at each other.
“Thank you, my dear,” said Miss Emily, "but not until
after the war. We have decided to leave it now till after
the war.”
The word, spoken suddenly in that quiet room full of the
evidences of long and uninterrupted peace, fell upon Ann's
ear with startling strangeness. What did they know of war
these two old people? No more than the painted ladies in
the miniatures on the walls, less than some of these perhaps,
who might have danced at the Brussels ball or waited
for tidings from Culloden. ... Yet even these. . . . What
had any one in these past days known or dreamed of this
orgy of destruction and devilry that was going on as they
sat here discussing, forsooth, Rose Parlours?
For a time after that there was no sound in the room
but the click of Miss Emily's knitting-needles and the
falling of the ashes in the grate. From beyond the
closely drawn curtains, however, came a very faint far-off
sighing. ...
The sea. . . . Ann's thoughts sped away to another shore
where the Alum Bagh stood deserted behind its tamarisk
trees, and the household gods, ticketed for the next day's
sale, kept watch for the last time round an empty fireplace.
· Then beyond the sea she saw other homes, scenes of
desolation in the wake of desperate cruelty. ...


44
BEFORE THE WIND
“You see what we must all do now is war-work,” said
Miss Caroline in her soft voice dropping one of her knitting-
pins.
Ann started as it fell with a clatter upon the parquet and
stooped to pick it up again, thrusting from her the throng-
ing visions.
"I am glad to see you are a knitter, Miss Charteris," Miss
Caroline went on. “Can you pick up stitches?”
“Certainly,” said Ann, respectfully repressing a smile
as she became aware of the condition of the large white
bed-sock that had been handed to her.
"I am not a knitter,” said Miss Caroline, watching her
face.
"Oh, well " Ann began.
"No, I am not a knitter,” said Miss Caroline firmly.
“Am I, Emily?"
"No, Caroline, you are not,” said her sister.
Miss Caroline, with another sigh, settled herself more
comfortably in her chair, and as she did so there was another
little rattle on the parquet. It was a hair-pin this time.
Again Ann picked it up.
“But I do what I can,” said Miss Caroline as she
replaced it.
Late that night Ann wrote her first letter from Bartons-
muir.
"They're dears,” she began her last sheet, "especially
Miss Caroline, who is, I can see, the lady paramount here.
To watch her reading prayers with a large wooden knitting-
pin stuck through her head-dress was delicious.
"There was quite a congregation—all the house-servants,
who are mostly old, and the man Japp from the West Lodge
who does the motor and the odd jobs. There is a gardener,
too, but he is married and supposed to have prayers at
home. The man Japp, being a lone bachelor, has orders to
come up every evening.
"I have a beautiful room, all old mahogany and chintz,


BEFORE THE WIND
45
overlooking the garden, and I can hear the waves. I am
glad, for I could not be happy I believe-even if I could
forget-away from the sound of them. But now when I
am lonely I shall remember that you are hearing it too, and
caring for me out of sight as you were on that night you
know of.
“Good night, dear David. You have told me not to
thank you, and I would do anything for you, but my heart
rebels and thanks you in spite of me, again and again and
again, for all you have been and are to yours ...
ANN CHARTERIS.
“P. S.-In signing my name I am reminded of something
else. The Two have just had a discussion as to how I am
to be addressed. Miss Emily wanted to call me Ann, as
I am engaged to be married to such an old friend, but Miss
Caroline holds this to be undignified. I am therefore to
remain Miss Charteris."


46
BEFORE THE WIND
CHAPTER THE THIRD
IN WHICH FOR THE FIRST TIME MENTION IS MADE OF THE
WRACK-STRAWS
with her ess of her life tre growing sense of si
For a time then Ann, flung there by the great storm, rested
in a content that was half exhaustion in this quiet haven.
In her off-hours, however, her sorrow always awoke again
and deeps within her called to deeps outside the shallow
waters. At those times a growing sense of the futility and
uselessness of her life troubled her, and a vision of what,
with her training in sorrow, she might be doing in the world.
"I too have been there,” she longed to say to fellow-
sufferers. "I too have known.” .
Her personal sadness seemed lost sometimes in her grief
for the wholesale destruction of hopes and loves that was
going on, for the endless heaping up of misery upon misery.
Sometimes even her losses would seem as nothing save as
giving her the key to the sense of loss in others—those
mourners whom she could not see, who were outside the
woods of Bartonsmuir.
She would flee then across the moor to the sea-shore and
pace the sands till, as her father would have said, she had
adjusted herself, or she would sit there watching distant
ships passing up and down the great death-beset sea-road
to the eastwards. Then praying for patience she would go
back to her old mistresses for whom she had soon a strong
half-maternal affection. It was not their fault that they had
lived immune from sorrow, that they looked from afar on
the agonising world beyond their little domain with a regret
which was mostly bewilderment. Sometimes, however, it
was rather trying.
"Dear, dear!” they would say, when Ann, in a white
heat, read out newspaper accounts to them of fiendish


BEFORE THE WIND
47
outrages and sickening horrors. It was a relief to her to
do so. She wanted to make their blood run cold, to fling
fearful facts and happenings down before them, to see their
mild old eyes grow awe-stricken. She longed to tear asunder
the web of self-complacency that peace and affluence had
woven about them. In spite of her utmost efforts, however,
she only succeeded very partially.
"You see they have no flesh and blood in it,” she wrote
to David at Lowhampton.
And then, even as she wrote the words, the pathos of
them would strike her and send her back to her old dears
with a remorseful compassion of which they were entirely
unconscious.
Their apathy seemed to her then not a thing to rage at,
but to pity. At times in the reaction of feeling which came
to her she would decide that of all people in the world they
were the most to be commiserated. To see Miss Caroline
then watching her and pondering as though some dim
perception of the truth were dawning upon her would move
her almost to tears. It was like a blind man beginning to
realise his blindness, a prisoner becoming conscious for the
first time of his prison bars.
Miss Emily was always a comfort at these times. She
never either watched or pondered, for the very good reason
that she had no leisure to do either. Like any old rabbit
in her hole under a battlefield, she was wholly occupied
with her own business, and that business was her sister
Caroline, Caroline's wishes, Caroline's plans. She was
practical in comparison to her sister, but she was loyal to
Miss Caroline before all things, even to the defence of her
unpracticalities.
"You say no one has ever done this before,” she said to
Ann as she packed a library-full of sevenpennies into a
chest that might have been the original of that in the
Mistletoe Bough. “But what we want is initiative. We all
know that. And what's that I should like to know but
being the very first to do things? Caroline has noticed that


48
BEFORE THE WIND
we have been sending only a few books at a time which
must cause quarrelling among the men. The thing to do
therefore is to send a large quantity simultaneously. Leave
it to me, Miss Charteris dear. I know what I am doing.”
Ann accordingly left her in the draughty attic, with two
maids in attendance, for the best part of an afternoon. The
result was that Miss Emily had the worst attack of lumbago
that she had ever had and the chest never went to France
because Japp and McMurtrie the gardener absolutely re-
fused to move it.
“Though I'd do anything in reason for Miss Emily,"
said McMurtrie to Ann who had been sent to see what was
happening in the attic and to report upon it, “or for the
soldiers, seein' I'm for off to be a soldier myself.”
"You, McMurtrie!” exclaimed Ann as the big sturdy
man of peace seemed suddenly transfigured before her eyes.
“Yes, miss,” said McMurtrie, “if Miss Caroline will give
me my leave. So I see no call for me to end mysel' the now,
miss."
“And are you going too, Japp?” inquired Ann eagerly.
But Japp was half-way downstairs by this time.
“No' him," said McMurtrie, "an' between you an' me,
miss, I look at him as little as I can for fear he should pit
me aff the soldierin'."
"But why?" said Ann surprised.
“This why,” said McMurtrie slowly. “It scunners ye
when ye think that maybe ye're awa' to dee to save the
skin o' sic' an imitation o' a man as he is.”
The great box did not go, but the books went in small
bundles made up by Ann under the supervision of Miss
Emily.
"And be kind enough, Miss Charteris dear, not to say a
word about it to Caroline," said the invalid. “When her
plans cannot be carried out she gets low-spirited."
So to this day Miss Caroline believes that the huge chest
went to the trenches.
McMurtrie's departure, which took place before Miss


BEFORE THE WIND
49
Emily was about again, touched both old sisters more
nearly than all Ann's reading aloud of horrors. He had been
in their service from a boy. They knew all his good and
bad points as well as he knew their borders. He had never
been an amiable man, but he had been their staunch re-
tainer for many years.
"And what we shall do without him, Emily, I know not,”
said Miss Caroline when they were discussing it.
Nevertheless, as Ann saw with compunction for former
hard thoughts, the head of the house rose admirably to
her occasion.
Not only did it never seem to occur to her to refuse
McMurtrie permission to go, but laden with every con-
ceivable and inconceivable present he went off after a
leave-taking that was quite a ceremony. On his last evening
at Bartonsmuir he and his wife, who was very stout and
emotional, were entertained to supper in the servants' hall,
after which they had to appear with the others in the
drawing-room at the evening worship.
"Never was anything so painful,” Ann wrote to Low-
hampton afterwards, "but Miss Caroline never flinched
once, though almost from the beginning Mrs. McMurtrie
was sobbing loudly. She read through without a tremor
the whole of the first chapter of Joshua and then prayed
extempore for twenty minutes, after which we all said
good-bye in turn to McMurtrie, who by this time was
speechless. I was really sorry for him.”
McMurtrie had been gone about a week and his wife
installed as gardener when another little wave from the
great whirlpool lapped over into their seclusion.
One night when they were sitting at dinner with the
blinds up, so that Miss Caroline might see the last of the
sunset, the policeman called.
“What can he want at this hour I wonder,” said Miss
Emily. “Let me go, Caroline."
"Certainly not, Emily,” said Miss Caroline rising. "You
are still weak from illness.”


50 BEFORE THE WIND
She then sailed majestically from the room, but was
only absent for about five minutes.
When she came in again she closed the door and came
forward to the table with the air of one who has important
news to deliver.
“What is it, Caroline?” said Miss Emily anxiously.
“Orders have come from headquarters,” said Miss Caro-
line with a kind of relish, “to darken all our windows at sun-
set on account of probable air raids from Germany."
Ann said nothing as she looked at the two awed faces,
though for months before she left Lowhampton they had
been darkening the windows. To belittle this event would,
she felt, be tactless.
“We had better ring for Arbuthnot,” said Miss Caroline
next. “We had better ring for all the servants.”
A few minutes later accordingly all the maids, Mrs. Mc-
Murtrie, and Japp filed in.
Miss Caroline from her high-backed chair then addressed
them.
"Friends," she said, "the policeman has just brought
me an order from headquarters to darken all our windows.
Germans—fiends in the form of Germans," she corrected
herself, “have of late been visiting the southern portions
of this island in Zeppelins. It is now expected that they
may come north here—that even this very night they may
hover over us— "
Here Arbuthnot groaned, and Maggie the between-maid
just managed to suppress a shriek.
"Hover over us,” repeated Miss Caroline firmly, "and
drop their diabolical contrivances upon us, so that it is not
impossible that this whole house by to-morrow may be in
fragments.”
At this Mrs. McMurtrie burst into tears and two more of
the audience followed her example.
“Tut tut!” said Miss Caroline looking rather pleased
than otherwise at the effect she had produced. “This is
no way to meet danger. Is it, Emily?”


BEFORE THE WIND
51
“No, Caroline," said Miss Emily, “but it is very
natural.”
“Nevertheless," said Miss Caroline, “I now ask you all
to exercise self-control, to follow Arbuthnot upstairs to the
attics and to bring down every spare curtain you can find
there. If there are no curtains, bring table-cloths. If there
are no table-cloths bring—bring anything. The invaders
must not find us unprepared. Now go.”
Ann was the first, next to Arbuthnot, to reach the top
of the attic stairs and the first to come down again with an
armful of green damask.
"It was weird to see everybody moving about in the half-
light,” she wrote afterwards. "Most of the windows had
curtains already, but in this queer old house there are all
kinds of odd windows. We were working till quite late
and then Miss Caroline made me take her round the house
outside. We went out by the morning-room window
through the rose-garden and back by the lawn, and not a
peep of light could we see anywhere either in the house or
in the lodges.”
Something else took place that night, however, that Ann
did not report because her letter was finished before it
happened. She had blown out her own light and was
leaning on her window-sill, as she always did before going to
bed, when she did see a distant glimmer. It came, too, from
a place where no light should have been even in ordinary
circumstances—the old stone summer-house half-overgrown
with roses that stood in the corner of the garden just be-
neath her window.
She waited, hoping she had been mistaken or that the
glimmer had been reflected from some other light within
the house. But no, again there was a glimmer as of a
lighted match. Some one undoubtedly was in the summer-
house.
Her first impulse was to go and arouse Miss Caroline.
Before she reached her bedroom door, however, she changed
her mind for what she referredoumi
her mind. For what, she reflected, could Miss Caroline do,
happened report se took plac
ww-sill, as out her is finished that Ann


52
BEFORE THE WIND
or Miss Emily, or even Arbuthnot, even if they were awak-
ened, that she could not do herself?
She must at least first reconnoitre before making a dis-
turbance.
Pulling herself together, therefore, she put on her shoes
again, flung on a lay coat, and sallied forth. As she went
down the stairs she reassured herself as best she could. After
all perhaps she had imagined the glimmer, or perhaps the
policeman who had warned them was resting there and
lighting his pipe. This thought gave her courage to cross
the ghostly drawing-room to the French window which led
directly into the rose-garden. After that the spirit of ad-
venture awoke in her and she grasped the stick that she had
brought with her firmly. She was feeling ready to cope
with even a German if necessary when the door of the
summer-house opened and to her great surprise Japp
came out.
She could see him distinctly in the starlight, but he did
not see her because he was looking for something on the
ground. He was half-kneeling and feeling about upon the
gravel.
Instinctively Ann looked down too, and there, close to
her foot, was a small white object. She stooped down and
picked it up. A candle.
"Is this what you are looking for, Japp?” she said
smiling to herself in the darkness as Japp started violently.
So this was all she had to fear? McMurtrie's "imitation
o' a man.”
“What are you doing here with lights against orders?”
she added sternly.
"I—I'll not light it, miss,” stammered Japp.
“What are you doing here at all?” continued Ann re-
lentlessly.
"I'm sleepin' here,” said the little man.
“Sleeping here?” exclaimed Ann. “But why are you
not sleeping in your lodge?”
"Arbuthnot thought it might be better, miss,” said Japp;


BEFORE THE WIND
53
"in case of a raid occurrin', I would be nearer at hand if I
was needed, me bein' the only man about the house."
Ann nearly laughed aloud this time.
“Oh, I see,” she said gravely nevertheless. “Well, don't
show any more lights.”
“But how silly of Arbuthnot,” she added to herself as
she groped her way upstairs again.
It made her feel sinfully comfortable in her warm bed
as she thought of poor Japp doing sentinel. It surprised her,
however, when next morning, as she awakened her, Arbuth-
not remarked that she had seen "the orra-man” coming
out of the summer-house in the early morning and wondered
what he had been doing there.
"It's not like him to be so early up,” she said.
Ann looked at the old woman. Sincerity was written on
every line of her gaunt old face.
“You did not know that he was there then?” she ven-
tured. “You had not told him to go there?”
"Me, miss?” exclaimed Arbuthnot amazed. “What
would I tell him to go there for?”
Ann said no more, judging it wiser to hold her peace in
case of household storms arising. She thought hard never-
theless, but could find no solution of the little mystery of
Japp's choice of a sleeping-place.
That night when she again went the rounds with Miss
Caroline they passed close by the old summer-house. Noth-
ing indicated that it was occupied, yet Ann had an eerie
feeling that Japp was inside, and pictured him watching
them from among the shadows. She again said nothing,
however, to Miss Caroline, having fallen into Miss Emily's
habit of concealing little worries from her. Besides, she
argued with herself, what harm could such a nonentity as
Japp do anyhow—anywhere?
After this, many weeks passed on eventless at Bartons-
muir, though the world outside was all a riot of fierce
passions, and the call for men to go and fight and for women


54
BEFORE THE WIND
work-partonfabulations at come to Bartomere so busy that
to take their places at home became every day more and
more insistent.
The village when they drove through it on their way to
church was a deserted place save for the old people and the
children. They always went once a week besides to deposit
the household knitting at the parish work-party. Ann
sometimes wondered, when she went in with her parcel,
what the capable-looking women who sat round the room
there thought of some of the Bartonsmuir productions.
Miss Caroline's generosity with money, however, prevented
any overt criticism, and the Reverend Mr. Gardshore, who
saw the good intention behind the bad execution, had even
been known to commend her bed-socks..
The minister and his wife, however, were so busy that
they seldom had time to come to Bartonsmuir and those
weekly confabulations at the door of the hall where the
work-party was held were the only opportunities for inter-
course with them.
There was a lady doctor in the village in place of the
other who had gone to the front, but their relations with
her, too, were strictly professional.
“Of course when one thinks of what she must have ex-
perienced " said Miss Emily in excuse for Miss Caro-
line's dislike to having her invited to dinner.
"That's just why I would like to know her," was on the
tip of Ann's tongue. She remembered her place in time,
however, and refrained from comment.
None of the neighbours came to see them.
"You see all the people we used to know at the places
within calling distance, now that petrol is so scarce,” said
Miss Emily, “are either gone away or in their graves, and
Caroline will not call on the new people.”
“Why should I, Emily?” said Miss Caroline. “I know
nothing about them.”
"And you never will if you never call,” Ann again had
almost retorted before, once more just in time, she re-
membered.


BEFORE THE WIND
55
It was the humbler neighbours, however, whose acquain-
tance she coveted most. She longed to take the farm-dogs
out for walks that lived just a mile away at the stead-
ing. This, however, she was requested not to do as they
might follow her home and annoy Rover and Victor, the
two house-dogs. These Ancients, as she called them in her
letters to David, she spoiled outrageously, but found in-
adequate as comrades.
"Their names have survived their characters,” she said.
“Rover only roves now as far as the gate. Nothing will
induce him to go an inch further. As for Victor-he rests
on his laurels.”
She longed too to go and chat with the ploughmen's wives
and the village-folk two miles away on the other side. But
beyond giving money to Mr. Gardshore for distribution and
sending Arbuthnot to make inquiries in cases of illness or
bereavement Miss Caroline did nothing in the way of visit-
ing them either. Nor would she allow Miss Emily to do
anything.
"No, Emily,” she would say. “You are not fitted for a
philanthropist. You are so kind-hearted and so easily taken
in that you would inevitably do more harm than good.”
This, she said, applied also to Ann, who had strict in-
junctions to leave all this kind of visiting to Arbuthnot.
"We must think of their benefit before our own pleasure,”
she would add. “You know, Emily, George used to remark
that being kind to people is apt to become mere selfishness.”
"Now who is George?” thought Ann, and she hated
him whoever he was when from the top of the highest dune
she looked across the moor towards the village. It would
have been some outlet at least to have visited the people
there. She imagined all kinds of things going on in that
little huddle of red roofs with the old grey spire at the end
of it-comings and goings, rejoicings and weepings. People
were living there. At Bartonsmuir they were only existing.
She would stand sometimes looking over at it till the
darkness closed down and lights carefully curtained glowed
she loohoever he is Geople is a Emily, Core our


56
BEFORE THE WIND
in the cottage windows. Then she would go speeding home
across the moor to spend the evening in the warm pot-
pourri-scented drawing-room, knitting again, knitting,
knitting, and picking up stitches and hair-pins for. Miss
Caroline.
It seemed to Ann at these times that the call from out-
side came in after her and tore at her very heart-strings,
rousing reverberations there that sounded loud through
everything, through her consideration for her old mistresses,
through her affection for David, through even her duty to
her beloved dead.
At last after a letter from David in which he told her that
he had joined the R.A.M.C. and might be called up at any
moment, one March night when the wind was howling in
the chimneys and lashing the woods to fury, she could no
more contain herself.
Her two mistresses and she were seated in the drawing-
room as on the first night of all, and Ann had been reading
the evening news aloud to them, when suddenly she threw
down the paper and exclaimed
"Oh, isn't it terrible to be doing nothing at all to
help?"
Both her hearers stopped working and Miss Caroline
dropped at least half-a-dozen stitches.
“Nothing, Miss Charteris?” she said dumbfounded.
“Yes, nothing,” said Ann letting herself go at last. "For
what is a little bit of knitting in comparison to what I
might do, for instance?”.
She started up from her seat with her hands clasped in
front of her as though imploring their comprehension.
"You see it's nothing for you,” she went on; "it isn't
always calling to you and calling to you. You could not go
out to do hard work even if you would.”
"You mean," said Miss Emily, "that you could, Miss
Charteris dear, and that that is what is annoying you.”
“Annoying me!” cried Ann passionately. "It is more
than I can bear sometimes. You see,” she went on before


BEFORE THE WIND
57
Miss Emily could break in again, "you and Miss Caroline
don't really need me, Miss Emily.”
“In that you are mistaken, Miss Charteris,” said Miss
Caroline suddenly in a strange gruff voice.
“Oh, yes, Miss Charteris dear,” chimed in Miss
Emily.
“Ah, you are good to say so,” said Ann, “but I know
it is not true. I am a luxury, as four out of your five maids
are luxuries. Ah, do you not see how you and people
like you-good, kind, dear people—are keeping back hun-
dreds of workers?”
For a moment there was a palpitating silence. The room
seemed all a-thrill with the shock of Ann's last speech.
Then the practical Miss Emily spoke.
“But what would you have us do, Miss Charteris dear?”
she said soothingly. “If any of them want to leave they
have only got to say so of course."
“I know, I know,” said Ann calming a little.
“With regard to yourself it is a different matter, how-
ever,” Miss Emily went on. "Doctor Warren told us why
you were here—in order to pay off debts. It is a sacred
duty."
“Yes, yes,” said Ann. "I want to make money—but I
have been thinking—they—those who are gone would un-
derstand if I waited with that till after the war—the
need for workers is so great—so urgent. They would be
the first to understand, and though I should hate to leave
you— "
"Don't do it. Don't even say it,” said Miss Caroline
suddenly again. “Give me time. Give me only time. Even
till breakfast-time I believe would be enough."
She was leaning forward in her seat, her pearl tassels
quivering, her pale eyes fixed glassily upon the opposite
wall.
“Caroline,” said Miss Emily whenever she looked at her,
"is it ?
“Yes, it is, Emily," said Miss Caroline. “And if you will


58
BEFORE THE WIND
not be too tired to read prayers to-night,” she added after
a moment, “I should prefer to go now to my room.”
Without another word she rose, dropping as she did so
her entire knitting upon the carpet. Then she stepped
slowly towards the door. As though remembering some-
thing, however, she halted there with her hand already on
the handle.
"I wish to make my starting-point clear,” she said. "It
is that neither you nor I, Emily, justify our existence at
this crisis by our personal usefulness.”
"Oh, Miss Caroline,” cried Ann, jumping up again dis-
tressed. "I did not mean that. Indeed I didn't.”
“My dear Miss Charteris,” said Miss Caroline, “I know
better than you do what you meant, for this reasonthat for
some time I have been thinking the same thing myself.
Your words to-night have merely served as a match to a
fire already laid for lighting.”
Here she paused for a moment regarding the leg of a table
fixedly as though her cogitations had already begun. Then
opening the door suddenly-
"I am glad it is a windy night,” she said. "I always
think better in wind. Good night, Miss Charteris, good
night, Emily."
With these words she took her departure, leaving behind
her another palpitating silence.
Ann still stood looking towards the door. She was pos-
sessed by remorse and self-reproach. It seemed to her as
though she had just been wantonly cruel to these two harm-
less creatures. After all if they were personally useless
was it for her to point out the fact? It was as though she
had held up a mirror in malice before their insufficiencies.
Had the war then, besides depriving her of all she loved
best in the world, bereft her finally of common sense? Had
the call from without made her forget the duty of pro-
tection she owed to these two old people?
Miss Emily's voice interrupted her troubled thoughts.
"Sit down, Miss Charteris dear,” she said. “There is


BEFORE THE WIND
59
no need to worry I assure you. We had better ring for
Arbuthnot now in case I should forget to tell her after
prayers about the hot milk."
Ann rang the bell twice as was the custom, and after
an interval Arbuthnot entered.
“Miss Caroline will be requiring the large scuttleful of
coals and the milk to-night, Arbuthnot,” said Miss
Emily.
“You see, Miss Charteris dear,” she added afterwards
with a sigh, “when an idea comes at night like that dear
Caroline seldom sleeps till morning.”
She sat idle for a moment looking over her spectacles
at the fire.
"Ever since she was engaged to the late Mr. George
Torphichen it has been like that,” she went on at last.
"Before that they did not worry her—the ideas I mean
but since then she has felt obliged always to work them
out to their conclusions."
“So this is who George was,” said Ann to herself.
“That is his portrait over her bedroom mantelpiece,"
Miss Emily continued presently, going on with her knitting
again. "He was minister of the parish church, and very,
very clever. Our father unfortunately-disliked him. In-
deed we never dared to tell him that they were engaged.
He-my father-had such a violent temper.”
Miss Emily shook her head over the memory.
“And George so hated scenes,” she went on. “We de-
cided to wait until he was transferred to a more important
parish. Meantime he used to teach Caroline logic among
the dunes. That was their courting—he teaching and she
learning. He would preach his next Sunday's sermons to
her while I kept watch in case any one should interrupt.
Ah, yes, these were trying times. But they're all past now
-long, long past.”
"He died?” said Ann softly.
“Yes, he wasn't strong, you know," said Miss Emily,
"and the cold east winds One day they had sat too


60
BEFORE THE WIND
long, and that very night he took very ill and in a few days
was dead.”
“How sad!” said Ann.
“Yes, Miss Charteris dear,” said Miss Emily. "But
though it is wicked to say it-oh dear it was a relief! You
see—it seems very unkind even to think it-but I am sure
my father would never have allowed it. Poor George was
so very—so very "
“Unsuitable?” suggested Ann.
Miss Emily nodded and then shook her head expressively.
“But he was quite a genius,” she hastened to add, "and
that's what attracted Caroline. Like to like. And he cer-
tainly taught her to think, and not to be satisfied till she
comes to some conclusion, though many a time I have wished
he hadn't-poor, poor George!”
... Ann, too, that night wished that the unsuitable
George had not taught Miss Caroline logic, as she lay awake
unable to sleep for remorse and the wind which was keep-
ing every door and window in the old house creaking and
rattling.
Several times through the turmoil she heard the sound
of talking, and once, rising to reconnoitre, she found that
it came from the open door of Miss Emily's bedroom.
Creeping nearer along the corridor she stood for a moment
or two where she could see Miss Caroline's shadow on the
wall and hear her voice raised in exposition.
“No, Emily," she heard her say. “The argument that
we are as useful as we can be, because we give our money
away to war-funds, is of no use except to prove that the
sooner we are out of existence the better, as what we give
away is nothing to what we might bequeathe.”
“This is fearful,” thought Ann. "Is she thinking of
committing suicide?”
But somehow, and this comforted her, she could not
imagine Miss Caroline committing anything so crude. The
mere suggestion, however, gave the deliberations in process
from that time forth a new and painful interest. Ann found


BEFORE THE WIND
61
herself awake now not only because of her recollections
but because of her apprehension as to what Miss Caroline
might think of next. As though she were awaiting the
crisis of an illness every sound in the house now became of
extraordinary importance. When the talking in Miss
Emily's bedroom at last ceased and she heard Miss Caroline's
soft yet heavy foot-falls in the corridor, she fairly bounded
up into a sitting position in her excitement. But Miss
Caroline did not come in. All that she saw of her was the
glimmer of her candle as she passed. Unable to lie down
again just then, however, Ann rose and went along the
passage after her. The bedroom door was ajar when she
reached it, and quietly pushing it open she peeped in.
Miss Caroline, in a gorgeous dressing-gown of her own
design and a white frilled night-cap, was seated in front of
a roaring fire sipping milk out of a steaming tumbler which
she held on a diminutive silver salver. From an oval black
frame above the mantelpiece the faded portrait of a raw-
boned youth, with a very long upper lip and dressed in the
clerical garb of more than half a century ago, looked down
critically and rather sourly upon her deliberations. Be-
tween sips she sat motionless for lengthened periods looking
fixedly at the blaze, with her head cocked on one side as
though she were listening to the rumbling of the wind in
the chimney.
"But, in reality, I suppose she is working It out,” thought
Ann, and for the first time curiosity about the idea as an
idea awoke within her. She went back to bed wondering
what it was, and lay awake weighing probabilities and
possibilities, until mental exhaustion and the sough of the
storm combined sent her at last into a sound slumber.
She was awakened at six o'clock by Arbuthnot who came
as an emissary from Miss Caroline. The Mistress would be
obliged if Miss Charteris would meet her as soon as possible
in Miss Emily's bedroom.
Ann needed no second telling. She sprang out of bed, and
hardly waiting to put on slippers and throw on a dressing-


62
BEFORE THE WIND
gown she hastened to the rendezvous. There she found Miss
Caroline seated by another blazing fire and sipping another
glass of milk. Miss Emily was still in bed. She had a
pinched and all-night air as she sat propped up with pillows
under the canopy of her great four-poster. She nodded
inattentively in response to Ann's good morning. There
was a tense look of expectation in her little tired, anxious
eyes. She kept them fixed on her sister and Ann sat in
suspense too, while Miss Caroline, with an air of thorough
enjoyment, finished her refreshment to the last drop in
silence.
Then, however, setting down her empty tumbler, she
motioned to Ann to take a seat opposite to her.
“Miss Charteris and Emily," she then began, "you will
be glad to hear that my new idea is now, so far as I can
manage it alone, complete. My arrangement is made. It
now only remains to carry it into execution, and for that
I shall require not only your co-operation but that of this
entire household."
Here she paused for consideration.
“Whatever is it?” thought Ann, and glancing towards
Miss Emily she saw her swallow painfully and draw her
Shetland shawl more closely round her.
"I began, as you are already aware,” Miss Caroline went
on, “by considering our own position, and, listening as I did
so to the storm outside, the name Wrack-straws suggested
itself to me. It may not be original, but it is eminently apt.
That is what you and I are just now Emily, in this great
storm that is shaking Europe — Wrack-straws—flying
before the wind-of no use to any one-fit only for some
rubbish-corner.”
At another time Ann, as she reflected afterwards, would
have smiled at Miss Caroline in her voluminous robes liken-
ing herself to such insubstantialities. At the moment, how-
ever, she had no difficulty in being serious, and she heard
Miss Emily swallow once again.
“If this were all,” Miss Caroline went on, “we might


BEFORE THE WIND
63
remain as we are and make no difference to anybody. But
this is not all. As you, Miss Charteris, very rightly put it,
we are obstructing the usefulness of at least half-a-dozen
other people.”
Here Ann would have interrupted, but Miss Emily fore-
stalled her.
"You said seven last night, Caroline,” she said. “You
remember there is Mrs. McMurtrie.”
"I now purposely exclude her," said Miss Caroline. “We
shall need her ourselves.”
“Oh, Caroline!” exclaimed Miss Emily imploringly,
"would it not be better to exclude Arbuthnot, rather? Mrs.
McMurtie is such a very incapable person!”
"It is for that reason that I exclude her," said Miss
Caroline. “In retaining her we should be keeping back
practically nothing from the public service.”
"Oh, dear," groaned Miss Emily, “I do wish the war
was over!”
“But, Miss Caroline_ ” Ann had only time to say
before Miss Caroline waved her into silence.
"Hear me to the end first,” she said. "I had thought
this all out when a new idea suddenly occurred to me, or
rather the old idea suddenly developed into a new phase.
I remembered that we—you, Emily, and I were not the
only Wrack-straws in existence.”
She paused impressively, but her audience waited for
more, Miss Emily hugging her Shetland shawl tighter, Ann
pushing her hair back from her forehead.
"I remembered numbers of people,” Miss Caroline went
on, "rich like ourselves, personally useless like ourselves,
wrack-straws like ourselves, who are cornering labour.”
“Yes, yes, Caroline," said Miss Emily eagerly. “There's
Julia Corstorphine for one. She has six servants, and any-
body more personally useless than she is you couldn't find.
She can't even knit badly."
“Who are cornering labour," Miss Caroline repeated,
glaring reproachfully at the interruption, "and the thought


64
BEFORE THE WIND
suddenly came to me, why not corner them—why not stack
them all together?”.
"Eh?” said Miss Emily bewildered.
“Why not stack them?” repeated Miss Caroline, "collect
them, sweep them out of the way, and make the same
labour suffice for all of them, thus increasing our usefulness
and lessening their obstructiveness?”
Miss Emily's face was still a blank, but Ann leaned for-
ward eagerly.
"I see, I see, Miss Caroline!” she exclaimed. “You will
invite some here to Bartonsmuir and Arbuthnot and the
maids and I will attend to them.”
Miss Caroline beamed.
“Smart girl!” she said approvingly. “You at least should
be satisfied for your work will be increased five-fold. In-
stead of only us two you will have ten people to be com-
panion to!”
"I shall do it willingly,” said Ann, all enthusiasm. “How
clever of you to think of it, Miss Caroline! Just imagine,
if they have all six servants like Miss Corstorphine, we
shall be releasing sixty people.”
“Certainly,” rejoined Miss Caroline, “that is if we can
get ten in, and I am sure we can. The attics can be fitted
up. Well, Emily,” she added, turning towards the bed,
"you are saying nothing. What do you say to it?”
“Well, Caroline," said Miss Emily, “it isn't a question
of what I will say. You know what I always say. It's a
question of what they will — ”
“Who? The servants?” said Miss Caroline sharply.
“No, the-the Wrack-straws," said Miss Emily.


BEFORE THE WIND
65
CHAPTER THE FOURTH
WHICH BEGINS WITH POLITE LITERATURE AND ENDS
WITH AN ORDINARY TAPER
not consider only yesterton and
Two days later, after hours spent in consultation and
composition, ten letters went forth from Bartonsmuir, and
in due course the replies received made manifest what the
Wrack-straws said to Miss Caroline's proposal.
The first reply was from Miss Julia Corstorphine whom
Miss Emily had described as a typical Wrack-straw. It
was therefore rather disconcerting. It was written by her
secretary.
"Miss Corstorphine presents her compliments to Miss
Barton and regrets that she cannot accept her kind invita-
tion to reside at Bartonsmuir during the period of the war,
as she does not consider herself qualified to claim a share
of the benefits offered. Only yesterday she opened a bazaar
in the Corstorphine Hall at Netherton and was told by the
provost in his vote of thanks that she was the most helpful
member of the community. She therefore cannot reconcile
it with her conscience to usurp the place of one who is so
unfortunate as to be personally useless."
"I always did dislike votes of thanks," said Miss Emily.
“They are so misleading, and now see what harm they do!
The very woman who should have been here thinks herself
'not qualified.' But don't let us say anything about it yet
to Caroline, Miss Charteris dear.”
Ann heartily agreed. She had been deputed by both
her mistresses to open all the replies that came and break
the news good or bad to them. She kept Miss Julia Cor-
storphine's letter in her pocket for two days, and was glad
she had done so when three very encouraging letters came


66
BEFORE THE WIND
which more than counterbalanced the mortification of Miss
Corstorphine's refusal.
The first Ann opened was written in a big untidy hand
with lines running aslant across the pages.
"BUSHFORD House, NETHERTON.
“DEAREST CAROLINE,” Ann read aloud-
“Your most interesting letter containing your most
ingenious suggestion was handed to me this evening as I
and three friends were just sitting down to a game of bridge.
I immediately put it before them, and for an hour or so
we discussed its merits. Julia Corstorphine happened to
be one of my guests and mentioned that she had had a
similar letter which she had answered in the negative and
also in the third person. But, dear Caroline, no one, I hope,
minds her. My other two guests did not, I assure you.
They were Mrs. Pitmirran of Nutting, who is a Wrack-
straw of the worst type, having not only servants galore
but two motors and a carriage as well. She has consented
to accompany me. Also Mrs. Fennimore of Flails whom
I think you have met—who must be near eighty, but who
looks about twenty from behind because of the trans-
formations she always wears. We three, feeling convicted
-as the revivalists say—of being worse than useless in the
present crisis, all wish to give your experiment a fair trial.
We have agreed, therefore, to make new wills as soon as
possible leaving all our money to war-funds and then to
proceed together to Bartonsmuir, where we hope to arrive,
dear Caroline, all by our lonesomes in about a week.-
Yours affectionately, MAUD BELLAIRS."
“There, Caroline!" cried Miss Emily in high delight.
Miss Caroline, however, received the news almost coldly.
“It will depend,” she said, "upon the other replies
whether we shall be able to accommodate Mrs. Pitmirran
and Mrs. Fennimore. I had not included them in my
estimate."
“Then how fortunate it is,” exclaimed Miss Emily at
There, clipnately, Maur Wonesomes in
It will dihall be able had no
andether we shalind," she said, ved the new


BEFORE THE WIND
67
once, “that Julia Corstorphine has refused to come,
Caroline!”
“Refused?” said Miss Caroline incredulously.
“Yes—and so has Mrs. Turnham Dodd,” chimed in
Ann hastily, eager to get another disclosure over. “At
least," she corrected herself, "this is a letter from her
niece -'Miss Turnham Dodd in the name of her late
aunt- '"
“Late!” exclaimed both the Miss Bartons.
" 'Her late aunt,'” repeated Ann, " 'thanks Miss Caroline
Barton for her invitation, but is surprised to see it never-
theless, not only because of the nature of it, but considering
the intimation which appeared in last Thursday's Scots-
man.'"
“This is terrible, Caroline," said Miss Emily. "How
could we have missed it? Poor, poor Matilda Turnham
Dodd! Well, after all she was ninety-three and would have
been a great responsibility.”
“Thursday was the day we sent out the invitations,"
said Miss Caroline as though in soliloquy. "Still it should
not have happened.”
“It was all my fault,” said Ann. “I forgot to read the
notices that day. If I had I should at once have recognised
the name. Here is a letter from another niece, from a
Miss Ellen Eldershaw."
“Oh, Ellen Eldershaw?” exclaimed Miss Emily. “Well
—and what does Ellen say? We have never seen her, but
her sister was at school with us and if there ever was a
Wrack-straw upon earth it was that sister of hers. So, from
all I hear, is this one whether or not she realises it. Read
on, Miss Charteris dear.”
"Dear Miss Caroline,” Ann read, “I am directed by
my aunt, Miss Eldershaw, to thank you very much indeed
for your kind invitation to come and reside at Bartonsmuir
for the period of the war. She is unable yet to give a
decided answer to it, but she thoroughly appreciates and
admires the manner in which you are supplying one of the


68
BEFORE THE WIND
most urgent needs of the present day and hopes that so
long as it is possible you will keep a place open for her.-
Yours sincerely, E. ELDERSHAW, JUNR.”
“The aunt may be doubtful,” said Miss Emily, “but
the niece is quite certain what she wants her to do. You
may count upon Ellen Eldershaw anyhow, Caroline. She
will never be able to help coming if the niece wants her
to whatever she may think herself.”
"Then,” said Ann, who had opened another letter,
"here is an answer from a Miss Gellatly. Her servants
have all been quarreling so intolerably since her German
butler was interned that she is glad of any excuse to shut
up her house for a time. She has given them notice in a
body and recommended them to go and do munition-
making, though she hopes for the sake of their fellow-
workers that no two of them will be engaged in the same
factory."
“Then we have now," said Miss Emily, ticking the
names off on her fingers, “Mrs. Bellairs, Mrs. Pitmirran,
Mrs. Fennimore, Miss Eldershaw, and Miss Gellatly. Have
the Miss Wanlesses not answered yet, Miss Charteris dear?”
“They will—not be coming,” said Ann, her eyes meeting
Miss Emily's for a moment. "Nor will the Miss Killigrews.
I have burned their letters.”
"Then that makes all the replies," said Miss Emily with
determined cheerfulness. "Caroline, all the replies are in.
Five Wrack-straws are coming. That will give them each
two rooms."
"Far too much,” said Miss Caroline discontentedly. “We
must have occupants for these other rooms. If only five
are to come then the plan will be only half carried out.
We must think of more names, Emily."
The "we" Ann supposed was a figure of speech. Miss
Caroline at all events did not think much that evening.
Probably she considered that she had already done enough
thinking. Anyhow in the interval between dinner-time
and prayer-time she made up considerably for her night


BEFORE THE WIND
69
knowing to mere made a cook, sheived at anded then this cruele
of wakefulness, and, save for occasional whispered dis-
cussions between Ann and Miss Emily, hour after hour
passed in unbroken silence.
At prayer-time, however, Miss Caroline awoke to some
purpose.
When they all rose from their knees they were asked to sit
down again, and then she announced to the servants for
the first time the part they were expected to play in the
immediate future.
Ann, watching the amazed faces, guessed something of
the shock it was to them to hear that so many strange
mistresses were coming into the house. Yet all was still
until the cook rose to her feet. Fortunately, she was too
angry to get under way for a moment and in that moment
Arbuthnot rushed into the breach, if that could be called
rushing which was so deliberate. Probably she alone had
known or guessed what was coming, and had prepared
herself to meet the emergency.
Anyhow she made quite a speech.
With her eye on the cook, she reminded them of the long
years that most of them had lived at and received kind-
ness from Bartonsmuir. She then reminded them that it
was the duty of every one to do special work at this cruel
time, and that they might count themselves lucky, some
of them, that it was only stew-pans and not explosive
bombs that they were asked to handle. She then proceeded
to say, that after the experience of mistresses that they
had had they need none of them surely be afraid of having
the number of them increased. If they were all like the
Miss Bartons, these ten ladies that were coming, the attend-
ance on them would be a pleasure. (Here there was great
applause, and the cook visibly softened.) And whatever
they were, in any case, Arbuthnot went on to conclude,
whatever the Miss Bartons thought fit to order in these
cruel times would be carried out by the household to the
best of their ability, and this she herself would answer for.
This closed the proceedings for there was no vote of


70
BEFORE THE WIND
thanks, Miss Caroline evidently considering that none was
needed, and the staff, without further comment in that
place at least, parted for the night pledged to exert them-
selves to the uttermost.
It was after all this, when the three of them were having
biscuits, that Miss Emily said
“What about asking Lottie Alleyne, Caroline?"
“As a Wrack-straw?” said Miss Caroline.
"My dear Caroline, of course not!” exclaimed Miss
Emily. “Surely a woman who runs canteens, and prisoners'
parcels, and soldiers' mending, and-and-everything in a
country town, besides entertaining people from billets and
uncomfortable camps, from morning till night, week in,
week out, and having wounded relatives staying constantly
as well, is not a Wrack-straw?"
“No, I suppose not,” said Miss Caroline dejectedly.
"But she may know of some, Caroline," Miss Emily
hastened to add.
“Yes, and be glad to dispose of them,” said Miss Caroline
brightening. "Kindly write to her, Miss Charteris.”
"Mrs. Alleyne, The Gables, Rathness, is her address,"
said Miss Emily. “She is our niece, Miss Charteris dear-
once one of the prettiest and naughtiest of nieces, still one
of the most affectionate and generous-hearted.”
"I shall write to her at once,” said Ann with enthusiasm.
And not only did she do so, but, unknown to her two
mistresses, who might have worried about her in their
beds, she went out afterwards and posted the letter. Two
miles she went to the village post-office in the faint light of
a half-moon. Nothing interesting happened to her, how-
ever, either going or returning.
The letter thus romantically posted at dead of night
arrived at dusk on the following evening at its destination,
and was laid by Johnson amongst others on the hall table,
where it reposed for an hour and a half before any one so
much as looked at it.


BEFORE THE WIND
71
Mrs. Alleyne was in the drawing-room all that afternoon
surrounded by men in khaki for the most part and all the
women and girls that she could muster who at the moment
were not working at something. The number of these
fluctuated. Some in V.A.D. uniforms had to run away be-
fore tea, others rushed in just in time for it, but had to go
off to the needle-work guild afterwards, others again had to
take their turn at the canteen. A fair proportion, however,
remained to entertain and to be entertained, and of these
Evelyn Gardyne was soon the centre. She was a school-girl
home for her Easter holidays, who could sing and play, as
Mrs. Alleyne said, “Anything.” She could chatter, too, and
had the kind of voice that is heard through any amount of
talking.
“Yes, wasn't it fun?” Fred Lorimer heard her say as he
handed cups of tea to belated new-comers. "It was just
about this time last year when we were coming north and
at St. Pancras a soldier got into Miss Brownrigg's 'Ladies
Only' carriage. She spoke to him and he took no notice.
He was asleep or faint I think. At any rate he looked
awfully ill. But Miss B. was determined to have him turned
out. Indeed, she had told me to call the guard, when what
do you think happened? A girl, who was sitting in another
corner, started upsuch a pretty girl-and said-
“ 'If there is room elsewhere as you say, go yourselves
there, rather than disturb this man who has been to hell to
keep you comfortable!'
“I wish you had seen Miss Brownrigg's face and our faces,
too, for that matter."
She turned lightly to the piano again.
"Miss Gardyne," said Fred under cover of some laughter,
"you don't happen to know the name of that girl, do
you?”
"Oh dear, no,” laughed Evelyn. “She did not give us
time to get to know her. We all trooped off then as meek
as lambs to another carriage and did not see her again.”
As she spoke her eyes met hiş and she became aware of


72
BEFORE THE WIND
an eager light in them. At the same moment he became
aware of her awareness.
"Do sing this now, won't you?” he said, hastily taking
up a song at random.
“Certainly if you wish it,” she said, blushing a little as
she played the opening bars. She had never seen that light
in his eyes before and it was rather wonderful. What if
well stranger things had happened—and Mrs. Alleyne, she
was sure, would like it-otherwise why should she invite
her so often to the Gables to play to Mr. Lorimer?:
A little breathlessly she began to sing-
“Come to me in the silence of the night,
Come in the speaking silence of a dream.
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream ...
Come back in tears, come back in tears,
Oh, mem'ry, hope, love, of former years. ..."
The tremor of nervousness in the clear girlish voice lent
to the passionate words a curiously poignant charm. There
was dead silence round the singer when she began the second
verse. Even the talkers at the other end of the room
stopped to listen.
"Come back to me in dreams that I may live
My very life again though cold in death.
Come back to me in dreams that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath ...
Come back to me in dreams!
Speak low, lean low,
As long ago my love-so long ago.”
"My dear Fred," said Mrs. Alleyne when the after-silence
had ended in applause, “if you intend to take that cup of
tea to Mrs. Baxter, pray do so before it gets quite cold.”
Fred started and spilled some tea as he went.
"I never could stand Lord Henry Somerset's songs,”
said Mrs. Baxter as he handed her the half-depleted cup.
Afterwards he remembered noting quite mechanically


BEFORE THE WIND
73
that she had an aggressive lower jaw, but he could not
remember answering anything to her remark, and wondered
if he had been rude.
Mrs. Baxter was in no doubt as to that.
"Mr. Lorimer has not improved,” she said to her hostess.
"I suppose he thinks that for a V.C. manners are un-
necessary.”
“What has he been doing?" said Mr. Alleyne.
"Didn't you see?” said Mrs. Baxter. "He spilled half
my tea, handed me nothing to eat, and went away while
I was talking to him.”
“You must excuse him," said Mrs. Alleyne. "He has
had a bad time and, though he looks so fit, he is not himself
yet.”
“Well for his friends' sake I hope not,” said Mrs. Baxter.
“Yet it's not like Fred,” said Mrs. Alleyne to herself.
"Is it possible that he and Evelyn— "
"May I have some more tea?” said somebody else, and
she had no more time to think that afternoon.
Meantime Fred had seated himself in a dilapidated old
chair that he specially loved, all alone in front of the
smoking-room fire, an unlighted match between his fingers,
an unlighted cigarette between his lips. Many a time
during the weeks he had spent at the Gables making a
desperately slow recovery he had sat in that chair alone
with his dreams and imaginings. All, however, had been
but shadowy things compared to this evening's vivid
realities. For one brief moment the curtain had been lifted.
The girl whose face night and day was haunting him had
stood before him speaking, living. Then the song had
intervened that had driven him crazy for the moment. Was
it possible that never again he was to see the unknown girl
who had protected him in his extremity? In all future
days was she destined to be merely his love of long ago?
The thought was intolerable. Was she only to come back
in dreams? To speak low-lean low-only in dreams?
“Then I can't stand it,” he said to himself quite quietly.


74
BEFORE THE WIND
It had come to that. He was possessed. Without this
girl with the russet hair and the tears on her eyelashes life
was nothing—friendship was nothing. . . . She had said,
for, of course, it was she-it must have been she whom
that girl had seen in the railway carriage—that he had
been to hell. Again to-night she might say the same. He
was there now, and all for the sake of her who did not
care a button about him. For, of course, she did not care.
She only cared for the other man who had died or been
wounded or something, and for whose sake she had been
kind to him. If she had cared anything she would, at least,
have left some indication of where to find her, some address,
some message—not a rug without an initial even. She
would have looked out for the advertisement he had put
in all the papers for the owner of the rug and have sent
some answer.
After all she must be a heartless creature not to think
of what he might feel about it. ... But then those tears
trembling on her eyelashes. . . . She was not heartless,
only maddeningly stupid not to know what harm she was
doing. . . . For how could a man get well ever-mentally
well at least—in the state he was in? He could not get
well for longing for her. He would die in the end very
likely like Jimmy Green in Barbara Allen-a nice ending
for a V.C.-futile-idiotic. ... Yet what other end could
there be to this fever of the soul that had possession of him,
that conjured her up before him at every turn, in every
twilight, in every dawning, worst of all that made her
partner with him in every little daily happening.
Yet physically he was strong again. She would not
know him now if she saw him. The wreck she had taken
care of all that wonderful night-emaciated, unshaven,
with blood-shot eyes—he shuddered as he thought of
himself then-had vanished. Now in the mirror above the
mantelpiece he could see himself, clean-shaven again, clear-
eyed, good to look at. The sight thrilled him for a moment
with a sense of his own power. . . . Ah, if he could but


BEFORE THE WIND
75
meet her—could but look once more into her eyes, perhaps
he might be able to make her forget that other man! At
least she would be sorry for him again, for she would know
how desperately he needed her.
But he would never see her. She would never know
what she had done to him. Things happened like that in
this accursed world and a man must go on, if he were a
man at all, just as if his heart were not sick within him.
Well, anyhow it might not last long for him. A week
or two more and there was the Front again and death
perhaps. . . . Then if spirits were free, as some said they
were, he might find her once more—see her across the great
gulf fixed-make himself known perhaps.
At this point, however, he had a sudden revulsion of
feeling.
He sprang to his feet.
“I'm getting absolutely maudlin,” he exclaimed aloud.
Then shaking himself down and pulling his tie straight,
he went back to the drawing-room to make himself agree-
He was too late however. The guests had all gone. Only
the hostess was left in the drawing-room sitting in front of
the fire reading letters.
"Is that you, Fred?” she said without looking up. “Come
and let me scold you. You have mortally offended Mrs.
Baxter."
"I was afraid I had,” said Fred, establishing himself
near her. “But as you told me she always did take offence
at everybody sooner or later, I didn't think it mattered.”
"Not to you perhaps,” said Mrs. Alleyne. "But I have
had to make it up to her. And I am glad to say that you
will have to suffer too. I have had to invite that uncle of
hers-old Mr. Tosh—to dinner.”
Fred groaned.
"Surely not the man," he said, “who is writing a book
now called 'The Utter Impossibility of Germany ever going
to war with Britain'?”.


76
BEFORE THE WIND
"He had begun it, you see, in 1912, poor man,” said
Mrs. Alleyne. "He has changed the title now to 'The Utter
Impossibility of Annihilating Germany.'”
"Bah!” said Fred, "he doesn't know what he is writing
about."
His aunt watched him for a moment over the letter she
was reading as he lay back in his chair frowning heavily
at the fire.
"It is strange to see you turned soldier, Fred,” she said
at last; "you—the student—all for toleration and inter-
nationalism.”
“Ab—that was before I had seen things,” said Fred.
His thin face seemed to sharpen and grow more lined as
she looked at it. The eyes under the frowning brows re-
flected the glow of the fire. At last, as though something
intolerable to behold were there pictured, he closed them
for a moment and sat up in his chair.
Then, finding her watching him, he smiled rather wryly
at her.
"Surely you don't mean to tell me that only old Tosh
is coming?” he said in a tone she had learned to know well.
It meant that there was to be no more talk of the war
just then.
"Did you expect Mrs. Baxter?” she laughed. “She is
going to the canteen, my dear. That is why I had to ask
him here. She says some of the servants always give notice
after he has dined there alone he is so bad-tempered.”
"Mrs. Baxter going to the canteen?” exclaimed Fred.
“But I thought she had quarrelled with every one there?"
“So she has," said Mrs. Alleyne. “I've only just
managed to patch things up between her and Mrs.
Wilkinson this afternoon. They are going together to-night
along with Mrs. Coulter who has tact enough to get on with
Bengal tigers. What I should do without dear kind Mrs.
Coulter to act as padding between some of these people
I can't think.”
“Well, but who is coming here to act as padding between


BEFORE THE WIND
77
me and old Tosh?” asked Fred. “I must at least have
Piffard. I hope you have asked Piffard?”
"He asked himself,” said Mrs. Alleyne. "He said you
would be sure to want him for a fourth at bridge. And for a
wonder he is off duty to-night.”
“Good old Piffard!” said Fred. “When we get sick of
bridge, as we soon shall with Tosh playing, he can refresh
us with his detective stories."
“Yes,” said Mrs. Alleyne absently, for she was becoming
absorbed in one of her letters.
"It must be fun being a detective,” Fred went on. "If
we both come through this scrimmage with enough of us
left intact, Piffard and I might go into partnership."
“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Alleyne again.
“You're not attending,” said Fred looking up. “You're
taking no interest in me. Don't read any more letters."
"Spoiled boy!” laughed Mrs. Alleyne. "But I must
just read this one. It's too amusing. Wait. I'll read it
aloud to you. It's from a dear old aunt of mine, Caroline
Barton of Bartonsmuir, who used to try to bring me up
once."
“What a disappointment you must have been to her!”
said Fred.
“Well this is written by her companion,” said his aunt.
“Dear Mrs. Alleyne,” she went on reading aloud, “I have
been asked by Miss Caroline Barton to inform you that she
has arranged to receive at Bartonsmuir ten personally use-
less people who are doing harm at this crisis by appropriat-
ing labour which is urgently needed elsewhere. By as-
sembling these Wrack-straws, as she calls them, here she
makes it possible for them all to be attended by the same
servants. They will pay their own expenses and will have
the services of the Bartonsmuir staff which includes, be-
sides the usual maids, a motor-man and a companion.
"Five Wrack-straws have already intimated their arrival,
but five rooms still remain vacant. Miss Caroline, therefore,
would be obliged if you will send her by return the names


78
BEFORE THE WIND
and addresses of any you think might care to avail them-
selves of this opportunity. If all ten places are occupied she
hopes that at least fifty capable persons will be set free for
state service-each Wrack-straw having had on an average
five or six attendants.-Yours sincerely, ANN CHARTERIS,
Secretary."
“Now isn't that delicious?" said Mrs. Alleyne.
"Is it a joke?” said Fred.
“Not a bit of it,” she replied. "It's Aunt Caroline all over.
The Wrack-straws! Who else would have thought of it?”
"The companion must be an enthusiast, too,” said Fred,
taking the letter into his hand and looking at the neat
rather hurried writing, "to think of being companion to
ten more people. She would need to have the tact of a Mrs.
Coulter."
At the word his aunt suddenly seized his arm.
"Fred," she exclaimed. “I wonder if Mrs. Baxter would
go."
"Never,” said Fred. “Besides she has her uncle to look
after, hasn't she?”
"He wouldn't mind,” said Mrs. Alleyne. "He'd be far
happier in rooms with his man somewhere than alternately
being neglected and made an excuse of. She's a Wrack-
straw besides, if ever there was one, and always flying in
people's faces. She is as wealthy as those others, too, and
has as many half-idle domestics.”
"Send in her name then," said Fred. "No saying what
might happen. That kind of person always likes to be doing
something new. Only if you want her to go, don't let her
know you do."
“I shall tell her nothing,” said Mrs. Alleyne, “but I shall
write at once to Miss Charteris.” She paused for a moment
looking at the letter again. “Who I believe,” she added
with a little laugh, "is engaged to a man who wanted to
marry me once.”
Something in the smiling eyes that met his arrested Fred's
attention—something he understood.


80
BEFORE THE WIND
“Here, m'm,” said Johnson. “Here, Albert!”
A stout, pale, rather handsome man, with sleek fair hair
and sleepy-looking eyes, instantly and noiselessly appeared.
“Excuse me, m'm," he said in a subdued well-trained
voice, "but the last time I fetched Mr. Tosh at the time
he had ordered there was quite a scene. Then when I
waited longer and was not there at the hour there was a
worse scene. So I just slipped round beforehand to-night
to see what you would think best to be done, m'm. It
makes unpleasantness in the party when he loses his temper
the way he does, m'm. Now to-night he said nine."
"Nine does seem early," said Mrs. Alleyne as gravely
as she could, “when dinner is at half-past seven, doesn't
it?"
"You see,” said Albert, "when he gave the order he
was at his writing, m'm, and when he's at that he never
wants to stop. But when he's once out he forgets his
writing sometimes and wants to stop where he is. I'm sure
he'll want to stop here, m'm," added Albert.
"Well, Albert,” said the hostess, "the difficulty can best
be solved I think by your staying here all the time. John-
son will give you some supper, and in return you can help
Johnson, as the table-maid has just come and is inexperi-
enced. Will that do, Johnson?"
“As you please, m’m,” said Johnson dutifully.
“Though if there's one thing I can not stand,” he added
afterwards to old Margaret, “it's folk forcin' theirselves in
like that upon me."
Before dinner was over, however, he had changed his
opinion of Albert. The young man was so deferential, so
anxious to learn from him. Yet he waited with a dexterity
which Jane the new table-maid could never hope to reach,
though she, like a sensible girl, never took her eyes off him.
It was a pleasure to see him handing round the plates.
Only once he made a little slip and that was when he looked
up for the first time and caught the eye of Captain Piffard
fixed upon him with a puzzled expression.


BEFORE THE WIND
81
“Now where have I seen that man?” the captain was
saying to himself, when there was a loud ejaculation from
Mr. Tosh who was sitting opposite to him.
"What do you mean?” he exclaimed, turning upon
the unfortunate Albert. "Take care what you are doing.
Don't you see that you nearly knocked over my wine-
glass?"
"I'm very sorry, sir,” said Albert meekly.
"And so you may well be," retorted his master, "making
an exhibition of yourself and me, as though you had never
been accustomed to wait upon decent people!”
The little old man for the moment was a-glare with anger;
his face with its bristling white eyebrows and its crown of
rather long white hair resembled a large red gooseberry
embedded in a very high stiff collar.
His misfortune, however, served to ingratiate Albert
more than anything else could have done with the sym-
pathetic Johnson, and to distract the attention of Piffard
from him by making that gentleman devote himself thence-
forth to the restoration of harmony.
Later, however, when they had sat down to bridge and
the two men came in with coffee, the likeness of Albert to
some one he had seen struck him again and more forcibly
than before.
"Lord!” he said to himself. “If it's not that chap at
Greywoods that went off with the diamond star it certainly
is most uncommonly like him. But it can't be surely, after
five, six, no-seven years. If it is, he must have played his
cards well. Anyhow, I'm not going to make an ass of my-
self over him a second time.”
He was careful after that never so much as to glance in
Albert's direction. He was rather absent, however, till he
made a misdeal and Mr. Tosh sharply called him to
order.
He would have been more absent still could he have seen
through three stone walls into a remote pantry where Albert
had retired on some excuse or other to snatch a moment's
OC.


82
BEFORE THE WIND
conversation with Jane, the inexperienced table-maid.
She was not so new to him as to the household it
seemed.
"Well, old boy,” she said in a low tone as she lit a taper
to see him by, lighting up at the same time her own pert
little face. “What's to be done now? Here I am standing
to, and ready to take your orders, sir."
"You're a smart little devil, Jane," he said, looking
admiringly at her out of his heavy-lidded half-closed eyes,
"and the costume suits you. But it's all no go, my girl.”
"No go?" she said surprised.
"At least I am afraid not unless something special turns
up."
"Something special?” she said. “What do you want
more than those emeralds you saw to-night, eh? I shouldn't
have thought you could find anything better than that
necklet. It was special enough for me, anyhow."
“Well, get it then,” said Albert.
"Me? I couldn't,” said Jane. "There's a dragon of an
old woman called Margaret in charge of them who ought to
have been made a special constable.”
"Well, my dear, let me tell you there's more of her
sort about. Did you see that man in uniform that was at
dinner?"
“You don't suppose I'm blind, do you?” said Jane.
"I wish he was blind,” said Albert vindictively. "He's
Piffard, the gentleman detective."
“What?" exclaimed Jane. "The man who was staying
at Greywoods five-six-seven years ago?"
Albert nodded.
Jane was silent for a moment. Then she tossed her dainty
cap-strings.
“What does it matter?" she said. “You scored off him
that time.”
"It was a rare bit of luck though,” said Albert, “very
rare. However, one never knows when another chance of
the same sort may turn up.”


BEFORE THE WIND
83
“Well, if it does I'm all there, you know," said Jane.
“Now clear out or old father Johnson will suspect that you
are flirting with his nice new table-maid.”
"Well, so I am,” said Albert, "and I am not going now
without one kiss at least."
"Oh, rot!” said Jane. "I never was one of the kissing
kind.”
“Well, I am,” said Albert. “Put that taper down. It's
in my way.”
"I won't,” said Jane, “and if you come an inch nearer
I'll singe you with it.”
"No need to do that, my girl," said Albert. “The Ger-
mans will be doing that soon enough for you.”
The taper wavered.
“Albert,” exclaimed Jane, "you're never thinking of going
soldiering, are you?”
"Didn't you see the evening papers?” he said. "I'll
jolly well have to go soon now whatever I think.”
"Well, then,” said Jane, “there's one thing certain, Al-
bert. I must be out of this first. I'm not going to be left
here servanting."
"Nothing easier, my dear," said Albert. “All you have
to do is just to tell your mistress that you've been sent for
suddenly to go to a hospital somewhere about Land's End
to take the place of a V.A.D. cousin who has been ordered
to Salonika. She is the kind that will give you a send-off the
same night with wages paid, railway ticket, and everything."
"Albert, you really are so clever,” said Jane, "that, as
you are going soldiering, you may have just one - Oh,
goodness me take care!” she added.
“No, I won't!” said Albert recklessly.
to do is
to go to of a V. And that will dicket, andane, that on,
“What's that smell of burning?” said Johnson sniffing,
as five minutes later his guest joined him at his private
supper-table.
"Is there a smell of burning?” said Albert.


84
BEFORE THE WIND
"Bless me, don't you smell it?” said Johnson. "And
there's a hole in the lapel of your coat that would let a
penny through!”
"So there is,” said Albert examining it. “It must have
been the taper that did it.”
“The taper?” exclaimed Johnson. "What sort of a
taper?"
“Oh, just an ordinary one I-came in contact with,"
said Albert.


BEFORE THE WIND
os
CHAPTER THE FIFTH
IN WHICH BRITAIN GAINS A NEW RECRUIT AND
GERMANY LOSES ONE
In the drawing-room bridge was in full swing and the
irascible Mr. Tosh was in high good humour.
"He'll never learn to play properly, you know," Fred
said afterwards, "because he has such ridiculous luck, and
partners like you, Lottie, who can't be nasty to him.”
Certain it was that in spite of his going five in hearts
without the slightest justification he and his partner seemed
to be carrying all before them, when a long-drawn thin sound
shrilled suddenly into the pleasant silence.
"The telephone,” said Mrs. Alleyne, clutching her cards
together apprehensively.
"Your lead, partner," said Mr. Tosh.
But Johnson was already in the doorway.
“Mrs. Baxter to speak to you, m'm,” he announced.
“She should have been called Bother instead of Baxter,
Cecilia should,” said Mrs. Baxter's irate brother as the
hostess filed, and his two opponents had only partially
succeeded in pacifying him when she returned to infuriate
him more than ever.
"I am sorry,” she said breathlessly, “but I must go to
the canteen. Mrs. Baxter has been telephoning. Mrs.
Coulter has taken ill, and the caretaker has had to go home
with her, leaving only Mrs. Wilkinson and Mrs. Baxter, and
they—they are not getting on. I must go at once. Will you
just play three-handed?”
"No, thank you, Mrs. Alleyne," said Mr. Tosh rising,
"since my sister, not content with turning me out of the
house for dinner, is now, it seems, turning me back into it


86
BEFORE THE WIND
again. Well, thank heaven, I have my work. Will some-
body tell Albert?”
Albert did not need to be told. He was in the hall with
his master's coat over his arm, and the sight of him there,
so reliable and capable-looking, suggested a new idea to the
harassed hostess. Pausing in her flight up the stairs she
hurried down again and back into the drawing-room.
"Mr. Tosh,” she said, meeting that gentleman on his
way to the door, “will you lend me Albert for an hour at
the canteen?”
“My dear Mrs. Alleyne " began Mr. Tosh, but Fred
immediately chimed in.
“The very thing, Aunt Lottie,” he said. "We'll have a
smoke now, and Piffard will tell us one of his tales, and
then we'll finish the bridge when you come back, or if you
prefer it, sir, Piffard and I will see you home. We would
be no good anyhow at the canteen.”
"Why Cecilia should require so much assistance I cannot
understand,” grumbled the old man. “And to hear her
talk one would think she did everything in this town single-
handed. Well if I must-I must, I suppose. Tell Albert
he may go for an hour. But not one moment longer. Re-
member, not one moment longer.”
At the end of the allotted time, however, Mr. Tosh had
quite forgotten his own injunction. He was seated before
the fire between the two young men absorbed in one of
Piffard's narratives.
When the hour was actually announced by the little
Boule clock on the mantelpiece Piffard paused for a moment.
“Go on, sir,” said Mr. Tosh impatiently. “So the hostess
came to you, did she? And you suspected one of the
guests?”
"I suspected the servant of one of them,” said Piffard.
“Well, and what did you do then?”
"Ah, that was the disappointment, I could do nothing."
"Nothing?"
“Nothing at all,” said Piffard. “You see, the thing was


BEFORE THE WIND
87.
lost during an interview the lady of the house—who was a
young and very charming woman-had with one of the
guests in the library late one night. He was a young fool
with no real harm in him, but he was madly in love with
her at the time and she had a very jealous old husband
who, if he had heard what had happened, might have ruined
the boy for life. There was a big screen in the library and
she was afraid that her lover's servant, who was the man
I suspected as the thief, had been hidden behind there all
the time. But we had no real proof. All that I had to go
upon was that I myself had met the man coming out of
the library after our hostess and her admirer had gone.
Even if I could have caught him with this, however, which
was doubtful, the lady would not even let me try to catch
the thief when she heard who I suspected, in case he in his
turn might denounce her to her husband and tell of the
scene she had had with his master. The rascal had counted
on this, I believe. Though he knew I suspected him, I think,
he was as cool as a cucumber.”
"And went off with the diamond star,” exclaimed Mr.
Tosh. "What fools women are!”
"Or what unselfish angels!” said Fred.
“Bah!” said Mr. Tosh. "I don't call her unselfish.
Probably she hushed it up as much for her own sake as
anybody's. Besides she very likely led the fellow on-I
know 'em. But in any case she let loose a criminal upon the
world. That's what she did. And you connived at it, sir,"
he added, turning suddenly upon Piffard. "I'm surprised
at you-calling yourself a detective too—very surprised."
"You are not half so surprised, sir,” said Piffard, with
some heat, "as that thief will be when I catch him, as I
have every intention of doing, every hope of doing.”
“Aha!” exclaimed Mr. Tosh. “You have your eye on
him then? You are on his track?”
"Yes, I am," said Piffard, “but it's a watching game.
I cannot lay my hands on him till he does something else.
And to-morrow or the next day I may be ordered off to
have ever exclaimed on his track but it


88
BEFORE THE WIND
France or Egypt or Mesopotamia. The war plays the very
deuce with my work.”
“By Jove, sir!” exclaimed the old man, slapping his
hands on the arms of his chair, "rather than let the fellow
escape I myself would track him down for you."
“Or I,” laughed Fred. “It would be the beginning of
our partnership, Piffard."
As he spoke the telephone bell rang again.
"Mrs. Alleyne wishing to speak to Mr. Lorimer,” said
Johnson entering.
Fred sprang up and went out.
His aunt's voice sounded agitated.
“Are you there, Fred?”.
“Yes."
"I have sent Albert back to take Mr. Tosh home.”
“Yes.”
“And whenever he is gone I want you to come down
here."
“What? Hasn't Albert washed up the cups properly?”
“Yes, yes,” said his aunt breathlessly, “but I want you
here and Captain Piffard too if he can come.”
Here he was rung off abruptly, and turning he became
aware of Albert standing in the hall behind him. At the
same moment the drawing-room door opened and Mr. Tosh
came out.
"That man of mine is late as usual,” he was saying when
he saw Albert. Then-
“What the devil do you mean,” he exclaimed, “by not
letting me know that you were there, sir?”.
"If I were Albert I should murder Mr. Tosh,” said Fred
as he and Captain Piffard groped their way together along
the darkened streets.
“No you wouldn't,” said Piffard. "Not if you were
Albert.”
“Perhaps not,” said Fred. "He has the patience of Job."
"And twenty times his cleverness,” said Piffard.


BEFORE THE WIND
89
Mrs. Alleyne met them in the passage at the canteen
very businesslike in a blue linen overall. She had a scared
look in her eyes nevertheless.
"My dears," she said as soon as she saw them, “an
awful thing has happened. I've lost two rings out of that
emerald set."
“What?” said Piffard sharply.
"I've lost two rings,” she repeated, “out of that set of
emeralds—your set, Fred, and I'm at my wits' end to know
what to do about it.”
Her lip quivered.
“But they can't be really lost,” said Fred.
“How did you lose them?” said Piffard. "Sit down here,
Mrs. Alleyne, and tell us everything first. You had them on
when you came here then?”.
As he spoke he ushered her into the dining-room, a large
place where the air was heavy with the odour of teas and
suppers. All the food, however, had been cleared away
from the long counter at the further end, and only one
feeble gas jet was burning.
They sat down at one of the deserted tables.
“Yes, unluckily I had them on,” said Mrs. Alleyne. “I
was in such a hurry, you see, that I did not notice them till
I was here. Then—for I hate buttering scones with stones
on—I took them off at once and put them into a cup on that
table at the back of the counter there."
"Just an open cup?” said Piffard.
“No, I put a saucer over it.”
"And at the end of the time you found that the cup and
saucer were gone?”
"No, only the rings, that's the strange thing,” said Mrs.
Alleyne.
“Then some one must have taken them purposely and
put back the saucer again,” said Fred, "some one thinking
they were not safe there, perhaps-Mrs. Wilkinson or Mrs.
Baxter. But of course you asked them first thing."
“No, Fred, I did not,” was the unexpected answer,


90
BEFORE THE WIND
“Aunt Lottie! Why not?”
"I dared not,” said Mrs. Alleyne.
“Dared not?”
"No. You see they were at daggers drawn. They had
had a regular battle before I came in about some trifle that
no one would think of quarrelling over, and it had left them
both in a state of mind in which they were capable of be-
lieving anything about each other, and I must say,” added
Mrs. Alleyne “—and that is what makes me so scared-
I can't help thinking myself that one of them must have
taken the rings.”
“Aunt Lottie!” exclaimed Fred. “Mrs. Wilkinson and
Mrs. Baxter!”
“Well, who else could? Not a soul was behind the
counter all the time except myself and these two women.”
“Are you sure quite of that?” said Piffard. “Could
none of the men who came to the counter have taken them?”
“Not one. You see the cup was behind where we were
standing serving. We were between it and the counter.
Even if we had not been there is a wide space between it
and the table where the cup was standing."
“Where's the pantry?” said Piffard, looking round him.
“There,” said Mrs. Alleyne, pointing to a door opening
into darkness straight from the space behind the counter.
“Oh, yes,” said Captain Piffard.
“Albert was in there, of course," said Mrs. Alleyne,
divining his thought, “washing dishes and making tea, but
he never came in here once."
“You are sure of that?”
“Quite sure.”
“Had you a lot of men in this evening?”
“Crowds,” said Mrs. Alleyne.
"Oh, yes,” said Piffard again. “Well, you must be tired.
You should come home now.”
“Yes, Aunt Lottie," added Fred. “The rings will turn
up all right. My theory is that one of your two ladies has
put them in a safer place and has forgotten to tell you about


BEFORE THE WIND
91
them. You will be getting them back to-morrow morning
from either Mrs. Wilkinson or Mrs. Baxter.”
"I do hope you are right, Fred,” said Mrs. Alleyne
doubtfully, “but don't you think to make quite sure we
might make a search first? I might go through the cup
boards while you and Captain Piffard do the floor
thoroughly.”
Fred looked with distaste at a fragment of scone smeared
with jam which was lying near where he was standing.
“Do you want us to go down on our knees to it, Aunt
Lottie?” he sabeslutely no
“There is absolutely no need to look further here, Mrs.
Alleyne,” said Captain Piffard with conviction. “The rings
are not here I am certain. Doubtless Lorimer is quite right.
You will be hearing about them to-morrow morning."
“You think that really?” said Mrs. Alleyne eagerly.
"I am so glad. It gives one confidence. I have had a bad
hour and a half I can tell you."
"Do you mean to say you missed them so long ago as
that?” exclaimed Piffard.
"Oh, no, I only missed them a little ago, but there was
the quarrel first. They were not on speaking terms by the
time I got here, but they said things at each other. I was
quite ashamed before Albert.”
"Albert should be used to having things said at him,
anyhow,” laughed Fred as he helped her to put on her coat.
“What I should have done without Albert I don't know,"
said Mrs. Alleyne, "for the caretaker was a long time in
coming back, and neither of those women would wash up,
because that is what they had been quarrelling about. The
dirty dishes would have been piled sky-high-but Albert
is a most capable man.”
“He is, indeed,” said Captain Piffard. “Most capable.”
“I'll give them till to-night,” Mrs. Alleyne said, when
next morning no message came to The Gables about the
rings.


92
BEFORE THE WIND
Then when night came
"I'll give them till to-morrow night,” she said.
But to-morrow night came and there was still no message.
Captain Piffard came in after dinner to hear the news.
“Oh, I am glad to see you,” said Mrs. Alleyne. "Do sit
down. I am more than ever at my wits' end. No message
has come about the rings. Isn't it awful to think that a
rich woman of good standing—for they are both that,
could stoop to do such a thing?”
“Yes, if one has to think it," said Piffard, seating himself
on the chair indicated and selecting a cigarette. "But for
my part I don't think it.”
“You don't think it?” exclaimed Mrs. Alleyne. "But I
thought you did?”
“You were mistaken," said Piffard. "I never thought
it."
“But you believe they were stolen, don't you?”
“Oh, yes, now that they have not been returned. The
replacing of the saucer on the empty cup proves that.”
“But then—who—who "
“My dear Mrs. Alleyne," said Piffard leaning forward
and speaking in a low voice. "I have almost no doubt at
all that it was Albert who stole those rings at the canteen.”
"Albert!” exclaimed Mrs. Alleyne, remembering Albert
as he had appeared there at work in his shirt-sleeves, ab-
sorbed, dignified, with a towel flung over his shoulder.
“Albert!” she said again. "Oh, that's not possible!”
"Excuse me," said Piffard. “But I know him better than
you do. Do you remember that last story I told you, Lori-
mer, that night old Tosh was here?”.
“Rather,” said Fred. “You don't mean to say that— "
"It's the same man—yes,” said Piffard. “I thought that
night at dinner that I recognised him. He has shaved off
a moustache he had then and is much better-looking, but
even if he had worn a mask I would have made sure it was
he by his manner of working.”
“Of working?"


BEFORE THE WIND
93
"Of stealing I mean. He's a student of character this
man. He is not only wonderfully quick and deft with his
hands, but he has the mental capacity to seize moral oppor-
tunities—immoral I should say, for the people he robs are
always in some awkward little predicament. Last time,”
he went on turning to his hostess, “it was a married woman
who wanted to shield a foolish young lover of hers that he
robbed of a diamond pendant. Now he robs you—seeing
you to be in a difficult position between two women who
dislike each other so much that they will be capable even of
suspecting each other.”
“The wretch!” exclaimed Mrs. Alleyne. "But he is
wrong this time. Neither of those two women would believe
that the other did such a thing."
"My dear aunt,” said Fred laughing, "you yourself have
just been believing it."
"So I have!” she remembered in dismay. "You see,”
she explained, “I am so certain that Albert never was out-
side the pantry that night.”
"Ah, but that's just where his special capability comes
in," said Piffard. “I tell you his talent is quite wasted in
ordinary thieving. He ought to have made his fortune as a
conjuror.”
"You mean you think he could have come behind the
counter without any of us three women knowing it?"
“Certainly,” said Piffard. "It would be child's play to
him. You had crowds of men you told me in the canteen
that night. I can see quite well how it would be. He would
watch his moment when you were all at the other end of the
room, one of you downstairs in the kitchen, perhaps, the
others with their backs turned. It would be all over in a
minute. He would be back at his dishes with the rings in
his waistcoat-pocket before any one knew he had left his
post.”
"The fiend!” exclaimed Mrs. Alleyne. "Well, thank
goodness you are here, Captain Piffard. Now we shall be
able to catch him.”
men you would nowing behind th


94
BEFORE THE WIND
“Shall we though?” said Piffard watching her. "How
about Mrs. Wilkinson and Mrs. Baxter?”
“Why? What have they to do with it now?”.
“This much," said Piffard, "that if we arrest him on
suspicion he will of course accuse them."
"Oh, heavens, I had not thought of that!” cried Mrs.
Alleyne. "Now stop laughing, Fred. This is no laughing
matter."
"I can't help it,” said Fred, rocking in his chair, “when
I think of the faces of Mrs. Wilkinson and Mrs. Baxter as
they will appear in the dock together-still not on speaking
terms."
"Oh, don't,” groaned Mrs. Alleyne. “Well, it's a good
thing after all that you take it so lightly, Fred, since the
rings are yours and not mine after all, for of course now I
must give up all hope of recovering them. Even a breath
of this would utterly ruin the canteen and of course just
now that must come before everything."
“Even my professional reputation I suppose,” grumbled
Piffard, "and I must let my man go scot-free for the second
time."
"Hard lines,” said Fred. “Do you really think, Aunt
Lottie, that it would make any difference to the canteen?
Surely they would have the sense "
"No, I can't risk it,” said Mrs. Alleyne firmly. "You
have no idea, Fred, what some of these people are. Think of
it-both these women accused and each suspecting the other
and saying so. No. I'm sorry, but I really can't risk it. I
would rather replace the rings myself if I have any money
left when the war is over and the canteen closed for ever."
“That settles it then,” said Piffard. “Albert once more
has won the trick it seems. But he can't get such chances
every time and he will be so conceited after this that he is
bound to make some bad blunder.”
“Ah, and then you will catch him," said Mrs. Alleyne.
“And if there is anything I can do to make up "
Here the door opened and Johnson appeared with a note.


BEFORE THE WIND
95
"From Mrs. Baxter, m'm,” he said advancing.
The three in council round the fire looked up with interest.
Mrs. Alleyne took the note and felt it over eagerly.
"I thought they might be in it,” she said with a sigh, as
she tore open the envelope.
Then after she had read the contents in silence-
"Listen to this,” she said without further comment.
“DEAR MRS. ALLEYNE,—I hear you are in need of some
one to go to the canteen to-morrow and write at once to
let you know that I am quite free to go at any time. A
wealthy old lady who is, I am told, of good family and has
a small property, has been inspired—for I can call it
nothing else to offer house-room and the use of her
servants to a limited number of people all paying their
own expenses of course—who like herself are wealthy and
without encumbrances. These she calls Wrack-straws.
They are totally useless persons and, indeed, are hindering
by their presence the public usefulness of others. You will
not be surprised to hear that I at once applied to her on
behalf of my brother Alexander, with the happy result that
he and his man left for Bartonsmuir this afternoon. (Bar-
tonsmuir is the name of the place.)
"It is now my intention to go into rooms, close the house
here, and dismiss the servants, so that I shall henceforth
be able to devote myself entirely to assisting you.—With
kind regards, yours very sincerely, CECILIA BAXTER.”
"I had not included men in my estimate of course,” said
Miss Caroline on the morning of the day which was to
witness the arrival of Mr. Tosh and Albert. "But in these
times we must adapt ourselves to circumstances. Kindly go,
Miss Charteris, and tell Mrs. McMurtrie that she must come
up to the house this afternoon to reside during the period
of the war.”
"Caroline!” exclaimed Miss Emily. “Do you think this
is wise? Mrs. McMurtrie-
"Must adapt herself like the rest of us,” said Miss


96
BEFORE THE WIND
but her areats Art of flair and she wa
Caroline firmly. "According to his sister, Mr. Tosh suffers
from a very violent temper. It will prevent dispeace if we
give him and his man the East Lodge.”.
“Except the dispeace with Mrs. McMurtrie when she is
asked to give the East Lodge up,” said Miss Emily.
"Oh, I'll manage it,” said Ann confidently.
She found it more difficult, however, than she had
imagined it would be. Mrs. McMurtrie at first could not
or would not comprehend what was required of her, and
then when she did understand she was very wroth. At last,
however, by dint of flattery and persuasion mingled with
veiled threats Ann succeeded in transferring not only her
but her large cat, called Walter after the absent McMurtrie,
to their new quarters. They were just in time to see from
their window the approach of the car bringing Mr. Tosh and
his attendant.
“What a funny little red-faced man!” said Ann, who
was watching the arrival from another window. “He's
like a golliwog with white hair.”
“Hush, Miss Charteris dear!” said Miss Emily who was
peering over her shoulder.
"It's all right, Miss Emily,” Ann replied. "He's too
absorbed in Miss Caroline to hear any one but her at the
present moment.”
“And no wonder,” said Miss Emily proudly. “I only
wish we all bad Caroline's manner.”
Ann dutifully acquiesced, smiling a little nevertheless at
the thought of herself sailing about with her hands clasped
in front of her as Miss Caroline did.
"The servant is quite a handsome man, don't you think?”
was Miss Emily's next remark. "Oh, dear, dear, his mas-
ter is scolding him for something, and apologising to Caro-
line at the same time for doing it. It's for taking the
portmanteau' out of the motor—when he did it all for the
best too! Poor fellow, poor fellow! How very patient he
is with Mr. Tosh!”
Thus on the very doorstep of Bartonsmuir Albert won
presente moments Carolin


BEFORE THE WIND
97
golden opinions. Arbuthnot who was present also as guard
of honour to Miss Caroline heartily endorsed Miss Emily's
praise. When he came in at lunch-time therefore with his
master he was warmly welcomed in the servants' hall, and
by the time the meal was over he was the admired of all
the company assembled there.
The household above stairs, however, with the exception
of Ann, did not see him again until prayers, when he
appeared at the end of the procession of elderly women-
servants along with Japp the odd-man.
Ann, who had been dispatched to the East Lodge during
the afternoon to see if all was right there, had found him
busy in his shirt-sleeves with Walter the cat, looking as
though he had not been transferred at all, established on
the table lazily watching his operations.
"He was here when we arrived, miss,” said Albert when
Ann exclaimed in surprise at the return of the exile, "and
the master's quite delighted with him, which is a mercy.”
It was. For no flattery or persuasion would induce the
heartless Walter to share poor Mrs. McMurtrie's banish-
ment. He deigned to visit her occasionally. He allowed
her at times to shed tears over him. He ate the tit-bits
she spread before him to lure him to the Big House. But
hardly were they swallowed when he would go back to the
East Lodge and resume his place on its new tenant's
writing-table. He liked the feeling of the papers apparently,
for from among them it was impossible to dislodge him.
And while the manuscripts he lay on were continually being
corrected till some of the sheets were mere confusions of
insertions and erasures complicated with blots and muddled
references to other pages, Walter in their midst remained
unaltered and unalterable.
As Albert spoke he went on unpacking his master's
writing materials. He had previously packed away-
he told Ann-Mrs. McMurtrie's ornaments and other
breakables.


BEFORE THE WIND
99
"Nothing would please me better," exclaimed Miss
Caroline quite charmed.
Thus by prayer-time the first Wrack-straw and his
servant were on the best of terms with the household. At
this function Albert sat with folded arms and the utmost
decorum between the stately Arbuthnot and Japp, making
the latter seem more ill-grown and furtive and futile and
miserable than he had ever before appeared. His master
sat at the other end of the room, stiffly erect, his hands
resting on the arms of his chair, his lips pursed, his ruddy
cheeks slightly distended, his head a little on one side, like
an attentive robin redbreast. ...
It was the next day at breakfast that the telegram
came announcing the arrival of Mrs. Bellairs and her two
friends.
Sanders the table-maid brought the news down to the
servants' hall where the two house-maids, Watson and
Williams, still sat talking to Albert.
"So,” said Sanders, “one o' you must come and help
me with the silver, seein' that I've been helpin' you all
week with the rooms. Last night at dinner I was black
affrontit of it, and once all these folks come there'll be less
time than ever to thorough-clean it.” .
Neither Watson nor Williams, however, seemed to be
enthusiastic.
"I've still plenty to do myself,” said Williams.
“Can I not help?” suggested Albert. "I'm used to
silver, and Mr. Tosh told me that if I dared to enter the
Lodge again before a quarter to one he would throw the
ink at me."
"My, but I'll be glad if you will, Mr. Figgis,” said
Sanders amid the general laughter, and without more ado
the two went off together and were soon hard at work in
the silver-pantry.
It was a lightsome pleasant place with cupboards all
down one side and a large safe on the other where special
heirlooms were kept. A long table was there too and com-
silver, and Met help?” suggestelf," said Williar


100
BEFORE THE WIND
fortable chairs so that the labour of the cleaning process
was reduced to a pastime.
“And never have I seen in all the years I have been
among silver a better cleaner than Mr. Figgis,” Sanders
reported afterwards. “He did the things in half the time
I take, and gave me, that thought I knew all there was to
know, some real fine notions.”
Quite an array of forks and spoons and other minor
accessories was already gleaming at one end of the long
table when the front door bell rang sharply, and then after
an interval more urgently.
“Watson will be up in the attics,” said Sanders, "but
Williams must be hearin' it.”
Sanders, however, was either wrong about Williams hear-
ing it or in her inference that she would consider it her
duty to attend to it, for a third time the bell rang, and
this time in a prolonged and determined manner.
“You'll have to go, Miss Sanders,” said Albert, polish-
ing away at an enormous soup-ladle.
Sanders banged down the tea-pot she was working at,
wiped her hands hastily, set her cap straight in front of a
dish-cover instead of a mirror, and then, tying on another
apron as she went, she departed in high dudgeon.
Hardly had the door closed behind her when Albert
turned in his chair.
The big safe was just behind him. In a moment he had
whipped a bunch of skeleton keys out of his pocket and
was trying them one after the other in the lock of it. He
had already tried two and was adjusting the third when a
slight noise just outside the window attracted his attention.
Turning again hastily he saw to his dismay a pasty face
just outside the bars there. It was Japp with a can of
water and soap, a large mop, and an inscrutable expres-
sion, engaged apparently on window-cleaning operations.
He must have just arrived, but it was impossible to tell
from his stolid countenance what he had seen or not seen
in that fraction of time. His shabby cloth cap was pulled


102
BEFORE THE WIND
“that that little idiot would appear just there of all
places!”
It made him furious to think what an insignificant
creature Japp was and how feeble was the hand into which
he was delivered. He mused about it all day. After
luncheon he returned to his room at the lodge. It was
the third and smallest room in the little house with a
window looking out on Mrs. McMurtrie's cabbages. But
ponder as he might he could think of no plan either to find
out whether Japp had realised what he was doing at the
safe, or to prevent him informing upon him if he wanted to.
Mr. Tosh in the throes of composition next door did not
ring for him till five o'clock. The early spring dusk was
already beginning to fall and he was making tea for his
master on Mrs. Murtrie's fire when the closed motor
with Japp driving and piled high with luggage passed the
lodge on its way to the Big House.
Safe, or to prevenhe throes of comphe early springen for his
The two Miss Bartons, attended by Ann, Arbuthnot,
and the housemaids, were all waiting in the hall. As the
motor came to a standstill before the steps, Miss Caroline
with Miss Emily and Ann came out on to the threshold.
A hearty laugh heralded the appearance of Mrs. Bellairs,
a very stout but still very handsome woman in her seventies.
"My dears,” she said, unwinding herself from a motor-
veil, "here we are after the most amusing journey I have
ever experienced. I have not enjoyed myself so much since
I was seventeen. Most of our luggage is lost, I believe,
but there is still some left. I am afraid your man will have
to go back for it as we could not get it all on to the motor
this time. Now, Sophy," she went on, turning to the motor
again, “come along. All our trials and troubles are ended.”
As she spoke she handed out a pale, grim woman whose
wrinkles and general attenuation contrasted strangely with
the richness and amplitude of her clothes. On her head
she wore a large and heavily trimmed hat, and the coiffure
beneath it was of a dull golden colour.


BEFORE THE WIND
103
“This,” said Ann to herself, “must be the lady who
looks only twenty from behind.”
A moment later her surmise was confirmed.
“Mrs. Fennimore—Miss Barton, Miss Emily Barton,”
said Mrs. Bellairs.
“And this is our companion, Miss Charteris,” returned
Miss Emily.
“How are you, my dear?" said Mrs. Bellairs, abandoning
an umbrella and a bag to Arbuthnot in order to shake
hands with Ann. "Sophia, here is the companion-Miss
Charteris—Mrs. Fennimore.”
"Oh, indeed?” said Mrs. Fennimore, but she did not
offer to shake hands.
Ann, however, was unaware of this, being engaged at
the moment in helping Mrs. Pitmirran to alight. Japp had
mutely requested her assistance, having found, when on
the point of departing again, that his third passenger was
still embedded in the motor. Mrs. Pitmirran was quite as
stout if not stouter than Mrs. Bellairs, and was besides at
the moment apparently in a despondent and immobile state
of mind.
"I told Maud Bellairs,” she said in a wheezy whispering
voice, “that even if I did get in here I should never be able
to get out again.”
She was almost too much even for Ann, but presently
she also stood on the threshold, looking in her magnificent
sables like a large brown owl just scared out of some dark
corner.
Watson and Williams were already carrying off the bag-
gage.
“Now, Miss Charteris dear,” said Miss Emily as soon as
Mrs. Bellairs stopped talking for a moment, "will you give
us all tea in the drawing-room? You will be glad of tea
after your journey I am sure,” she added to the company
in general.
"I wish I was, I am sure,” said Mrs. Pitmirran with a
sigh. “But I have always very much disliked tea."


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“Now, Bethia, you're not to be damping,” said Mrs.
Bellairs. “Remember the vow we made, we weren't to be
damping. Miss Charteris dear, just give her some hot milk,
and never ask her to take any special thing as it always
makes her dislike whatever it is, to be invited to take it."
“How strange,” she went on, as she led the way arm-in-
arm with Miss Emily to the drawing-room, “to be in this
dear old place once more. It brings back my twenties.
Ah me! The dances I have danced here! Down the mid-
dle and up again!”
"You could dance still I believe, Maud,” said Miss Emily
smiling.
“This place makes me feel as if I could,” said Mrs.
Bellairs. “But no—I danced my last here on the night
twenty years ago, you remember, when Lottie was the belle
and that fascinating young doctor from Lowhampton was
so devoted to her.”
"Was he?” said Miss Emily. “There were so many
devoted to her I had forgotten, and so has he evidently,
for he is engaged to our Miss Charteris now.”
“What? To that child? But she must be half his age,”
cried Mrs. Bellairs.
"He was a great friend of her father's,” explained Miss
Emily.
"Indeed?” exclaimed Mrs. Bellairs. "How very inter-
esting. I do enjoy a love affair! I must get her to tell
me all about it.”
Miss Emily laughed.
“The same old Maud, I see,” she said. “I remember how
all the girls used to confide in you.”
"Ay, and the married women, too,” laughed Mrs. Bel-
lairs. “The sole justification for my existence during many
years has been that I have been an excellent safety-valve
an admirable dumping-ground for confidences. This very
Lottie of yours, for instance, would have run off from old
Alleyne years ago if it had not been for me. Yes, you may
look shocked if you like, Emily, but it's true. 'Swear at


106
BEFORE THE WIND
at the end of the drive leading to the West Lodge. No
sooner had he reached it, however, than shambling footsteps
became audible behind him, and he had barely time to efface
himself among the rhododendrons before Japp passed him
on his way to his house. Immediately afterwards Albert
wished he had stopped him. He was even about to call out,
when some hesitation, which he later called providential,
prevented him doing so until the door of the lodge had shut.
Then he heard the key turn noisily in the lock.
"So he locks himself in, does he?” said Albert to himself.
“At seven in the evening.”
The action struck him as strange. Was Japp expecting
him then to visit him and taking this means of preventing
him from coming in?
Well, then, he must do the unexpected and catch him
when he had to come out before nine o'clock to go to
prayers. Otherwise he might get no answer.
He settled himself, therefore, on the low wall in the
shadow of the trees opposite to watch the house. For all be
knew he might have to wait an hour or even more before
Japp appeared. On the other hand, the little man might
appear at any minute. There was nothing for it therefore
but to stay on guard. With an inward groan he endeavoured
to resign himself. His state of mind at the moment, how-
ever, made inactivity exceedingly difficult. As he sat there
his anger against Japp rose till it was at fever-point, and
his consciousness that it was quite unreasonable only made
it burn more fiercely. Meanwhile, in miserable contrast
to this inner fire his outer man was becoming chillier and
chillier. An evening mist was rising from the shrubberies
and the moss on the wall was already saturated. He dis-
covered, too, after searching all his pockets, that he had
with him neither his matches nor his cigarettes, and the
fact of his having been so discomposed' as to have for-
gotten them added the last touch to his discomfort.
Just at this moment, however, he noticed a ray of light
faintly illuminating the greenery round the lower corner


BEFORE THE WIND
107
way birds. All was tops of the tremost dark
Albere was no
it clicked wglad that the little, no rustle amono dodendrons.
of one of the lodge windows. The heavy dark blind musť
have been caught up a little, and by some chance remained
unnoticed.
To Albert this neglected chink was a loop-bole of escape
from boredom and melancholy broodings. His drooping
spirits revived at the sight of it, and in less time than it
takes to tell it he was entering Japp's garden gate.
He moved forward very quietly. It was almost dark
now, but a pale radiance behind the tops of the trees showed
where the moon was rising. All was silence save where here
and there a drowsy bird fluttered in the rhododendrons.
There was no breath of wind, no rustle among the leaves.
Albert was glad that the little gate stood open. As it was
it clicked when he let it go and the sound was like a pistol-
shot in the silence. He stopped short in the pathway ex-
pecting some answering sign, but the lodge and its occupant
remained absolutely quiet.
A moment after he was kneeling down on a comfortable
clump of thyme and peering in at the little peep-hole. The
room inside was full of firelight. Every corner was illumi-
nated. But it was uninhabited. No Japp was there. Well,
doubtless he would soon come back to it. Leaning his
folded arms on the window-sill therefore Albert waited.
The blind was a thick one. The window was all dark
except the one lighted corner. No one could see him from
the road. Nor did the moonlight incommode him. It rather
helped to conceal him by casting the shadow of the house
upon him. Some sparrows among the ivy stirred at his
presence and twittered for a little, but they became used
to him after a time, for it was half-an-hour before his
patience was rewarded.
He had been staring at the two white china dogs with
black ears and tails that ornamented the huge dresser stand-
ing against the wall just facing him when to his utter
astonishment he became aware that they, together with the
whole dresser, were moving slowly towards him. Breath-
lessly he watched the dresser as it advanced smoothly and
vould soon come therefore Albert wall dark


108
BEFORE THE WIND
noiselessly until it stood at right angles to the wall, leaving
exposed a square hole in the flooring.
Next moment, however, he bit his lip to restrain himself
from a yell of triumph, for, from the hole, first a lighted
lamp held by a skinny hand, and then a skinny head with
staring terror-stricken eyes, and thin hair matted with
perspiration, had emerged before him.
“By George!” he ejaculated.
Next moment he was at the door.
"I have him," he said to himself as he knocked loudly.
He was back at the window in time to see Japp, in a
frenzied haste, which caused him to take several seconds
longer than was necessary, push back the dresser into its
place against the wall. Albert waited until he had quite
finished this operation.
Then he returned to the door and knocked again more
loudly.
“Who's there?” said Japp's voice, just inside, after a
moment.
“Either a friend or an enemy,” said Albert. "That de-
pends."
"Whatever you are," returned Japp with spirit, "you
needn't expect me to be a friend of yours. I know your
voice. You are Mr. Tosh's man that was tryin' the safe
with false keys this mornin'.”
“Yes, you're very clever,” said Albert, “but you're not
clever enough, my boy. You leave peep-holes in your
blinds that every passer-by can see through."
At this there was silence for a moment.
“What's that to you?” said Japp at last, but his voice
had become a little uncertain.
“Nothing at all,” said Albert, “but it may be something
to you when I get down to the village in about half-an-
hour and let 'em know at the police-office that I've dis-
covered a hidden German dug-out.”
The last words acted like an Open Sesame. Instantly the
key grated in the lock. A moment after the door flew open.


BEFORE THE WIND
109
“Be quiet!” said Japp hoarsely.
“All I want is to be quiet, you little fool,” said Albert.
"Let me in and I'll be quiet enough. How can we be quiet
as you call it bawling through a door at each other?"
“You're quite right,” said Japp, shivering as though with
cold while he led the way into his kitchen. “At least
you're quite right about the door—but you're wrong-quite
wrong about the other. I-I tell you at once," he went
on hurriedly, as Albert was about to interrupt him, “I am
no German agent. I hate the Germans. My uncle was one
and I always hated him. I hate him now though he is
dead for getting me into the mess I'm in.”
"He was a spy then?”
“One of the worst,” said Japp, "though no one knew
or guessed it here. He'd been a lot o' years at Bartonsmuir,
and he'd made a queer use of his time, too, I tell you."
"He'd made a well-concealed trap-door anyhow," said
Albert admiringly. “And what's below? A dug-out or a
passage or what?”
“Both,”, said Japp miserably. "There's a room almost
as big as this and a passage nearly a mile long leading from
it under the moor to near the beach. It comes out at a place
you'd never notice among the dunes. Oh, he was a hateful
traitor!”
“Come, come!” said Albert. “You mustn't speak like
that of your uncle. Besides you knew, too, didn't you?”
“Never till he was dying,” said Japp. "He died just
before the war and so he was obliged to tell me.”
“Poor chap!” said Albert.
“Yes, it was a cruel thing to do,” said Japp.
"I'm not pitying you, I'm pitying your uncle," said
Albert. "He must have been sore put to it when he took
you into his confidence. What has he down there?”.
“Petrol, tins and tins,” said Japp. “And there's bombs
too."
Albert started.
“What did you say?” he asked.


110
BEFORE THE WIND
“Bombs,” repeated Japp. “Boxes and boxes of 'em.”
“Good God!” said Albert. Then, “I don't believe it,”
he added.
“But it's true," persisted Japp. “'Explosives. To be
handled with the Utmost Caution. That's what's on the
boxes."
“Well I'm damned!” said Albert.
“That's what I am,” said Japp, "at least I'd just as
soon be damned as live in the state I'm living in."
“Oh, nonsense!” said Albert.
"It's true," said the little man again. "Since there was
word of the Zeppelins coming and dropping bombs about
here, I can't stand the thought of the dug-out under me at
nights. I've tried sleeping in the summer-house till I can
hardly walk with rheumatism. So I was down below there
just now to see if I could clear the things out. I wanted to
take them down the passage under the moor and throw
them into the sea- "
“But you couldn't, I suppose?” said Albert scornfully.
"No,” said Japp, “I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to
it."..You're a nipid your une day and
it.”
"You're a nice accomplice to have, you are,” said Albert
disgustedly. “Did your uncle die suddenly?”
“Yes, he fainted off one day and only came to again
for a few minutes."
"I thought so,” said Albert, “or he would have tried
to get somebody else. But if you are so scared, man, why
don't you clear out yourself?”
“I daren't,” said Japp.
“Daren't?"
"No," replied Japp. "My uncle said that this was my
post, and that there were Germans all about and that they
would know if I left it. He said it would be known in
Berlin, too, and that to desert would be as much as my
life was worth.”
“Nonsense,” said Albert. "Your uncle wasn't up to date.
There may be Germans about, but they're not so free as they


BEFORE THE WIND
111
were a month ago even, and Berlin is a long way off. I'll
bet you a pound that if you left here to-morrow and went
and enlisted you would be perfectly safe. And more than
likely you'd never be sent to the front. They want brains
and muscles there, you know."
“Then you think that Berlin— "
“Berlin be blowed,” said Albert. “We'll be in it before
they know you have left Bartonsmuir. What's more they
can't have known that you were here in charge of your
uncle's job, for if they had they would have bombed you
off long ago. That's the kind of people they are."
"What scares me most,” said Japp, becoming garrulous
in the relief of at last being able to unburden his mind to
some one, “what scares me more than anything is the
thought of what might happen if a bomb from a Zeppelin
reached the dug-out. I might escape myself, but there
would be a flare-up like the Last Day and Miss Caroline
ever after would think I was for the Germans.”
"My dear chap,” said Albert, "make a bargain with me
then. Clear out to-morrow and I'll clear the bombs out.”
'Will you?” said Japp awe-struck.
“Of course I will,” said Albert.
“You seem pretty cool about it,” said Japp, with sudden
suspicion. “Are you, perhaps, for the Germans yourself?”
“The Lord forbid!” said Albert. “Catch me taking such
a risk as to back any nationality. No, no, my lad. For
me there exist only two peoples in the world—the Rich and
the Not Rich.”
"Oh, yes—I forgot-you're a burglar,” said Japp with
a recurrence of contempt.
"I beg your pardon,” said Albert. "I am nothing of the
kind. A burglar takes whatever he can get. I appropriate
only superfluous wealth. I am what is called a Honey-
comber.”
"I see,” said Japp, blinking at him doubtfully.
Then he started back as Albert advanced suddenly upon
him.


112
BEFORE THE WIND
“And I mind my own business," he hissed into his face.
"Mind yours, my chicken, or it may be the worse for you."
“I will—I will,” said Japp hastily.
“Clear out then,” said Albert. "After prayers to-night
tell 'em you feel you ought to go. No more will be needed
here.”
"But-but the work,” said Japp bewildered.
"Oh, I'll arrange that,” said Albert. "Leave it to me
and your motor and your mop and whatever you need for
your work. I'll do it three times over, and my own too,
without knowing any difference.”
He stood tapping his foot on the ground impatiently
while Japp shifted and sweated in an agony of indecision.
“Will you swear you'll clear out the bumbs?” he said at
last.
“As soon as I come back from seeing you off at the
station to-morrow morning I'll get started to them,” said
Albert.
After that, as Japp said to his conscience afterwards
when it accused him of leaving such a man in his place,
what else was there left for him to do? Any one in such a
position would have done the same. On the one hand, all
he could see was Albert denouncing him at the police-
office; on the other was Albert releasing him from an
anxiety and a responsibility which had become intolerable.
Besides, as he reminded it further, from the time of this
interview onwards he was not himself. He was in a dazed
state. So much so, that it was only afterwards he realised
that he had gone up the drive on the way to prayers actually
arm-in-arm with Albert. He had not, in fact, known rightly
what he was doing until he was in the train next day many
miles from Bartonsmuir.
But all these excuses, though he repeated them a dozen
times, availed him little with that conscience of his. Not
for nothing had he, every Sunday of his boyhood, been
taught about heaven and hell by Miss Caroline. Not for
nothing had he heard her read the Bible and say her prayers


BEFORE THE WIND 113
at nine o'clock every evening for years. Gradually, under
his flabby exterior, a tough and stern mentor had come
into being who would now tolerate no evasions or prevari-
cations and ordered him, at all costs, to denounce Albert
the Honeycomber.
This, however, he could not bring himself to do any more
than he had been able to bring himself to handle the ex-
plosives.
So with Albert on the one side and Miss Caroline on the
other, Japp, though physically safe enough, was mentally
in a state of torment. His one comfort was Ann's clever-
ness. He remembered how she had discovered him in the
summer-house.
“Whoever he gets to the north of,” he kept saying to
himself, "he never will get to the north of Miss Charteris."
And Albert did not, though for quite another reason than
any imagined by his remorseful accomplice.
The day after Japp's departure Mr. Tosh was in a furious
temper because a sheet of paper had been mislaid upon
which the clean copy of a paragraph had been written. In
this evil hour a letter from the recruiting-officer arrived
ordering Albert Figgis to report himself at once at South-
ampton.
"You could claim temporary exemption for me if you
liked, sir,” said Albert tentatively.
“On what grounds?” snapped Mr. Tosh.
“I am the only man-servant about the house, sir," said
Albert. "To-day I have been motor-man, gardener, and
footman besides valeting you, sir."
"And throwing my manuscripts about like waste-paper,"
said Mr Tosh losing his temper again, if indeed he had ever
found it since the incident of the missing paragraph. "No,
you are of no use whatever to me."
"In that case, sir,” said Albert, repressing a violent de-
sire to seize his master by his long white hair and shake
him, “I shall start by the first train to-morrow morning if
that suits you."
seize anse, sir," over to me, missing pdeed he ha paper,"


114 BEFORE THE WIND
"Anything will suit me,” said Mr. Tosh, “that will rid
me of any one so inept as you are.”
His temper had changed, however, by dinner-time.
“I was waiting table,” wrote Albert in a letter to Jane
that night, "and I wish you had seen him proposing my
health and all of them drinking it, and I wish you had seen
them after prayers shaking hands all round, and then first
Miss C. and then old D. giving me their farewell blessings.
It was a picture. But especially, my dear, I wish you had
seen the stones—rubies, emeralds, and sapphires—that were
blinking round me all the time. One old pussy—a Mrs.
Pitmirran-had a diamond sun on, worth I am sure at
least a thousand pounds, that it would have been as easy to
gather as a dandelion if that infernal government of ours
had only known how to conduct a war without interfering
with civilian employments in the way it's doing.”


BEFORE THE WIND
115
CHAPTER THE SIXTH
WHICH GIVES SOME ACCOUNT OF AN ENCHANTED WOOD
AND OF WHAT BEFEL A HERO THERE
on to write and of chauffeur and sense duty to enlist
THE same train which bore Japp away from Bartons-
muir carried also another letter addressed to Rathness whose
arrival caused quite a sensation in a small way and neces-
sitated the holding of another council.
It met as soon as Captain Piffard had a free hour and
held its sitting round the drawing-room fire at the Gables.
"Begin by reading the letter, Fred,” said Mrs. Alleyne
in her most business-like manner.
She leaned back then in a big arm-chair and lit a cigarette
while Fred took the letter out of its envelope.
"It's from that Miss Charteris again," he said.
"DEAR MRS. ALLEYNE,—I have been asked by Miss
Barton to write and ask you if you know of any one who
would take the post of chauffeur and general odd-man here
in place of one who has felt it to be his duty to enlist for
war service. He would have a comfortable three-roomed
lodge at his disposal, and the terms, which will be settled
on his arrival, will be liberal. The motor is being little used,
but as the gardener has also enlisted, his duty—which in-
cludes at present the planting and drying of medicinal
herbs—would fall to be done by the new-comer. This,
however, with occasional window-cleaning and bath-chair
work, would be all that he would be expected to under-
take.
"Miss Barton hopes that among the many men of all sorts
that you know you may happen to find some one suitable.
Any old derelict she bids me say would do, provided that
he is thoroughly honest and of an even temper.”


116
BEFORE THE WIND
“There, Captain Piffard,” said Mrs. Alleyne triumph-
antly. “Now, do you see an opening?”.
“For me, do you mean?” said Captain Piffard.
Mrs. Alleyne laughed.
“For you—in a sense-yes,” she said. “I call it provi-
dential. Now you can put some one in this place to keep
watch upon that serpent Albert."
“Yes, I could,” said Piffard, “if I had any one to put
there.”
“But you know hundreds of people," urged Mrs. Alleyne.
"They can't all have enlisted.”
“No, but they haven't all brains,” said Piffard. “It
will take brains to do this job, also some pluck and any
amount of energy. It will need some one, too, who can play
a part and not give himself away. You know what
Albert is.”
“Of course," said Mrs. Alleyne, “but surely some one
can be found. Some one must be found. It would be
criminal not to take this opportunity. When I think of
these poor old things, the Wrack-straws, at his mercy there,
it makes me quite ill. I have hardly slept at all since I
heard of it. Something must be done or I must write and
warn them.”
"If you do that,” said Piffard, "we lose an excellent
opportunity of catching him. He's in a trap now if we can
only close it on him.”
“Then why are you so indifferent about it?" exclaimed
Mrs. Alleyne impatiently.
"I'm not indifferent,” said Piffard, “but the only man
I know who has not enlisted and who would go like a shot
is another detective.”
“Ah, then it's jealousy, is it?”
“Yes, it's jealousy,” said Piffard. "I may survive the
war, you know, and if I do I shall badly need my work-
for many reasons. I didn't let Albert go twice scot-free to
hand him over to another man."
“You are candid," said Mrs. Alleyne coldly. “So you


BEFORE THE WIND 117
yourself are giving Albert a third opportunity at the ex-
pense of the poor old Wrack-straws? Well, Captain Pif-
fard, I did not think it of you.”.
"Do wait till I have finished,” exclaimed Piffard. "I
said I only knew one man who would go like a shot instead
of me, but I do know another who would be the very
person if he would go. That man over there," and he
pointed with his cigarette.
“Fred!” exclaimed Mrs. Alleyne.
“Me!” exclaimed Fred sitting up.
Captain Piffard laughed.
"We are to be partners, you know," he said.
"Well, Fred,” said Mrs. Alleyne, leaning forward in her
chair all eagerness. “Well, Fred, will you go? You have
still some leave.”
Fred thought for a moment, his eyes kindling, the spirit
of adventure awakening withir him, rising up and trampling
down for the moment the spirits of baulked passion and
despair that had been rending him. A wonderful lightness
and sense of relief came with it, an irresponsibility and
gaiety that had not been his for months. . . . The two
sitting watching him saw the transformation and wondered.
Yet neither of them spoke till
"Do you think I could learn the bath-chair work and
the window-cleaning in the time?” he said at last.
"Oh, you will go—you will!” cried Mrs. Alleyne clap-
ping her hands. "He's going, Captain Piffard!”
“Yes. I'll go, partner,” said Fred.
“By Jove!” exclaimed the captain in his turn starting
up. “This is a stroke of luck. This is splendid of you,
Lorimer.”
Fred laughed the first hearty laugh he had laughed for
a long time.
"Not half so splendid as it is of you nominating me,"
he said. “What if I make a hash of the whole thing?"
“You won't do that,” said Piffard with conviction. “You
are not the kind of man that makes hashes."


118
BEFORE THE WIND
"I'll write at once,” said Mrs. Alleyne springing up.
“Aunt Caroline and Aunt Emily will be off their heads
with joy."
"Why?” said Fred, suddenly holding her arm to detain
her. “What are you going to write to them?”
"That a V.C. from the Battle of the Marne is coming to
do odd-man for them,” said Mrs. Alleyne excitedly, “who
knows all about motors from motor-bicycles to flying-
machines, and was besides—this is for Aunt Caroline-at
the beginning of the war-one of the best students of that
year at Oxford.”
“Sit down, Lottie,” said her nephew peremptorily. "If
you write that to them I'll not go a single step."
“But, Fred— ”
"I won't. Sit down and I'll tell you what to say."
“Do sit down, Mrs. Alleyne,” said Captain Piffard.
“Very well,” she said, subsiding into her chair again,
“but please, Fred, don't be silly. Let the poor old Wrack-
straws have the pleasure—the ecstasy—of entertaining a
V.C."
"Aunt Lottie,” said Fred. “I would do anything to
oblige you-
“Except what I want you to do," said Mrs. Alleyne
pouting.
"But I will not go with a label on," said Fred. "I have
given you my reasons before. I may be all wrong, but that's
how I feel. Besides I want a change during those last weeks,
the last perhaps in which I may be alive and intact. I'll
be a motor-man for you, a gardener, a window-cleaner, a
detective if you like. But I don't want to have to prattle
about the front.”
There was a moment's silence after the word fell as with
the sound of a distant knell between them.
“We must accept his terms, Mrs. Alleyne," said Captain
Piffard then. “You must write. What would you like
written about you, Lorimer?”
“Say,” said Fred, "that you have found a man called


BEFORE THE WIND 119
James Green, inexperienced except in motor-work, but
willing to do his best at the other things. You can add
that he is honest and of an even temper."
“Well, after what you have said I must," said Mrs.
Alleyne rising, “but I tell you, Fred, that I feel as though
my name were Wolff and I were going to Berlin to write an
Official Statement."
After she had gone the two men smoked in silence for a
time, listening to the rain which had begun to fall outside.
“Of course you are remembering, Lorimer,” said Piffard
at last, "that both old Tosh and Albert know you."
"I was just thinking of that,” said Fred, “but I can
write to old Tosh and tell him that I am following up a trail
and— ”
"No, no, better see him,” said Piffard. “Who knows but
that Albert may read all his letters?”
"Well then, I'll see him," said Fred, "and get him to
tell Albert that I am travelling incognito and that if he
breathes a syllable to any one about my not being James
Green he will dismiss him.”
“That will do," said Piffard. "Albert won't want to be
dismissed just yet. The only difficulty will be in getting to
see old Tosh first.”
“Well, where would be the fun of it all,” laughed Fred,
“if there were no difficulty?”.
Piffard looked at him curiously.
“This little enterprise is quite cheering you up,” he said.
Fred laughed again, flushing a little.
"Have I been so dull?” he said.
“Well—up and down," said Piffard. "Mostly down I
think."
He paused for a moment.
"I say, Lorimer,” he went on hurriedly. "I suppose it's
about the limit out there, isn't it? I know you hate speak-
ing of it, but- "
“Yes, before women," said Fred. "Somehow I–I can't


120
BEFORE THE WIND
bear it. I'm a fool, of course, but I can't stand hearing them
talking of it. You see they think they understand. They
have a kind of picture in their minds, and give one a wild
desire at times to tear it down and show them the truth-
which would be impossible of course. . . . But you'll see
for yourself soon.”
"It's strange," said the other, “to hear you talk like
this after what you've done."
"Now for heaven's sake, Piffard,” said Fred, "don't
talk of what I've done. I've done no more than thousands
have done, and very much less than thousands have done
really. . . . It's not a question of heroism, it's chance and
brute violence and brute instinct of self-defence and con-
ceit that makes you willing to die rather than appear a
coward before company—that's why I hate and loathe
this V.C. business. 'Look at me,' I seem always to be
saying, 'how brave and noble I am!' Pah! It's
monstrous!”
Piffard sat silent for a moment gazing into the fire.
"I understand,” he said at last. "I should feel just the
same about such an honour except for one thing— " He
hesitated. "I could imagine it a fine thing to have it to
bring home to a woman if you loved her.”
He paused again, but Fred sat silent looking at him.
“Whether she loved you or not,” said Piffard.
"Piffard, old man,” said Fred after a moment, “I've
sometimes wondered—is—is it Lottie?”
Piffard's eyes met his and in them he read his
answer.
"And—and— ” said Fred again, “I've no business I
know—but won't she have you then?”
"No, there is some one else," said Piffard to the depths
of the fire again. “But—she has been good enough not to
shut me out altogether—to let me come as before till I go
away. . . . You see things are different just now. Things
that would be impossible at other times are not impossible
now. Life to me has become strangely bounded, Lorimer-


BEFORE THE WIND
121
shut in—I can't express it. ... I suppose it means that
I am near the finish.”
"I know what you mean," said Fred simply, without
contradiction or re-assurance. « A place to stand and love
in for awhile,' ” he added quietly, “with darkness and the
death-hour rounding it.'”
“Who said that?” said Piffard. “He might have said
it for me.”
"It was a woman," said Fred. But just then the door
opened.
"Stop talking about women," said Mrs. Alleyne's cheer-
ful voice as she crossed the room behind them, "and listen
to this. 'Dear Miss Charteris,' she went on, reading the
letter in her hand, 'I have just received your note and am
pleased to be able to tell you that I have already found you
a very suitable man. Please tell my aunts with my love
that his name is James Green and that, though inexperienced
except in motors, he is willing to learn the other things.
Being out of work for the time he is anxious to begin as
soon as possible, and, as you say the lodge is vacant, I have
told him he may go to you to-morrow. He is a good walker
so that it will be quite unnecessary for any one to meet him
at the railway station. I am sure that as odd-man you will
find him quite a treasure.--Yours sincerely, CAROLINE
find him te ALLEYNE, don't like,"
“The only thing I don't like,” said Fred, "is that bit
about the treasure. It's a gross exaggeration and you
know it."
“Yes, but I did it to save telling lies,” she answered.
"I could not say you were honest as you were going under
an assumed name, and I couldn't say you were of an even
temper, so what was I to do, Freddie?”
"Well, let it stand,” said Fred laughing, “though why
taking a nom de guerre should be called dishonest I can't
see. It is not as though I were to be myself at all. For the
next month or so I am to be a totally different person.”
“Bravo!” said Piffard rising. "I knew you were the


122 BEFORE THE WIND
kind of man. Give me the letter, Mrs. Alleyne, and I'll
post it on the way home.”
Mrs. Alleyne was seated at a little desk near the door
stamping and directing the envelope. At the word, however,
she turned in her chair.
"Home?” she said. “To your lodgings do you mean?”
Piffard nodded in silence looking at her. The rain was
pattering drearily upon the window-panes.
"Have you nothing more to do to-night?” she said
gently.
"No," he answered.
“Then your home is here for this evening,” she an-
nounced. “Johnson shall post the Official Statement."
So Johnson in snow-boots and rain-coat, for he was
rheumatic, went the hundred yards to the pillar-box and
posted the letter, and in due course it arrived at Bartonsmuir
when the Wrack-straws were assembled in the drawing-room
after dinner.
Albert had left that morning and a sense of bereavement
was upon the party. Sanders and Williams handing round
coffee looked inadequate and awkward, and Mr. Tosh had
a neglected appearance which Mrs. Bellairs described as
heartrending.
"His tie is quite squint, poor dear,” she said aside to Ann
when she had beckoned her into a corner, "and he has lost
or forgotten one of his sleeve-links too. Would he be of-
fended, do you think, if I offered to lend him a pair of
my late Arthur's?”.
"Oh, better not,” said Ann hastily. "He would think it
very kind I am sure—but you know he has rather a quick
temper."
Mrs. Bellairs laughed her comfortable laugh as she patted
her own plump arms contentedly.
"Well, well, my dear,” she said, “so had my late Arthur.
There isn't much about tempers that I don't know. You


BEFORE THE WIND
123
are quite right. Besides Mr. Tosh seems happy enough
without his sleeve-links."
Ann looked down the long room to where Mrs. Fenni-
more and Miss Emily were playing bridge against the author
of “The Utter Impossibility” and Mrs. Pitmirran.
"He is winning,” said Mrs. Bellairs. “I can see that
by Sophia's grumpiness and Bethia's complacency. It does
Bethia good to win. She is beaming like that ridiculous
diamond sun of hers.”
A half unwilling grin indeed was spreading over Mrs.
Pitmirran's large face when Ann's attention was distracted
from her by the arrival of the post-bag.
This was attended by another of the ceremonials with
which the even tenor of life at Bartonsmuir was punctuated.
When half-past eight arrived Miss Caroline always moved
to the round table near the fire where the big lamp with the
rose-coloured shade was. Here she received the post-bag
and the key to it from Arbuthnot. Then with the aid of a
long-handled eye-glass in solemn silence she sorted the
letters out upon the table, and until they were all allocated
to their various little heaps it was tacitly understood that
no one should approach them.
Ann watched her that night with some impatience.
“Are you expecting one from Him?” said Mrs. Bellairs
sympathetically.
"No," said Ann. "I had one this morning. But I do
hope there will be one from Mrs. Alleyne to-night.”
"Ah-about the new man—I had forgotten,” said Mrs.
Bellairs. "The dear knows nothing of Lottie being her
predecessor,” she added to herself as she watched Ann
going down the room to the letter-table. "She's a lovely
girl and a good mover, as poor dear Arthur used to say. ...
Well, well . . . Où sont les neiges d'antan?”
For a moment the room transformed itself into a ball-
room of twenty years ago with two young lovers dancing
together and all the other couples watching.
When she came to herself she saw that Ann was seated


BEFORE THE WIND 125
"He is anxious to begin work as soon as possible,” Ann
persevered, “and as you say the lodge is vacant- "
“We did not say that,” said Miss Caroline, “but I dare
say we implied it.”
"I have told him he may go to you the day after to-
morrow "
“That is to-morrow now,” interjected Mrs. Bellairs.
“He is a good walker,” Ann went on steadily, "so that
it will be quite unnecessary for any one to meet him at
the railway station. I am sure that as odd-man you will
find him quite a treasure.—Yours sincerely, CAROLINE
CHARLOTTE ALLEYNE."
“She sends no message to you, Maud,” said Miss Caroline.
“That is strange.”
"It would be strange if she did rather,” laughed Mrs.
Bellairs. “She has no idea that I am here."
“No idea that you are here?” exclaimed Miss Caroline,
“when your nephew is staying there?”.
“My good soul,” said Mrs. Bellairs, "he doesn't know
either."
“Do you mean,” said Miss Caroline stiffening, "that
you concealed the fact of your coming here, Maud? Are
you ashamed of being a Wrack-straw?”.
“Not a bit,” said Mrs. Bellairs, “though with all due
deference to you, Caroline, I ought to be, you know. But
you have made it possible for me, you see, to exist with
some sort of self-respect. I think of my five maids, poor
things, and the butler, and the motor-man, and I say to
myself, 'They're all working for the government and doing
seven times as much as I could have done,' whenever I
feel depressed about it.”
“Why then did you not write to your nephew?” said
Miss Caroline, firmly returning to the point.
"Partly because I was angry with him," said Mrs.
Bellairs, “because he has a V.C. and won't give me any
good of it. I told you he had refused to come and stay
with me because I said in my letter of invitation that


126
BEFORE THE WIND
I had told all the neighbourhood about him. Partly, how-
ever, and mostly,” she added, "the reason he doesn't know
where I am is that I never can write to anybody except
once in a blue moon. I am so incorrigibly lazy about writ-
ing letters.”
"Miss Charteris,” said Miss Caroline turning to Ann,
"when you write your letter of thanks to Mrs. Alleyne
kindly inform her that Mrs. Bellairs is here."
“Yes, Miss Caroline,” said Ann. “Should I do it now
do you think?"
"No," said Miss Caroline. "Better see for what we have
to thank her first."
"Scotchwoman!” laughed Mrs. Bellairs. “Can't you trust
to your presentiments?”.
"I have no presentiments," said Miss Caroline, "and if
I had I should not believe in them."
“But surely you believe Lottie?" said Mrs. Bellairs.
"I believe that she means well,” said Miss Caroline.
“Miss Charteris, I trust to you to see that the West
Lodge is prepared," she added with the air of a queen
giving orders for the preparation of a royal palace, or so
Mrs. Bellairs described it later that night when Ann was
brushing her hair for her.
“Yes, and I love her for doing it,” said Ann. "It makes
you feel grand, like Sir Walter Raleigh.”
Ann felt less grand next day, however, when she saw in
what state Japp had left the West Lodge.
Williams and she, attired for house-cleaning in overalls,
stood paralysed for the moment by the deplorable aspect
of it, and Maggie the between-maid, who had come as rein-
forcement, ejaculated, “Eh, mercy on us!”
“Of course Japp would be very excited when he went
away,” said Ann, willing to make every excuse for a
soldier.
"I would excite him more if I saw him now," said
Williams vindictively. "Did he think we hadna work
enough already at the Big Hoose?”.


BEFORE THE WIND 127
“Go back to it then,” said Ann firing up, "and I'll do
this by myself, with Maggie.”
"No, no, miss,” said Williams hastily. "It was jist a
mainner o' speakin' like.”
"Miss Charteris is a madam and no mistake,” she re-
ported afterwards. "But, my certy, she can work.”
It was already three in the afternoon, nevertheless, when
Ann finally left the West Lodge. She had had no lunch
and was ravenous, but with a feeling of satisfaction she
paused for a moment on the threshold to look back at her
completed task.
The little house was now as neat as a new pin. All the
rubbish had been cleared out. The bed had been hauled
and pushed into the other room. The diamond-paned
windows shone like diamonds. The two chairs and the table
were transfigured with polishing. So was the white clock
with its painted wreath. So was the dresser, but they
had utterly failed to clean either behind it or beneath it,
for from its place against the wall it had utterly refused
to budge. They might as well, as Williams said, have tried
to move the Scott Monument, and to Ann it seemed that
the two white china dogs with black ears and tails which
sat grinning on its top shelf were regarding her derisively.
But the fire was lit, the glow of it was reflected everywhere,
the cloth was laid, the materials for a meal were ready.
"Well, James Green,” she said as she went out closing the
door after her, “if you're not satisfied and gratified, you
ought to be!"
It was several hours later, however, before James Green
came to see what had been done for him. The first shadow
of dusk was already over everything when shouldering his
suit-case he marched out of the station with his face towards
Bartonsmuir and his back to the sunset.
“Wha is't, think ye?” said Macfarlane the porter to
Crombie the stationmaster, as the two stood watching the
stalwart figure striding down the road.


128
BEFORE THE WIND
“It's a Mister James Green," said the stationmaster.
"I had a letter for him and that was the name on it.”
“A letter?”
“Ay, a note-like from Miss Charteris at the Big Hoose.”
“Is he her sweetheart, think ye?"
“Bless ye, no! She's gettin' a doctor they tell me. He's
the new man that's come in place o' Johnnie Japp. He's
to live in the West Lodge an' be a kind o' orra-man."
“Never!” ejaculated the porter.
“That's what they tell me,” said Crombie.
“But this man's gentry!” argued Macfarlane.
“Aweel, gentry or no' gentry—that's what they tell me,"
persisted Crombie.
“Weel, weel,” said Macfarlane, giving in to his superior,
"things is a' fair upside doon the noo."
James Green, meanwhile, all unaware of this discussion,
was sniffing the fragrance of the April twilight with the
appreciation of a man just delivered from a stuffy railway
carriage. After he was well away from the station he did
not hurry. It seemed to him all at once that it was a very
long time since he had been out alone and on foot in the
heart of the country. The hedges on either side of the road
were veiled in living green. A sense of spring was every-
where, a light as of other days, a glamour quite indescrib-
able that was more than half remembrance. Little flowers
he knew greeted him like old friends—celandines, potentillas
--that for long he had not had time to notice. In the
distance he could see the wood heaped and dim beyond
which, according to the note of guidance, lay his destina-
tion. As he thought of it he took the note out of his pocket
again. She was very precise, this Miss Charteris. The
handwriting was neat though rather hurried and had quaint
little twirls at intervals.
"On leaving the station," the note ran, "go straight
along the road until you come to the place where three


BEFORE THE WIND
129
roads meet. Then take the one to the left where the twisted
elder-tree is and follow it till you come to the first entrance
gate on the right. The West Lodge is just inside. There you
will find supper waiting, and at nine o'clock Miss Barton
hopes that you will come up to the house for prayers, after
which she will arrange an interview, when the terms of pay-
ment will be settled.”
He had been walking on while he read and now looking
up he saw the twisted elder-tree right before him, and an
invisible thrush was singing somewhere among its branches
so exquisitely that he had to pause for a moment to listen
to it. As he did so and the wonderful song went on, he
idly pictured to himself the woman who had written those
things—the successor to Lottie's former lover.
"She'll be an old man's darling," he said to himself,
“pretending to be more babyish than she really is, or she
will be one of the painfully cheerful kind, always grinning
and tactful. And this after Lottie!”
Then as the thrush still sang, the wild sweet music linked
up the thought of the old dead love with his living one,
and for the first time since the adventure began he felt the
tide of misery returning upon him.
Starting forward with a smothered exclamation he scared
the bird into sudden silence, and changing the suit-case he
was carrying to his other shoulder he chose aright by mere
chance and took the road to the left.
The way now was bounded only by level fields and the
wood as he drew nearer to it seemed to lie right across it. It
stood out from the grey landscape with a queer distinctness
because of a strange faint radiance behind it, and presently
as he approached he realised that this luminous background
was the sea, so calm, so still, that it seemed to be part of the
sky above it. It was curious in the quiet to see how wind-
swept the trees were, all bent a little towards the sunset. It
deepened the sense of unreality that possessed him as he
found himself at last in the shadow of them. Hardly, how-
ever, was he there before he came upon the old gateway
stood as he now was head to the be chos


130
BEFORE THE WIND
with urns wreathed in stone flowers crowning its weather-
worn pillars.
The gate itself stood hospitably open, but the drive
which was little wider than a cart-track disappeared after
a hundred yards or so into what seemed to be a dense
thicket.
Just inside the gate, however, and withdrawn into a nar-
row garden stood a small grey house hoary with age and
half-buried in greenery.
“My lodge as I am alive!” he exclaimed.
Then he pushed open the wicket and went rejoicing up
the pathway.
As he ate and drank he reflected upon his plans, taking
at the same time stock of his surroundings. The more he
did so the more they pleased him. The white china
dogs with black ears and tails seated on the dresser
afforded him special enjoyment. He envied them. They
were so absolutely self-satisfied. The old white clock too
with its gaudy wreath, its hanging weights, and its brass-
headed pendulum charmed him. Even the gilt-framed
portrait of Queen Victoria in gorgeous attire which hung
over the mantelpiece seemed invested with a new and eerie
interest.
"Poor old lady," he said to himself. “Does she know
in heaven that she is the grandmother of a devil incarnate?”
This thought, however, suggested others that were better
dismissed for that time. He sprang up and piling the
dishes out of the way sat down again with his fountain-pen
and a pad of writing-paper.
“At the West Lodge,” he wrote, “in the midst of the
Enchanted Wood.
“Madam,— Your obedient servant James Green salutes
you.
"I arrived here an hour ago. You know the road from
the station, and I need not describe it to you. I shall
only tell you that it was a grey night, fragrant, dream-


BEFORE THE WIND
131
like, and that a thrush was singing on the twisted elder-
tree where the three roads meet. This wood you have lived
in yourself. I shall see where you lived presently when
I go up to the Big House, as the worthy stationmaster
calls it. But I am sure, my dear and aristocratic aunt, you
never realised what a blissful dwelling-place this little West
Lodge is. When you rolled past it in your carriage or
cavorted past it on your horse you only looked upon it as
the place where the person lived who opened the gate for
you, or at best you looked in occasionally to visit a retainer
and say it was a fine day and how were all the children?
"My dear, we folks in the big houses miss a hundred
little pleasures quite unconsciously. I feel that I am going
to enjoy myself as James Green more perhaps than I ever
did before in all my life. Soon I shall be lighting my lamp
a queer old thing with a porcelain stand which has a crooked
cottage painted on it. It is early dark here under the trees
and in the midst of the rhododendrons. One is nearer the
dear old earth in a cottage. I am part of the wood here. I
can hear the trees whispering over my roof. Through my
open window the scent you love of withered leaves and
damp moss is coming in with the twilight. I have only to
cross the threshold to be in the midst of it all.
“But you know the rest. What you don't know about
is the inside of this cottage and the delight it is to have it
all to myself, though you know too—and I need not tell
you again-how much I enjoyed being with you, my dear.
And do not think that in my ecstasies I am forgetting my
commission. I have not managed—tell Piffard—to see
Mr. Tosh yet, but I mean to do so as soon as possible.
Meantime, I have refrained from going to prayers as I was
requested to do in a note left for me with the stationmaster
by the indefatigable Miss Charteris. My presence might
have interfered with Mr. Tosh's and Albert's devotions. I
shall go up afterwards, however, and ask for an interview
with my employers. Indeed, on looking at my fascinating
clock which I wish I had time to describe, I find that it is


132 BEFORE THE WIND
already late. I shall continue this letter, therefore, when
the interview is over."
Fred, after that night, did not believe in presentiments
any more than Miss Caroline did, for if ever he should have
had some foreboding it should have been when he was
walking up the narrow winding drive to the Big House.
Yet up it he went with his mind full of everything and
anything but of what was going to happen to him, and he
was so deep in thought that he startled the house by ringing
the front door bell before he remembered with confusion
that, as James Green, he had no right to take such liberties.
He was on the point of beating a retreat when the door
was opened by Arbuthnot.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, “I should have gone to
the back door.”
Arbuthnot looked bewildered, as well she might.
"I am James Green,” he explained, “the new_er-
lodge-keeper.”
For one moment Arbuthnot's bewilderment gave place
to astonishment. Then all expression faded from her well-
trained countenance.
“Miss Barton has been expecting you,” she said. “Come
in."
The omission of the “sir” was a little difficult.
“For whatever he was besides I saw he was a gentleman
born,” she said afterwards. “But seein' he is a servant
now he must just take a servant's treatment. Things is
mixed up enough already without me sayin' 'sir' to orra-
men."
"I'll let Miss Barton know you're here,” she said as she
ushered the stranger into the morning-room.
It was later, however, than Fred imagined. The fascinat-
ing clock happened to be an hour slow. Therefore, when
Arbuthnot, according to promise, brought up the announce-
ment that James Green the new man was waiting below,
Miss Caroline was already in déshabille and Miss Emily in
the depths of her four-poster.


BEFORE THE WIND
133
“Dear, dear!” said the latter appearing at her sister's
door in her dressing-gown. “This is very awkward. He
will think it so unbusiness-like of us not to see him. Caro-
line, could you not put on your— "
"No," said Miss Caroline. “No, Emily, I could not put
on anything again just now either to oblige you or James
Green. Miss Charteris, however, is still presentable. Kindly
go down and see him, Miss Charteris, and say that owing to
the lateness of the hour we must postpone our business
conversation until to-morrow.”
Ann laid down the brush with which she was doing Miss
Caroline's hair, patted her own locks which had become
somewhat dishevelled, gave a shake by way of adjustment
to her white evening gown, and ran lightly down the stairs
to carry out these instructions.
As she went she wondered with some amusement if
James Green would answer to Mrs. Bellairs's mental picture
of him.
“Plain, sensible-looking, and shabby,” she repeated to
herself. Then she opened the door of the morning-room.
Fred was standing with his back to her when she entered
looking at the contents of the book-case opposite the door-
way.
"He is not shabby anyhow,” she said to herself. "He
has very well-made Harris tweeds on.”
“Good evening,” she said aloud.
Then he turned and saw her.
"And he's not plain either," was her thought as their
eyes met. "But how strange that he does not speak!"
Then, with surprise, she saw that he had paled to the very
lips.
“Can it be that he is shy?” she thought uneasily.
"Miss Barton is sorry," she began, flushing a little as she
spoke, for the man's eyes seemed to hold hers prisoners for
the moment by some strange appeal in them which she
felt almost distressingly but could not understand, "Miss
Barton is sorry that it is too late for her to see you to-


134 BEFORE THE WIND
night. She hopes you will come again early to-morrow
morning.”
But still he did not speak, and Ann had nothing more to
communicate.
"Good night,” she said, with an attempt at briskness.
Then, however, the extraordinary James Green seemed
suddenly to recover his power of utterance.
"Thank you very much," he said. “I must apologise for
being so late and for—for being so stupid just now. You
are very like some one 1-know.”
“Am I?” she said wondering.
“Would—would you mind telling me who you are?” he
said hoarsely.
"I am Miss Charteris,” said Ann, “the companion here,
the secretary, sometimes,” she added smiling, "I think I
am the maid of all work.”
"Thank you,” said James Green quietly, but Ann's smile
met with no response.
"He just opened the door for me,” she reported after-
wards, "and we said good night. He's to come at ten to-
morrow morning."
"I hope you found him sensible-looking,” said Miss
Caroline.
"He talked quite sensibly,” said Ann, and no one noticed
the slight emphasis.
Alone in her own room, however, she began to wonder
again about James Green, his strange manner, and the
strangeness altogether of his being at Bartonsmuir, young,
strong, and evidently a gentleman, filling the post of the
derelict they had advertised for. She went to sleep thinking
about it, worrying about it rather; it seemed so incom-
patible with the whole aspect of the man that he should
be a slacker. Yet what else could he be here?
Mingled with this feeling about the new-comer was a
vague wonder as to who the girl was whom she so re-
sembled.
She had advanced in experience since her engagement.


BEFORE THE WIND
135
"He is in love with her whoever she is,” was her last
conscious thought.
But James Green, with his clenched hands thrust into
the pockets of his coat, sat all night by the dead fire at the
West Lodge, staring with unseeing eyes before him, and
striving to adjust himself to the grand finale of all his hopes.
His unfinished letter lay in fragments on the floor, the
lamp with the crooked cottage on it smoked unheeded, and
the gorgeous old queen from her gilt frame over the mantel-
piece looked down in triumph upon the man who had dared
to pity her.


136
BEFORE THE WIND
CHAPTER THE SEVENTH
IN WHICH ANN CHARTERIS FALLS FOUL OF TWO WRACK-
STRAWS IN ONE EVENING
DAWN, however, stealing in at the diamond-paned windows,
found the occupant of the West Lodge all but prepared
to tackle circumstances once more, and realising that, bad
as things were, they might have been worse still.
He might never have seen Ann Charteris again.
Ann. ... He delighted in the quaint little name.
Now he might see her and even speak to her every day
perhaps for weeks.
A memory of his talk with Piffard here occurred to him.
"Even if she does not love you,” he quoted.
He was surprised to find himself exhilarated by this
thought.
The spirit of adventure, cast down the night before by
the shock of his strange meeting with the unknown girl
of his dreams and the discovery that she, who was the
centre of everything to him, was the betrothed of Lottie's
former lover, now took possession of him again and more
completely than ever...
For the first time he was keenly interested in his com-
mission. He had felt sorry for the poor old Wrack-straws
left at the mercy of Albert, but now he was filled with
indignation and horror at the mere thought of Ann's peace
of mind being endangered. There was a certain satisfaction,
too, amid all the bitterness in the reflection that by right of
his present post he might do this service for his beloved before
going out to the front again and making there a decent exit.
After long uncertainty, to come face to face with anything,
even the direst misfortune, is invigorating to some natures.
It was undoubtedly the clear vision of what he had now


138
BEFORE THE WIND
He soon found himself in a fine old stable-yard sur-
rounded by ancient buildings and paved with cobble-
stones, where it was easy on that misty morning to imagine
a coach and four getting ready with horns sounding and
postillions mounting. The motor when he found it, how-
ever, was no illusion. If Japp's lodge had been in an
unsatisfactory condition he had left his motor in still worse
case, and Albert prematurely reft away had not bad time
to clean it.
Fred's face lengthened when he saw it. Next moment,
however, his coat was off and he was hard at work. There
was a modern tap fortunately as well as the venerable pump,
and a hose, and everything he needed. In an hour he had
his charge in a wonderfully decent state, and, being by this
time more than ready for it, he went home and finished his
forsaken breakfast.
He was making toast at the fire when he was startled by
the loud ringing of an electric bell just behind the chair
where he was sitting.
"A telephone, by Jove!” he exclaimed. “A telephone
in the enchanted forest?”.
A telephone it was, indeed, with the bell ringing rather
violently. He took up the receiver and started as a voice
he knew addressed him.
"Yes, Miss Charteris,” he answered, as well as he could,
then remembered too late that he ought to have said, “Yes,
miss.”
"Miss Barton hopes you have had a comfortable
night.”
“Oh, yes, thank you," he said smiling grimly.
“She hopes to see you at twelve o'clock,” Ann went on.
"Meantime, she would like you to go to the East Lodge
you come up the drive to the house and then pass the house
and go down the other drive—and see if Mr. Tosh who is
living there requires any attendance.”
This startled him in another manner.
“But I thought " he began, before he remembered


BEFORE THE WIND
139
just in time that he was not supposed to know anything
about Mr. Tosh.
Ann, intent on her message, however, had not heard him.
“His man is away,” she said, "and he has a chill this
morning and was not able to come up to breakfast. Miss
Barton would like you to go as soon as possible.”
"I'll go immediately,” said Fred.
Instantly he was rung off.
He laughed ruefully to himself as he put on his coat again.
The secretary had had no time for even one word on
her own account. This, however, he reflected was perhaps
just as well if he was to retain any presence of mind that
morning.
As it was he was halfway up the drive before he realised
his extraordinary good fortune in having the chance of
seeing Mr. Tosh alone.
"This adventure is too easy,” he reflected. "It is un-
cannily easy. Can it be that I am too late? It is not like
Albert to take a holiday. Has he cleared off with the spoils
already?” The thought made him hasten his steps and
presently the Big House loomed up out of the mist before
him.
It was a real Big House with a long irregular front added
to evidently by many owners of many different tastes.
Parts of it looked very old and it was all picturesque with
a weird air of dishevelment about it, probably because
of the gardener's absence. Here and there long trails of
loosened greenery waved rakishly and defiantly from chim-
ney-stacks and gable-ends. A great sheet of ivy had become
detached in one place.
"I must have that tacked up anyhow," said the new
gardener to himself.
He was so absorbed in looking at the house and in wonder-
ing into which part of the interior the secretary's activities
had led her that he did not notice another of the inhabitants
leaning on the stone railing of a low balcony quite near him.
The shocks of that morning were as nothing, therefore,


140
BEFORE THE WIND
to that which he received on hearing himself suddenly
addressed by his real name.
"Is it necessary, Fred Lorimer," said a mellow voice just
above him, “that you should add insult to injury by cut-
ting your aunt stone dead?”
He looked up dismayed and became aware of Mrs. Bel-
lairs.
She had a mushroom hat on which gave her a comfort-
ably rural air and she wore a large rather shabby cloak
into which her arms were folded. Her usually good-
humoured face, however, was set into the semblance of a
frown.
“Aunt Maud!” said Fred faintly.
"Don't address me as aunt,” she said severely. "I have
renounced you for ever, sir, since your recent behaviour to
me."
Even as she spoke, however, the frown relaxed somewhat.
“Go down on your knees on the gravel there," she com-
manded him, "and beg my pardon. Afterwards you may
explain to me what you are doing here.”
But in two steps Fred was close under the balcony.
“Aunt Maud,” he said hurriedly. “Let me off this once,
and for heaven's sake don't give me away, there's a dear.
I'm here incognito on some one else's business—I've got the
post as James Green and it would spoil everything if I were
recognised. I shall explain everything whenever I am allowed
to-only it is some one else's business you understand.”
Mrs. Bellairs's face while he was speaking was a study.
By the time he had finished, between excitement and
curiosity she had evidently quite forgotten her resentment.
"My dear,” she said, leaning over the balcony and speak-
ing in a whisper though there was no sign of any one near.
"Just one thing. Is it a love-affair?"
"No-oh, no " said Fred hastily, but even as he spoke
he felt to his disgust that his face was turning a brilliant
crimson.
Mrs. Bellairs laughed softly.


BEFORE THE WIND 141
"I see,” she said with great satisfaction. “Well, you
couldn't have found a better person for such a thing than
your old Aunt Maud, my dear. Whoever it is that you are
acting for,” she laughed softly again, “he can depend on
Maud Bellairs, who you can tell him-has had too many
affairs of her own to spoil sport in her old and ugly
days.”
Nodding delightedly and waving a plump hand she moved
away from him towards the house.
"But, Aunt Maud,” he said desperately and as loudly
as he dared, "you are quite mistaken—you have quite a
wrong impression-you- "
He might never have spoken.
“Tell him he may depend on me, my dear,” said Mrs.
Bellairs, as wreathed in smiles she disappeared through a
French window.
“This is sickening,” said Fred to himself. “But she'll
keep her word all right, that's one thing.”
Another thing, it suddenly occurred to him, was that if he
remained there gazing up at the house some one less sym-
pathetic might see him. He therefore hastily took his
departure and presently found himself at the door of the
East Lodge.
The East Lodge was built exactly like his own little grey
home in the west, but it was much primmer and neater and
less romantic-looking.
It seemed deserted at first. Just as he was about to knock
at the closed door, however, a loud rumbling sound emanated
from it as of heavy furniture being moved about. When
he knocked this ceased as though at a given signal.
“Go away, I can't see any one just now," said Mr. Tosh's
rasping voice.
"I have been sent to inquire, sir, whether you need any
attendance,” said Fred.
The response was both sudden and unexpected.
The door burst open revealing Mr. Tosh attired in py-
jamas and one slipper.


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BEFORE THE WIND
At sight of his visitor, however, he started back in
astonishment.
“Good God, Lorimer! You here?” he ejaculated.
"I thought you knew my voice, sir,” said Fred dis-
concerted.
“Your voice? no," said Mr. Tosh. "All I knew was
that it was a man's voice and not one of those women-folk
that have been pestering me since breakfast-time. Come
in—come in. I've had an awful morning, Lorimer.”
Fred followed him in and repressed a smile. The room
which was very full was like a mixed up jig-saw puzzle.
Each article of furniture seemed to be at right angles to
its proper place. Even the writing-table had been moved
and Walter with it. He now lay aslant like everything else,
presiding meditatively over the general upheaval.
"I was sorry to hear that you had had a chill,” said
Fred.
"Chill!” exclaimed Mr. Tosh. "I have had no chill.
But I had to say something to excuse myself coming up to
breakfast. The fact is, Lorimer, I've lost my morning
trousers with the braces on them, and in the pocket of
them the key of the cupboard where all my other clothes
are.”
“You may laugh,” he went on, cackling a little himself
in sympathy as Fred was seized with consuming merriment.
“But you've never known, Lorimer, what it is to be a man-
wrack-straw without a servant in the midst of a lot of
women.”
At this Fred stopped laughing.
“Without a servant?” he said sharply. “Do you mean
to say that Albert has left you for good?"
“Yes. Three days ago," said Mr. Tosh. “And what a
three days they have been to me! He was called up by the
recruiting-officer and is, I suppose, by now in Southampton.”
“Called up?” exclaimed Fred.
"I wish now I had claimed exemption for him," said
Mr. Tosh. "He had the sense to suggest it himself. But


BEFORE THE WIND
143
I was very annoyed with him just then and I refused. I
might have managed to get him let off for a time at least
as he was the only man-servant about the house."
“Well, it doesn't matter,” said Fred, setting aside this
new development for future consideration and going on
with his part, "not now that I am here."
"You, Lorimer?" said the old man.
“Yes, I,” said Fred. “I am here incognito, sir, on Pif-
fard's behalf, you understand. I have taken the post as
James Green.”
At this Mr. Tosh's eyes nearly started out of his
head.
“On Piffard's behalf?” he said in a loud whisper. “Then
-if I may ask, Lorimer—is it a case, you mean?”
Fred nodded.
"Is it the case?" said Mr. Tosh.
"It is the case,” said Fred. “We think we are on the
trail this time, and as Piffard has to stay with his battalion
in Rathness I came to follow it up."
"Do you mean to tell me, Lorimer,” said Mr. Tosh in
great excitement, "that the villain who stole the lady's
diamond pendant that Piffard told us about is actually
at Bartonsmuir?”.
"No, sir, he's not at Bartonsmuir,” said Fred ruefully.
"But that's all,” he added, "that I am at liberty to tell
you at present."
"I understand, I understand,” said Mr. Tosh in great
glee. “And now, of course, I mustn't breathe a word to
anybody. I shall be like the doctor-fellow in those books
of Conan Doyle's and you shall come and sharpen your
wits upon me.”
"Thank you, sir, thank you,” said Fred rather absently,
as he realised the general askewness of the affair. The
adventure, it seemed, was not to be so easy after all, yet
who knew but that it might right itself again.
He had always been accustomed to trust to luck, to hold
on in face of disappointment, to wait before abandoning


144
BEFORE THE WIND
an enterprise until the last second of the eleventh hour.
His V.C. had not been given to him for nothing.
"I knew I could count on your assistance," he said,
“and when such wits as I have require sharpening I shall
come to you—which will be very often,” he added laughing.
"Well, for my sake I hope it will,” said the self-con-
stituted Dr. Watson.
In this new interest he had quite forgotten the loss
which had befallen him.
“I'll come round with you now," he began before he
remembered that he was still in his pyjamas. Then, how-
ever, he fairly fumed. “Confound that man Albert," he
muttered from sheer force of habit while he began fiercely
pulling out a chest of drawers from the wall.
Meanwhile Fred, seeing the door into the bedroom open,
went in there and by mere chance turned over the pillows
on the bed. A mass of crumpled checked tweed then met
his astonished gaze.
“Here they are, Mr. Tosh!” he shouted. “You must
have put them under your pillow last night.”
Mr. Tosh desisted from his onslaught upon the chest of
drawers.
“God bless me, so I did!” he exclaimed.
He paused to recollect himself.
“It was because of the key,” he added. “I was afraid
of losing it.”
Then, slapping his thigh delightedly-
"It's a good omen, Sherlock,” he said. “You'll succeed,
sir. I'll bet you half the royalties of my book you will
succeed.”
Noon found Fred entering the morning-room once more,
possessed with the memory of the last time he had been
there and the wild hope that the secretary in one of her
many capacities might be in attendance at the interview.
No one was there, however, except the two old sisters in
whom, he felt, at any other time he would have been very


BEFORE THE WIND
145
much more interested. Even as it was he enjoyed Miss
Caroline's reception of him which was accompanied by a pro-
longed inspection through the long-handled eye-glasses, and
her mode of issuing her commands, which gave him, like
Ann, quite the Sir Walter Raleigh feeling.
Little careworn Miss Emily appealed to him in another
manner.
“She seems to live in fear of things happening,” he wrote
to Lottie afterwards, "of which her loyalty, poor dear, will
force her to share the consequences.”
"You have been to the East Lodge, I hope?" said the
lady paramount after the first greetings.
“Yes, m'm," said Fred, thanking goodness that he had
remembered the proper mode of address this time. “I
have just come from there."
"You did not find Mr. Tosh very ill, I hope," said Miss
Emily anxiously. "Is he feverish?”
"Oh, no, I don't think so, m'm," said Fred gravely.
"He feels so much better that he hopes to be up here for
lunch.”
"I am glad to hear it,” said Miss Caroline. "Bed, except
in cases of severe illness, is relaxing.”
"Perhaps, Caroline," said Miss Emily. “But I hope Mr.
Tosh is not over-estimating his strength.”
"I hope not, Emily,” said her sister, “but now we must
attend to business."
For the next half-hour or so she did attend to it, and it
was only at the end of that time, when Fred was leaving
the house, that Miss Emily had another innings.
"Are you quite sure from your own observation, Green,”
she said then as she followed him out into the passage,
“that Mr. Tosh is fit to come up to luncheon? If not, of
course one of us could easily go down and take him some
beef-tea."
"On no account do that, m'm," said Fred hastily. "I
am afraid that any visitor just now would only cause a-
rise of temperature.”


146
BEFORE THE WIND
him. To and what Piffard cached his door make of it all to
He laughed aloud as he went down the drive to his own
lodge thinking what a good story he could make of it all to
Lottie, but before he reached his door he remembered
Piffard and what Piffard would be expecting to hear from
him. To write to Lottie was to write to Piffard. Both would
be eager to know how he was getting on, and both, he was
sure, if they heard that Albert had left Bartonsmuir, would
expect him to follow after him immediately. In their place
he would have thought the same. What was the good of
watching a useless trap? There might be some chance of
laying hands on Albert even in his uniform if he were near
enough to watch him. Here there was no chance. So of
course he must go.
Of course he must.
He repeated this to himself several times to quell a sense
of rebellion that suddenly arose within him at the thought
of going. He must write immediately to Lottie to send
some one to fill his place, and get away from Bartonsmuir
on the track of Albert as soon as possible.
Yet-stay. Might it not be better to find out exactly
where Albert was first? If he had sailed for Mesopotamia,
for instance, he could not follow him up in any case.
Then there would be no particular hurry. He might stay
on at Bartonsmuir till his leave was finished.
There was no use dashing off information yet to Lottie
either, till he found at least where Albert now was.
He wrote to the recruiting office therefore instead of to
Rathness.
“And thank heaven," he said to himself, “they'll prob-
ably take weeks to answer.”
One of his orders from Miss Caroline had been that he
was to take the motor to the railway station to meet a new
Wrack-straw-a Miss Gellatly—who was arriving by the
train at three o'clock.
“She is very absent-minded, she tells me," Miss Caroline
had added, “but Miss Charteris will go with you to attend


BEFORE THE WIND
147.
to the smaller luggage while you are looking after the larger
articles.”
“Very good, m’m,” he had said quietly enough, but
whenever he had allowed himself to think of it since his
heart had begun to beat madly.
"Which shows that you daren't so much as look at her,"
he admonished himself, "if you want to behave at all
respectably."
After he had finished his lunch he sat watching the clock
till he could stand it no longer and went to dig furiously in
his garden. Later he found that he had dug up all the
Brussels sprouts which Japp had planted. But the exertion
calmed him.
Mrs. Bellairs, herself unseen, was watching at her bed-
room window when the big Rolls-Royce swung round the
corner of the drive and drew up neatly before the front-
door steps.
"How well he looks in his chauffeur's rig-out!” she said
to herself, and she was right as to the looks, but the rig-out
was Captain Piffard's.
Fortunately for Fred, he did not see his aunt Bellairs as
he stood thrilling from head to foot holding the door of the
motor open for Ann. His aunt saw him, however, and noted
his face as Ann came out.
"Oh, so that's it, is it?” she said to herself, for though
her late Arthur had often rebuked her for doing it, she was
always jumping to conclusions. "And the worst of it is,”
she had been wont to reply, "I always find I am right, so
that I have no inducement to cure myself of the habit.”
She was watching still when the motor returned from the
station.
“What do you think of Green now that you have seen
him?" she said that evening to Ann.
It was long after dinner, but all the party except them-
selves were gathered still round the piano at the other end
of the room listening to the new Wrack-straw, a withered


BEFORE THE WIND
149
To sit alone in the little house seemed impossible, though
before his arrival there he had looked forward with eager-
ness to having peace to read in the evenings. He went
exploring therefore in the twilight and presently found
himself upon the moor—a wide heather-covered plain
with rifts of sand here and there and now and again a
solitary birch-tree. The woods of Bartonsmuir lay dark
behind him. In front of him was the sea, pale and luminous
as on the previous night, and following a little path like a
sheep-track he came at last to the shore, a great stretch of
yellow sand strewn with shells and fragrant with sea-
weed.
Here, as Ann had so often done before him, he paced to
and fro for a long time in the gathering darkness, and soon
the near presence of the sea soothed him into a vague yet
profound restfulness. With his sore heart wonderfully at
ease for the time in that great and grand companionship,
he felt as men sometimes feel in the near presence of death,
strangely gently alienated from all that had ever mattered
to him. He was quite surprised on looking at his watch
at last to find that if he were not to be late for the evening
devotions he would have to hurry.
Indeed, though he did hurry he would have been repre-
hensibly behind time, if prayers themselves had not been
belated.
As he passed the drawing-room windows, however, he
heard singing still going on there. He paused to listen and
the words came to him distinctly, though the voice that sang
them seemed to be at a great distance.
"I was a child and she was a child in that kingdom by the sea
And we loved with a love that was more than love
I and my Annabel Lee. ..."
In a moment the sea-change that had soothed and com-
forted him was as though it had never been.
He drew back hastily from the window and hurried on
till he was well out of hearing.


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"He is sullen,” Ann repeated to herself as from a retired
corner of one of the window-seats she watched James Green
from time to time during prayers that evening.
In spite of herself, she was still speculating about him.
Why did he look like that? It could not be because he
was sitting among the servants. He had deliberately taken
the post knowing what it entailed. He must have been
told all about it by Mrs. Alleyne.
No, it must be because he, too, was worrying about some-
thing or some one—that person of whom he had spoken
the night before perhaps, with such strange pale face, such
burning eyes.
Well, she was glad that he looked at her like that no more.
Still it was unnecessary surely that he should go to the other
extreme. He had at least been human the night before.
That afternoon he had been merely wooden.
As Miss Caroline read steadily through the fourteenth
chapter of Job, Ann reviewed in her mind the various little
incidents of their expedition together and recalled the for-
bidding appearance of her driver's back as she had seen it
through the front window of the motor. He had not spoken
to her once even when they had alighted at the railway
station to meet Miss Gellatly and to collect the large
luggage and the small luggage, except, when she ques-
tioned him, to answer, “Yes, miss,” or “No, miss."
Her cheeks burned as she remembered her friendliness to
him the night before and her little jest about the maid-of-
all-work.
She remembered that he had not smiled at it.
"He evidently thinks me an absolute fool,” she said to
herself, "and rather vulgar into the bargain.”
Thus her mind was occupied with him, though she would
much rather have forgotten him, and though she reminded
herself again and again that what Green thought of her was
of no moment to her. Already, therefore, her mental
attitude towards him had undergone a change and it was
to undergo yet another before the evening was over.


BEFORE THE WIND
151
When Mr. Tosh, accompanied by Miss Gellatly and Ann,
came out into the hall after prayers, they found Green
waiting there with the author's big fur-lined coat over his
arm. Mr. Tosh, however, as had been his habit with Albert,
ignored his presence and went on with an argument he was
having with Miss Gellatly.
It had begun before prayers when Miss Gellatly had
declared her belief that all men whatsoever must have
heroism in themselves since they could respond to heroism.
Then prayers had intervened, but Mr. Tosh had been
thinking of his answer all the time, and the moment they
rose from their knees-
“Then, madam,” he said, turning to Miss Gellatly,
"you would claim genius for every human being, too, since
all men can respond more or less to genius.”
"I do,” exclaimed Miss Gellatly at once. “I believe it
with all my heart. I believe it along with all the greatest
teachers of the world, that there is a genius in every man
ready to respond to the call of genius."
"But, my dear Miss Gellatly,” said Mr. Tosh, "students
of the subj— ”
"I care nothing for them,” cried the little old woman.
"Many things are hid from the wise and prudent. The Holy
Spirit, which it is the unpardonable sin to deny, is simply
the soul of each of us—the genius—that's what I believe.
I wish you good night, sir.”
She went off and left him then, while in high dudgeon he
turned to where Green was standing.
“Why the devil don't you bring me my coat?” he said,
forgetting that his attendant was not Albert.
Then as Ann hovered anxiously near, fearing the effect of
further ebullitions upon the new man-servant-
"Did you ever hear anything like that woman, Miss
Charteris?” he said. "All these men at the front are to
claim equality with Napoleon simply because they go
charging their enemies as any buffaloes would.”
At the word one of her sudden waves of anger swept


152 BEFORE THE WIND
through Ann. Her eyes blazed as she looked at the old man
shuffling himself into his fur-lined wrappings.
“Then you think, Mr. Tosh,” she said, her voice trembling,
"that the splendid courage of these men who are defend-
ing us is simply buffalo courage?”
"My dear Miss Charteris," said Mr. Tosh, "any scientist
will tell you "
"Then, sir,” said Ann, without waiting for him to finish,
"I would rather-much rather-be a buffalo than a
scientist.”
With that she, too, turned on her heel and left him.
"Lorimer," said Mr. Tosh as they plodded down the drive
together, “take warning by me and never start arguing
with women."
He said it twice on their way down the drive.
“However intelligent they may seem," he added as he
reached his door-step.
Meanwhile, Ann, having escorted Miss Caroline to her
apartment, was standing in the dusk of the upper landing
listening to the other Wrack-straws talking as they congre-
gated round the hall fire, and waiting till her wrath should
have simmered down again before she reappeared among
them.
She was burning with indignation at Mr. Tosh, and more
furious still, now that she had time to think of it, with the
man James Green. Not by glance or movement had he
dissented from Mr. Tosh. He had only looked handsome
and occupied himself with the overcoat. After all, however,
it was not his place to do otherwise, not his place in more
senses than one, since he was still here-out of everything-
though he was evidently educated and a gentleman. He
probably agreed about the buffaloes. He was a conscien-
tious objector who preferred valeting to fighting, preferred
holding fur overcoats to drawing swords.
She clenched her hands and her teeth with rage at him.
Well, she knew now what she thought of Green, though
she had not known when Mrs. Bellairs asked her! She


BEFORE THE WIND
153
simply could not stand him! She wished she had never
seen him!
Somewhat calmed by having come to this conclusion
she went slowly downstairs to her duties in the hall
again.
She seemed to step from the lowest stair into an environ-
ment of peace and pleasantness. The hall was a spacious
oak-panelled place. There were shaded hanging lamps there
and a glorious crackling wood fire set round with luxurious
easy-chairs.
Williams was lighting bedroom candles at a side-table.
Sanders and Maggie were handing round refreshments.
Everywhere there was clinking of tumblers and a pleasant
murmur of desultory conversation.
Then Mrs. Pitmirran suddenly began to speak in her
slow heavy booming voice.
“Why doesn't that young man Green enlist?” she said.
Every one stopped talking and turned to look at her, for
her voice and manner gave the few remarks she made an
importance out of all proportion to their value.
Pleased with the attention she had attracted she decided
to make her remark again.
"I say," she said a little more loudly, "why isn't that
young man Green in the trenches?”
"I must say I was wondering that too,” said Mrs. Fen-
nimore standing at the fender, a steaming tumbler in her
hand, and holding an attenuated foot towards the blaze.
“He looks as strong as a horse I'm sure.”
"Perhaps he has a weak heart nevertheless," said Miss
Emily gently but a little doubtfully.
"In one sense probably he has," said Mrs. Fennimore
with a sniff. “But I should call it a faint heart, not a weak
one, Miss Emily.”
At this there was some laughter, Mrs. Pitmirran and
Miss Gellatly joining in.
Then all at once, before she realised what she was about
to do, Ann spoke.


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BEFORE THE WIND
"You have no right to say that, Mrs. Fennimore," she
said sharply.
Her clear young voice seemed to ring through the room.
Mrs. Bellairs, who, as she afterwards declared, had been
sitting on the verge of apoplexy because of the necessity
for keeping her word to Fred, gave a little start of mingled
surprise and relief.
“Bravo!” she exclaimed under her breath.
No one else spoke, however, till Miss Emily said quietly-
"Miss Charteris dear, I think you are forgetting yourself.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Emily,” said Ann with flaming
cheeks. "I did not mean to be rude, but the thought was
too strong for me just then. I remembered that not one
of us can ever go to fight. None of us, therefore, have the
right surely to sit in judgment on any man, especially on
one who is not here to defend himself.”
"He is fortunate, however, in having you to speak for
him,” said Miss Gellatly kindly in her pleasant voice.
“You are right and I was wrong, my dear. I should not
have laughed at him as I did.”
“And now I suppose I should rejoin by saying that I
should not have spoken as I did," said Mrs. Fennimore,
holding her flounced skirt a little higher that her thin ankle
might also enjoy the warmth.
She paused for a reply, but no one spoke.
“But I shall not,” she said then very decidedly. “Miss
Charteris is quite wrong. We have a right to judge. We
have as much right as Lloyd George or Asquith or-or-
hundreds of other non-combatants."
Ann bit her lip.
“Lloyd George has sons fighting,” she had almost said.
“Asquith has had his eldest son killed.”
But she managed to stop herself just in time.
She had done quite enough already as she saw by Miss
Emily's face. It was impossible to part thus for the
night.
Pale now with the effort of it she said very distinctly—


BEFORE THE WIND 155
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Fennimore. I ought not to
have pitted my opinion against yours.”
"Oh, pray don't distress yourself, Miss Charteris,” said
Mrs. Fennimore. "Your opinion-strange to say—bas not
altered mine in the very slightest.”
“And to think,” said Mrs. Bellairs to herself when
she was alone that night, “that I could alter it so com-
pletely that she wouldn't know it again, if I were not tied
hand and foot by my silly promise. ... But it was almost
worth it,” she added after reflection, "to see that fine
young creature standing up for him. ... Go on with your
business,” she apostrophised her absent nephew, “my name's
not Maud Bellairs if it isn't all coming right yet.”
It seemed far from right to Ann, however, as she stood
shaking still with excitement in her own room waiting
again till she had recovered herself before going to Miss
Caroline's bedroom to say good night.
She was angry with Mrs. Fennimore, but she was more
angry with herself.
What in all the world had made her speak like that?
Caroline's she had recitement in 7 however, as."


156
BEFORE THE WIND
CHAPTER THE EIGHTH
IN WHICH TWO MORE WRACK-STRAWS ANNOUNCE THEIR
ARRIVAL INSTEAD OF ONE, AND JAMES GREEN RECEIVES
A MIDNIGHT MESSAGE
It may be remembered that one other Wrack-straw, Miss
Eldershaw, had replied not altogether in the negative to
Miss Caroline's invitation. Her niece had replied for her,
though she herself was in no doubt as to her wishes in the
matter. She wished to stay at home and not to go to
Bartonsmuir at all. The niece, however, who had trained
as a V.A.D. and had now a chance of going on foreign
service, wished entirely otherwise. A small civil war had,
therefore, been taking place within the precincts of the
gloomy old Grange on the outskirts of a country town
where they resided, ever since Miss Eldershaw, junior, had
dispatched her first letter to Miss Barton.
. The progress of the campaign might have been estimated
by the notes that, like the little war-flags people stick on
the map of Europe, followed each other in quick succession
from the Grange to Bartonsmuir. These, however, were
the only signs of conflict, for it was a very civil war.
The second letter arrived about a week after the first.
"DEAR Miss BARTON,” it ran, “I am sorry still not to
be able to say definitely when my aunt will be with you.
Next week, however, I hope to let you know. In the mean-
time I trust that her room will not be occupied. I shall
be glad to pay any sum you mention in order to keep it
open for her.-Yours sincerely, ELLEN ELDERSHAW, JUNR.”
After this there was no bulletin for about ten days.
Then a third note came.
"DEAR Miss BARTON,—It is most kind of you to keep the
room open for three weeks longer. As I have told my aunt


BEFORE THE WIND
157
repeatedly it would do her all the good in the world to go
to you. She herself admits this, but finds it difficult to
break the habit of seclusion and solitude which she has
unfortunately allowed to grow upon her. I have, however,
invited a number of friends to stay with us and hope that
in my next letter I shall have something definite to report.-
Yours sincerely, E. ELDERSHAW, JUNR.”
Letter the fourth was short but triumphant.
"DEAR Miss BARTON,—My aunt has told me to let you
know that she hopes to be with you on Tuesday next. I have
not had time yet to look up trains as the house is full of
visitors at present. I shall, however, send word in good
time.--Yours sincerely, E. ELDERSHAW.”
Instead, however, of the final instructions the following
note arrived on the Monday.
"DEAR Miss BARTON,—I am sorry to have to tell you
that my aunt has decided to postpone her departure for a
few days.-Yours sincerely, E. ELDERSHAW.”
A counter-attack, the nature of which will never be
known, must have succeeded, however, for the next com-
munication was from Edinburgh.
"DEAR Miss BARTON,—My aunt wishes me to inform
you that she is now en route for Bartonsmuir, and hopes to
be with you to-morrow by the afternoon train.”
This last note was penned in the railway carriage before
the Eldershaws had actually arrived in Edinburgh. Time
pressed, for Ellen the younger had arranged to join a con-
tingent of V.A.D.'s going abroad on the third day from that
date. The first thing she did, therefore, after her aunt and
she were on the platform, was to speed to the station post-
office. To accomplish this she had to leave her charge for a
few moments to the guidance of a seedy-looking little porter,
and it was then that the contretemps occurred that so nearly
lost for Ellen the younger all the ground she had won with
so much difficulty.
Miss Eldershaw, senior, related afterwards that the be-
haviour of the little porter who was attending upon her had


158
BEFORE THE WIND
been strange from the first. He had had a scared and
unreliable look about him which was very far from inspiring
confidence. When she had told him that the three trunks
and the hat-box and the two bags in the van were labelled
“Miss Eldershaw, passenger to Bartonsmuir,” he had stood
still staring at her just as though she had been the ghost of
herself. This, however, might have been passed over as a
mere fault of manner or a nervous condition arising out of
these distracting times. But when all at once without any
apparent reason he flung down the lunch-basket and the
two small bags and the roll of rugs that he was carrying and
disappeared into the crowd, it was no wonder that Ellen,
junior, returned to find her unhappy relative in a state
bordering upon collapse. The fear of losing her luggage
as well as her porter had alone prevented her from fainting
away altogether. She was only able to articulate “Nothing
will induce me to continue this journey,” when her niece
found her seated on the largest of her boxes and clutching
as much as possible of the remainder of her baggage.
Ellen, junior, discreetly deaf, departed as soon as might
be in search of another porter, execrating her wretched luck
and the miserable little man who had been the cause of this
inopportune disturbance. Even Ellen, however, had she
known all, might have forgiven all. The renegade porter
was none other than the ill-fated Japp who, after many
vicissitudes, not one of which had anything to do with a
recruiting office, had managed to acquire the uniform of a
non-combatant. He had acquired besides a stubbly beard.
His most intimate friend, if he had had any, would not have
recognised him. He need not have been so terrified, there-
fore when a tall broad figure in brand new khaki came
swinging down the platform.
It was this military apparition, however, with the pale,
sleepy-eyed face that was the cause of his sudden decamp-
ment. The sight of Albert in uniform had completely dis-
concerted him, for if Albert in ordinary clothes had let him
escape to serve his own ends what was to hinder Albert in
me to contins only able to ed her from faileage
whene, "Nothing
diput her be


BEFORE THE WIND
159
khaki, again to serve his own ends, from denouncing him?
Now that he was a soldier besides, he would perhaps feel
it to be his duty. His uniform perhaps had developed a
conscience in him. All these considerations occurring to
Japp at the same moment would have sent him flying to
the uttermost ends of the station had not one in authority
brought him up short half-way and demanded an explana-
tion of his presence on the wrong platform. Doubling like
a hare, therefore, he returned to the one he had left, which
was now crowded to overflowing by the arrival of another
train, and by the time he reached his post near the luggage
van he had remembered how very unlikely it was that
Albert would recognise him. He remembered too how very
gratified he ought to be that Bartonsmuir now was defi-
nitely rid of Albert, and for the first time since he left the
place his conscience was all but quiescent.
This unaccustomed state of mind filled him with a kind
of recklessness. He looked boldly round and was almost
undismayed when he saw Albert quite near him and evi-
dently looking for some one. The old lady he himself had
deserted had disappeared and had taken all her baggage
with her. In the very place where he had last seen her,
however, another old lady was standing.
But this one was very different to the last. Miss Elder-
shaw, in her heavy old-fashioned wrappings, was as unlike
this elderly belle as a chrysalis is unlike a butterfly. The
new-comer was a study in black and white. She had fluffy
white plumes in her black bonnet. She had even white
uppers to her shining black boots. She had snowy side-
curls too, and the merriest of black eyes, which at the
moment Japp caught sight of her were looking round in-
quiringly.
An instant later she moved forward suddenly and Japp
found to his astonishment that Albert was her objective.
Albert, however, did not see her, it seemed. He was still
searching eagerly in all the carriages. He did not turn until
she actually addressed him.
desin her. In the valady was standinthe last. Mi


BEFORE THE WIND
161
Who is this woman? It kept saying to him as he edged
his barrow through the crowd. Who is she?
One thing seemed clear. The old lady in black and white
was a Wrack-straw about to take advantage of Miss Barton's
invitation. Well, he could not help that, could he? Surely
it was no business of his. Yet on his conscience went.
Did they know at Bartonsmuir that this new Wrack-
straw was a friend of Albert's?
Japp dumped down his barrow with a thud.
“No, they did not know. Only he-- Japp_knew. Only
he knew besides what it meant for any one to be a friend of
Albert's. There was no getting past that.
“This isn't the Left Luggage Office, stupid!” said Mrs.
Dodsworth.
Japp spat on his hands despairingly and took up his
barrow again.
“Nobody'll get to the north of Miss Charteris,” he
muttered for the hundredth time, as he trundled onwards.
This time, however, the formula did him no good. There
was something uncanny about this old magpie-lady, so
much so that he felt he must positively do something
definite as he watched the taxi with her and Albert in it
roll out of the station on its way to Princes Street.
He could not follow them out of the station just then, but
he reflected that they would have to return to it. The lady
at least must, since the trains for Bartonsmuir left only
from this station. Examining the time-table then, he found
that there was no train until the next morning.
There was ample time to send warning, therefore. But
to whom should he send it?
Not to Miss Caroline. She imagined him in the trenches
and was awaiting a field post card from him to tell her
his address.
Yet she would be very angry should such news come
first to any one else.
Still—if he telephoned - But with the remembrance
of the telephone came the remembrance of the West Lodge,


162
BEFORE THE WIND
and a new thought turned him all at once cold with
horror.
Was it possible that since Albert had left Bartonsmuir
a new man had been engaged and was now occupying
the West Lodge? And if so—had Albert removed the
bombs from the dug-out?
He had promised that he would certainly, but how could
one rely on the word of a man who went about with skele-
ton keys in his pockets? To ask for information under the
circumstances was out of the question. All Japp
could do was to ply his conscience with assurances that no
Zeppelin would come so far north. This he did desperately,
realising that if Albert had not removed the bombs, he
was now in a worse position than he had ever been in.
Formerly if a bomb from a Zeppelin had found the dug-out
he would have been branded as a traitor, but now if a new
man was installed in the West Lodge he-Japp—might
yet become a tacit murderer. What sort of a life would
he have with his conscience then? It would be better to
be hung outright.
The little man groaned aloud.
There was such a. noise, however, that no one heard him,
and just then another train came in. He had no more time
then even to think. One traveller after another seized upon
him. The mildness of his aspect attracted people to him
who had not succeeded in gaining the attention of any
other porter. That evening it seemed to him that there
were legions of these. Several sometimes set upon him at
one time, quarrelling over him, almost tearing him to pieces
among them. When he was at last free to leave the station
precincts for half-an-hour he was so dazed and confused that
he was incapable of reflection. Remembering the address
that Albert and his old lady had given however he went up
to Princes Street and stood opposite their hotel for a time
in a forlorn hope of some idea there occurring to him.
But no inspiration came.


BEFORE THE WIND
163
Albert and his companion, meanwhile, quite unaware
of all the perturbation they had caused, were seated com-
fortably tête à tête in a retired corner of the hotel drawing-
room. It was a large room and almost deserted that evening.
Besides themselves there were only two ladies there, and
these, strange to say, were no other than the Eldershaws,
senior and junior. They were sitting as far from their fellow-
guests as possible, reading and talking in subdued tones.
Their presence, therefore, had not interfered in the least
with the vivid account of his late exploits that Albert had
just been giving.
He now sat at table with a rough pen-and-ink map
before him on which the Big House of Bartonsmuir, the
West Lodge, and the sea-shore were all marked, and was
tracing a dotted line which wavered across the moor between
the two latter points. Jane all attention was watching his
pencil.
Ellen Eldershaw, junior, looking furtively at them from
afar, wished she could watch it too.
"He's drawing a plan of the trenches for his mother now,"
she said to her aunt.
"Poor creatures!” murmured Miss Eldershaw, without
raising her eyes from her Home Chat.
"So there you are,” Albert was saying at that moment
as he dabbed his pencil down on a little dot by the sea-
shore. “This is a big whin-bush and underneath it is your
entrance to the passage.”
“One of my entrances," Jane corrected him. “There's
the other by the West Lodge.”
"No, no,” said Albert. "That is not for you."
“Why not?” said Jane rebelliously. "I know how to
move the dresser, and you said there was no danger.”
"Nor is there,” said Albert, "at least not the danger
Japp was afraid of. These cases marked 'Explosives.
Handle with caution' were all empty. If he'd had the
pluck to lift them he'd have known. There's only petrol
in the dug-out.”


164 BEFORE THE WIND
“Well, then— "
"It is impossible for you to go that way,” said Albert.
“There may be some one living by this time in the West
Lodge. In any case it stands on the drive where any one
might be passing at any time. You're not to risk it.”
“Bother!” said Jane. “Then every time I want to hide
something in the passage, I'm to pilgrimage across that
blessed moor.”
"It's not far.”
"It's nearly a mile you said."
"I don't care if it's two miles.”
"I dare say not,” said Jane. "You haven't to carry the
loot through wet heather or Highland cattle or who knows
what and then scramble with it into a hole under a whin-
bush-
"You talk like a child,” said Albert. "This cache that
I have had the luck to find—the extraordinary luck to
find—is one in a hundred, my girl. Not a soul except that
little idiot Japp knows even of its existence. As for the
entrance under the whin that you despise—I never saw a
more perfect entrance. No one would ever dream it was
there, and there is hardly ever any one near it. It would be
madness not to make use of it. You can change your dress
there too at the finish. You forget that this is to be a big
thing."
“Oh, no, I don't Bertie,” she said quickly, "and I'm
jolly grateful to you, old boy, for giving me the chance of it.
I'll have the time of my life.”
Albert pushed back his chair.
"You needn't have said it, anyhow," he said, sulkily,
"though you are glad to get rid of me."
"Oh, poor old boy, I forgot!” said Jane. "But you
know what I mean, Bertie!”
"No, I'm damned if I do,” said Albert. "You make a
perfect fool of me. I should never have let you meddle with
this, for instance.”
“Then you don't think I'll manage 'em?” said Jane


BEFORE THE WIND 165
indignantly. “Well, then, I'll show you! I'll bet you Mrs.
Pitmirran's diamond sun I will.”
She leaned towards him eagerly, her black eyes sparkling
and setting alight an answering fire in his sleepy eyes.
“Do you not think I can manage them?” she urged
again.
"If they are like me," he said suddenly, "you'll twirl
'em all round your little finger.”
Jane edged away a little.
“What, all?" she laughed. “Wrack-straws and police-
folk and farm-hands? For here's a farm too, I see.”
And she became absorbed in the map again.
“All of 'em,” said Albert recklessly. "Now put away
the map."
"I can talk quite well while I'm looking at it,” said Jane,
suiting the action to the word.
"No, you can't,” said Albert. “Besides, I want you to
look at me."
"Well, none of your sentimental nonsense here, then!”
said Jane. "That old lady over there is watching us. Do
you see what lovely black pearls she has on?”
“No,” said Albert, “I can see nothing but you to-night.
You are more maddening in those white curls and things
than you have ever been, you little witch."
“Come out for a walk along Princes Street, then," said
Jane. "It's so dark there it won't matter if you do kiss me
once or twice. But remember this is a special treat for your
going away. I'm not one of the kissing kind.”
"O Lord! Tell me something I don't know?” said
Albert.
The two ladies in their far corner lowered their papers
sufficiently to look after the departing couple.
"He's leaving by the midnight train,” said Ellen, as the
door closed after them. “The waiter told me.”
“It must be very trying for his poor mother,” said Miss
Eldershaw.
“Yet see how she bears up,” said Ellen hastily. “Did


166
BEFORE THE WIND
you hear her laughing again and again while he was speak-
ing to her?”
"Hysteria,” said Miss Eldershaw gloomily. "It is dis-
tressing to hear that kind of laughter."
But at this point the anxious Ellen, to change the
subject and give her aunt no time to become herself hyster.
ical, suggested bed and escorted her to the floor above.
Here, however, fresh trouble awaited her. A favourite
bag with books of devotion in it which her aunt read every
night had gone a-missing and neither in their bedroom nor
in the luggage-office downstairs could the distracted Ellen
anywhere discover it. Miss Eldershaw fairly wept over
this. No loss could have upset her more. It was to her as
though the foundations of her security had been under-
mined both in this world and the next.
Ellen was dismayed, not so much at the loss itself, as
she was sure that the bag would be found at the station,
but at this second disaster occurring so soon after the first
to unsettle her aunt's mind before she was on the last stage
of her journey. She was furious with the porter who had
been the cause of everything, furious with herself, furious
with her aunt. Both ladies, however, as their custom was,
remained through everything painfully polite to each other.
The more annoyed Ellen grew the more affectionate she
became.
"Darling,” she said as she put on her hat again, “there
is no need for you to distress yourself. I shall find the bag,
never fear."
This, however, caused a fresh burst of tears from Miss
Eldershaw. To think that her dear Ellen must go wandering
about the station platforms at this time of night alone!
Oh, why had they ever left the Grange? Had she not told
her dear Ellen what would happen? They were not yet at
Bartonsmuir, however. ... The Grange was not yet closed
altogether. ... Some of the maids would still be there.
All could be arranged. . . . They could wire to-morrow
morning. ...


BEFORE THE WIND
167
At this, however, saying something so indistinctly that
it might be taken to mean anything, Ellen left her.
Half-an-hour before midnight found the unhappy Japp
still in a lamentable state of indecision hanging about
among the other porters, watching the arrival of cabs and
taxis.
He had not yet sent any message to Bartonsmuir.
“After all, poor old lady,” he was arguing still with that
conscience of his, "she may not know any more of Albert
than I did myself at first.”
Yet-came the prompt response-if she knew no more of
Albert than that why did she laugh when he called her
"little devil,” then?
No-clearly something must be done about it.
He was still debating what that something should be
when a taxi with a neat portmanteau on the top drew up in
front of him, out of which to his surprise stepped Albert,
handing out after him the old lady in black and white.
"Why," he heard her say, "there's that little midge of
a porter again.”
"I'll midge her,” he murmured, "the impudent old bag-
gage!"
Then glad to find something definite to do at last, he set
himself regardless of all other business to follow these two
travellers. He never left them for a moment until they were
in a compartment of the midnight train. But they shut the
door then and as the blinds were all closed he could see
nothing from the platform. By this time, however, he was
in hot pursuit and ideas one after the other were occurring
to him. There was still some time before the train started.
He slipped round the carriage-end to the other side where
there was no platform, and in a few seconds was on the foot-
board just outside the other window.
The blinds here were down too, but with his ear pressed
to the glass he could hear Albert speaking quite distinctly.
"No, don't go yet,” he was saying. “There's lots of


168
BEFORE THE WIND
to establish Scramble roun. He had just
time. I came early on purpose. I want to see you once
more before I go, sweetheart, without the curls and that
damned bonnet.”
"Well, promise not to kiss me more than once then,"
was the answer. “I've had enough even if you are going
off. Not that I'm not very fond of you, Bertie, as you may
see by my dressing myself up like a regular old guy for you."
Japp outside nearly fell off the footboard. He had just
presence of mind enough left to scramble round on to the
platform again, and to establish himself at a safe distance
from the carriage door when it opened and Albert's "sweet-
heart” emerged from it. Bonnet, curls, all were as before.
“The hussy!” said Japp to himself. “The double-dyed
hussy! And she would dare to call me names, would
she?"
“Ah, so here you are,” said a sharp voice at his elbow.
“What did you mean, pray, by dropping our things about
this afternoon and then going off and deserting us?”
It was the young lady who had been with the other old
lady—the genuine old lady—whom he had left among her
boxes when he saw Albert approaching for the first time.
Japp was speechless.
"And you lost one of our bags besides,” the young lady
went on. “You must come and find it. And don't think,"
she added, “that you can run off again. For you won't
this time. I have my eye upon you."
Ellen, indeed, had reached the limits of her patience.
If she failed to get clear to-morrow her chance of going
abroad might be lost. Yet here she was near midnight
seeking for this bag of her aunt's with the half-certainty
that if she did not find it she would return to the hotel
to hear that all the arrangements that she had had such
trouble to bring about were cancelled.
No. That should never be. She would ransack the
station first. She set off like an irate steam-engine with
Japp meekly following her, and so absorbed was she that
she did not notice that some one else was following too,


170 BEFORE THE WIND
“Very strange, Caroline,” said Miss Emily. "It seems
to be a Wrack-straw, doesn't it?”
“Yet we wrote to no one of the name of Dodsworth,
did we, Miss Charteris?” said Miss Caroline.
"No," said Ann. “But perhaps,” she added, "he might
be a friend of some one else's, of some one who has not
been able to come.”
"I believe you are right, my dear,” said Mrs. Bellairs.
"Julia Corstorphine knew some one of the name of Dods-
worth. Yes, I'm sure it was Dodsworth—a colonel's
widow. And she was coming to stay at Netherton too just
when we left. Julia gave that as part of her excuse for not
coming here."
"Ah, then that's it, Caroline," said Miss Emily. "I beg
your pardon, Mr. Tosh. I had not realised that it was my
lead. Nevertheless,” she added after she had played her
card, “I think it rather strange of Julia not to have told
us Mrs. Dodsworth was coming."
“That is of little consequence,” said Miss Caroline, “when
Maud here knows her.”
“But I do not know her,” said Mrs. Bellairs. "I have
never seen her. If you like, however, I can ask her when
she arrives whether "
“Thank you, Maud. Certainly not,” said Miss Caroline
grandly. "We shall know at once whether she is a lady
or not and that is quite sufficient.”
"Nevertheless I think Julia Corstorphine should be writ-
ten to," said Mrs. Bellairs.
“Certainly,” said Miss Caroline. “Miss Charteris, kindly
attend to that. Also give orders about the extra room.
Two people will be coming to-morrow instead of one. Also
tell Arbuthnot to inform the messenger that there will be
no answer. Any friend of Julia Corstorphine's I am sure,”
she added reading the telegram again, "will be welcome
here. She has doubtless regretted her own refusal to join
us."
"I am certain she has," said Mrs. Bellairs. "I broke


BEFORE THE WIND
171
my rule last week about never writing letters and sent a
description to her of our life here which must have turned
her green with envy."
"Did you indeed, Maud?” said Miss Caroline highly
pleased. "Doubtless this is the cause of the coming of
this seventh Wrack-straw."
"We are seven," laughed Mrs. Bellairs. "The lucky
number. Don't let any more come, Caroline. Let's fill the
extra rooms with our band-boxes like people do in railway
carriages to keep other people out of them.”
At this moment the post-bag came in and Miss Caroline's
answer was delayed until all who had letters were reading
them.
Mrs. Bellairs had none that evening.
"And the curious thing is that I don't mind in the least,"
she said to Ann who condoled with her. “That's a sign of
old age I suppose.”
All the same she was quite pleased when Miss Caroline
addressed her and recalled her from what seemed to be a
somewhat melancholy abstraction.
“There will be no need for the band-boxes, Maud, in
two of these rooms anyhow,” said Miss Caroline. "Two
visitors are coming to occupy them.”
“What? More Wrack-straws?” said Mrs. Bellairs.
“Nothing of the sort," said Miss Caroline. “They are
anything but Wrack-straws, and they are well known to
you and curiously enough they are well known to each
other. A case of telepathy perhaps, their writing at the
same time like this.”
“Caroline dear, who are they?" said Mrs. Bellairs.
“My niece Lottie Alleyne from Rathness and Dr. Warren
from Lowhampton," said Miss Caroline.
Mrs. Bellairs did not reply for a moment. She seemed
transfixed. Then clapping her hands
"My dear, I'm delighted to hear it,” she exclaimed.
“When are they coming?”
“When they can manage it,” said Miss Caroline.


172
BEFORE THE WIND
Mrs. Bellairs's face fell.
“Which will be never,” she said to herself. “These busy
people never can manage it.”
And shaking her head pessimistically she fell to twiddling
her rings again.
Ann was not in the drawing-room when the post-bag
arrived though her conclave with Arbuthnot about the
bedrooms was over. Miss Gellatly was in bed with a bad
cold and had to be visited, so that Ann had not even time
to read her letter from Davià.
The invalid, very hoarse and muffled up in shawls, lay
almost lost in the midst of her great four-poster whose
chintz curtains patterned all over with huge brown flowers
made its occupant seem even smaller and more withered
than usual.
“My dear," she croaked. “I have done a most tiresome
thing."
“I know you have,” said Ann. “Ycu have lost your
lovely voice. They are all very angry with you downstairs,
Miss Gellatly.
“And you upstairs will be angry too,” said Miss Gellatly.
“I have left a book that I was reading on the stone bench
at the other side of the lawn in the corner near the shrubbery
-where the lilac bushes are.”
“So that is where you were sitting, was it?” said Ann.
“No wonder you caught a chill.”
"Don't scold,” said Miss Gellatly. "I was reading
Stephen Phillips's Paolo and Francesca for the first time.
Now you understand, don't you?”
“No, I don't,” said Ann.
“Then you have never read it?”
"No."
“Then you shall read him before you judge me," said
Miss Gellatly. “You will find him lying face downwards
where I told you."
“Poor poet!” laughed Ann.


BEFORE THE WIND
173
was she went slow Jill Strangely trou a lover knew
"I meant to go back after lunch,” said Miss Gellatly.
“But at lunch-time you were shivering and I made you
go to bed, where you have been sleeping ever since, so that
it is all my fault,” said Ann. “Well now I am to go and
get the book. Is that it?"
“My dear, will you? I am sorry to trouble you, but
there is a passage that is haunting me and I shan't sleep
until I see it. Something about all the rivers. . . . What
a silly old woman I am! But it's a wonderful thing as you
will perhaps find some day to come upon a beautiful thing
for the first time when you are quite old.”
"One must be a poet oneself for that, I think,” said Ann
watching her.
“Or a lover,” said Miss Gellatly her faded eyes bright
for a moment. "Love is a wonderful revealer, child. Surely
you must know that.”
"Oh, of course,” said Ann feeling somehow ill at ease,
and as she went slowly upon her errand across the lawn
Miss Gellatly's words still strangely troubled her. Was it
possible, she wondered, that she who had a lover knew less
of love than that lonely old woman? .
,
Paolo and Francesca—what had her feeling for David
in common with a mad passion such as theirs had been?
There was satisfaction in this thought, yet a strange sense
of dissatisfaction too. Was it possible that in finding the
shelter of David's love so soon she had missed for evermore
wonders undreamed of?
The harbour was safe certainly, but what of the ocean
outside—boundless, mysterious? What if the harbour-bar
were also a prison-bar?
The thought startled her by its enormity as the first flash
of lightning will startle one who has been vaguely conscious
of storms brewing.
For Ann, pacing meditatively over the moonlit lawn, had
been aware since the night before of something uncanny in
her mental atmosphere.
She had defended the man Green unnecessarily and


174
BEFORE THE WIND
vehemently just after she herself had been condemning
him, and ever since, though she had avoided him as much
as possible all day, the unwelcome thought of him had never
left her. Her defence of him, it seemed, had had the effect
of making him haunt her like the impossible frog-prince
whom the princess rescued.
“Whatever did I do it for?" she asked herself for the
hundredth time.
And, lo, as though in answer to the unspoken word, Green
himself stepped forward out of the shadow of the lilac-
bushes.
"Are you looking for a book, miss?” he said just as
though he had been expecting her.
Ann replied curtly in the affirmative, burning the while
with a kind of anger.
Was she never to be rid of this man? Was he going to
dog her footsteps now as all day long he had been dogging
her memory? Her consciousness that her anger was quite
unreasonable only, of course, made it the hotter. It merely
fanned the flame to remember that Green knew nothing
of her defence of him and would probably, if he had been
consulted, have preferred to remain undefended by her.
"Have you seen the book?” she said shortly, anxious
only to end the interview.
"I have it at the lodge," he said. "May I bring it to
you?"
"It will be quicker if I come and fetch it," she said.
Without another word he stood aside to let her pass
before him into the narrow walk leading through the shrub-
bery. It was much darker there than on the lawn. High
trees obstructed the moonlight, and the damp air seemed
more heavily laden with the fragrance of the lilacs.
No word was spoken between the two as they went. Ann
was voluntarily silent, and before they had gone ten yards
poor Fred was long past speaking. For first the little breeze
that was whispering among the bushes caught the end of
Ann's thin scarf and flung it behind her across his lips, then


BEFORE THE WIND
175
that he me against him s stopped
a few steps further on some overhanging blossoms stopped
her suddenly and unexpectedly close against him.
It seemed to him then that he must go quite mad and
tell her all, forgetting everything, and when, still in silence,
they reached the gate of the West Lodge a queer kind of
relief mingled with the bitterness of his regret.
Ann came to a standstill there and he went into the
house to get the book.
A moment later he came out again into the bright moon-
light. Ann could see him quite distinctly, and as he ap-
proached with the little volume in his hands, quite suddenly
once more as on the night of their first meeting their eyes met.
Once more for the space of a breath the mute appeal in
his held hers spellbound looking up at him, and as she
gazed again, in spite of everything, something within her
responded to him. In spite of her brief knowledge of him-
all at once it seemed to her that her acquaintanceship with
him was no new thing, but a renewal of some long past
friendship half-remembered. In spite of reason—she was all
of a sudden certain that whatever was the cause of his taking
no part in the great world-conflict, it was neither cowardice
nor indifference. In spite of her own judgment—the night
before she had defended him unwillingly against it as well
as against the Wrack-straws. Now, to her astonishment,
almost to her dismay, she realised that she would defend
him again because she wanted to do it.
The shock of this realisation took away her breath for
a moment. Yet she made no outward sign.
The silent response in her, however, must have some-
how communicated itself.
"Have you read Paolo and Francesca?” he ventured as
he handed the book over to her.
"No," she said, and it was significant of the change in
her that she no longer resented his addressing her.
“Then I envy you your first reading of it,” he returned.
“But I am not going to read it,” she said. "It's Miss
Gellatly."


BEFORE THE WIND
177
she seemed to see once more the strange questioning in his
eyes that she had seen there but an hour before.
Her voice trembled a little and Miss Gellatly, withdraw-
ing her gaze from the canopy, fixed it curiously upon her.
But she had long forgotten Miss Gellatly. She read on
absorbed-possessed. ...
“ And seems it strange that I should come then?'
'No-
It seems that it could not be otherwise.
Night guided you on, and onward beckoned me. ...
Now fades the last
Star to the east. A
Mystic breathing comes
And all the leaves once quivered
And are still. ...
It is the first, the faint stir of the dawn.
So still it is that we might almost hear
The sigh of all the sleepers of the world
And all the rivers running to the sea. ...'”
“That's it,” whispered Miss Gellatly. “That's the bit."
But just at that moment, to the accompaniment of the
creaking door opening, Arbuthnot's voice hardly less harsh
announced —
"Miss Caroline has sent me, miss, to tell ye that the gong
has gone for worship.”
Ann started to her feet with a quick breath that was
almost a sob.
“Ugh!” ejaculated Miss Gellatly.
She fairly wriggled among her pillows.
"Never mind,” said Ann breathlessly, “I'll come back
and finish it.”
. "No, no, it's all spoiled for to-night,” said Miss Gellatly
and she turned her face gloomily to the back of the bed.
Ann did not hear her, however. She was already half-
way downstairs with the book still unconsciously clasped
in her hand, and thus too she entered the drawing-room
with the unwelcome Arbuthnot following after her.


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“She hasn't looked at him once to-night,” said Mrs.
Bellairs to herself at the end of the chapter. “Not once.
That might be a good sign. And he hasn't looked at her,
either."
she watched, howet for one long mine adjusted
Even as she watched, however, Ann did look up and so
did Fred and their eyes met for one long moment.
"Bless 'em!” said Mrs. Bellairs to herself as she adjusted
her rheumatic knee to the exigencies of her devotions.
Not one word of that prayer did Ann hear. She would
not have known it was over even if Mrs. Bellairs had not
patted her on the shoulder. She rose in some embarrass-
ment to find every one out of the room except that lady, who
was standing smiling at her.
"You are absent-minded," said Mrs. Bellairs, “but after
the good news that is natural.”
“Good news?” said Ann. “What good news?"
“No. Don't tell me you haven't heard that your fiancé
is coming!” laughed Mrs. Bellairs. “Haven't you had a
letter?”
With a sudden glow of remorse Ann remembered the
unopened envelope in her pocket.
"Oh, of course," she said hastily and flushing scarlet.
“Had Miss Caroline a letter too?”
“Yes, my young friend,” said Mrs. Bellairs. “And here's
a secret! She read hers!”
Before Ann could answer her she was gone, leaving her
young friend in a state of mind only to be imagined.
After a little she followed her, but no more was said about
the letter. At least Ann thought not, but afterwards she
could not remember what had been said by Mrs. Bellairs or
any one else that night. All she was sure of was that after
her duties to everybody were over she fled to her room,
opened her book at the last act, and read it to the end.
Meanwhile at the West Lodge Fred was seated at his
table writing. After tearing up several he at last finished
one letter which he placed in an envelope and stamped


BEFORE THE WIND
179
ready for posting. It was the shortest he had written that
night.
"DEAR LOTTIE” (it ran),—“Send some one to take my
place at once. I must leave here immediately. Albert has
enlisted and has left Bartonsmuir. There is therefore no
reason why I should stay on here and every reason why I
should follow him up. If you can find no one to relieve
me, Piffard must. Looking forward to seeing you soon
again.-Yours affectionately, FRED.”
Twelve o'clock struck and still he was sitting there,
hands in pockets as his custom was when in dire mental
straits. His face in the lamplight looked old and drawn.
“So this is the end,” he said once softly.
The little wind that had rustled the lilacs and blown Ann's
scarf like a flower across his face sighed drearily round the
house in answer. The dying fire crackled faintly.
Then breaking harshly into the midst of these shadow-
sounds the telephone bell rang suddenly.
He started half-angrily to his feet and clutched the re-
ceiver.
"Speak here to Edinburgh!" came the peremptory order.
Then after a pause, during which he hulloed twice, three
times, four times in vain to Edinburgh, a feeble little voice
began.
"Is that the West Lodge?”
“Yes. Speak up, please,” said Fred.
"Is that the chauffeur?”
"Yes, who are you may I ask?”
“One who wishes you well and Bartonsmuir well,” said
the voice. “Watch out for an old lady who is coming
to-morrow. She is not what she seems to be, and she is the
friend of a thief who was a valet at Bartonsmuir.”
“What was his name?” said Fred, suppressing his ex-
citement.
"Albert Figgis," said the voice, "and she's his sweetheart
dressed up.”
Here another voice intervened.


180 BEFORE THE WIND
“Three minutes."
“Another three minutes,” said Fred breathlessly. “What
name is she coming under? There are two old ladies
expected to-morrow.”
"Eldershaw," was the answer. “Yes, I'm sure it's El-
dershaw.”
“And is this all you have to tell me?" said Fred. “Can't
you tell me now who you are?”.
For answer he was suddenly rung off.
“The fool!” said Fred. “We hadn't nearly finished that
three minutes.”
He noted the name Eldershaw and then stood reflecting.
The message must be genuine. At least the informer
knew about Albert; why or how did not concern him, Fred.
All that concerned him was that now it was his duty not
to desert his post. He must not go. He must stay and
watch Albert's accomplice. Whatever happened. ...
"Hurrah!» heed up from the depeker happened. .
teurrahi mped up flice. What 80. He was his m,
"Hurrah!” he shouted and seizing the letter he had
written to Rathness, he tossed it wildly up to the ceiling,
then he deftly caught it again and shied it defiantly into
the fireplace.


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"Yes, she regrets it," said Ellen. "In fact she never
wanted to come. But I-well to tell you the truth–I made
her. I am a V.A.D., you see, and I do so want to go abroad
just now.”
"Ah! I understand that, too,” sighed Mrs. Dodsworth.
"If I had been but thirty years younger!”
"But tell your aunt from me," she went on, “to accept
old age gracefully, my dear. Tell her from me, that it is the
only possible thing to do, especially in these fearful times.
We old people must efface ourselves. It is all we can do.
We must efface ourselves.”
"But it's no use telling her that,” said Ellen despondently,
"when she is in one of her retrograde moods. And the
worst of it is that I am sure she would be perfectly happy if
once she were at Bartonsmuir. But I must not keep you,
Mrs. - "
"Dodsworth,” said Jane more genially than ever. "My
dear, you are not keeping me. I am very interested. But
come now and get your bag and afterwards, when your
aunt has gone to bed, come again and tell me how she finds
herself.”
Half-an-hour later Mrs. Dodsworth, in a lilac satin dress
ing-gown with slippers to match, heard the knock for which
she had been waiting.
“Come in,” she said cheerfully as Ellen appeared. “Well,
how is Miss Eldershaw now?”
"Rather worse,” said Ellen gloomily. "She talks
definitely of returning home now."
“Yet you are sure that once right away she would not
be unhappy?”
“Certain."
“Then sit down and listen to me, my dear,” said
Mrs. Dodsworth. “There is only one thing for you to
do."
She drew her low chair close to Ellen's and talked to her
earnestly for about five minutes.
"Oh, I couldn't,” said Ellen then.


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have to inform you that your niece left Edinburgh this
morning.”
"Left Edinburgh?” exclaimed Miss Eldershaw, clutch-
ing the back of a chair for support. “Left?” she repeated,
gazing incredulously at her informant.
"She was wired for late last night to join a contingent of
V.A.D.'s who had been ordered suddenly to Serbia,” said
Mrs. Dodsworth. “She was in a dreadful state about it.
She nearly fainted outright at the thought of having to
leave you, Miss Eldershaw."
"Poor girl," said Miss Eldershaw sarcastically. “And
poorer people she is to nurse,” she added.
"Ah, you are severe!” said Mrs. Dodsworth smiling.
“But those V.A.D.'s will be V.A.D.'s! There were none in
our young days, Miss Eldershaw."
"I should think not, indeed. The girls then had more
sense,” said Ellen's aunt.
"It's these high schools you know," said Mrs. Dods-
worth. “Hot-beds for suffragettes."
"I remember the war of eighteen-seventy quite well,”
said Miss Eldershaw, warming to her subject. “There was
no nonsense then about all the girls going off and nursing."
“Of course not,” said Mrs. Dodsworth.
“They minded their own business then," continued Miss
Eldershaw. “They attended to the comfort of their rela-
tions and left all that nursing to experts."
“Of course they did,” said Mrs. Dodsworth. “That's
just what I told my niece last week when she insisted upon
going off to Salonika.”
"Ah! you have suffered from it too!”
“Suffered!” exclaimed Mrs. Dodsworth, raising hands
and eyes to heaven. “You will not believe it, Miss Elder-
shaw, but I am homeless at this moment because of my
niece. I have been forced to shut up my house in Hamp-
shire, to dismiss my maid, my chef, my five house-servants,
and my chauffeur, and to go unattended and stay at a
house belonging to people of the name of Barton.”
-
-
- -
- -


BEFORE THE WIND 185
“What name did you say?” said Miss Eldershaw
sharply.
“Barton," repeated Mrs. Dodsworth.
“Then,” said Miss Eldershaw, "I have to bring to your
notice a very remarkable coincidence, Mrs. Dodsworth. I,
too, have left my home and am on my way to stay with
people of the name of Barton."
"Is this possible?" said Mrs. Dodsworth.
Then suddenly she dabbed her eyes once more.
"Pardon me,” she said brokenly, “but it is such a relief
to hear that I am to have at least one congenial companion
in my exile."
"Well, as a matter of fact " began Miss Eldershaw.
"I am not altogether sure "
"Dear Miss Eldershaw," Mrs. Dodsworth interrupted
her smoothly, “I see that my breakfast is ready. After-
wards I hope you will give me the pleasure of your company
in my cab to the railway station.”
"And what could I do?” said Miss Eldershaw when she
was describing the affair afterwards. “She never gave me
another chance to speak. Just as I was making up my
mind to cross the room and say I was not going, she dis-
appeared upstairs and sent a maid to say that I had better
be quick. Besides, too, I really wanted to come then, as
without Ellen to manage the servants it would have been
unendurable at The Grange. I was between two fires. I
was like a wretched German private. To go forward was
bad, but to go back was much worse. Besides, she was very
companionable and entertaining in her own way, and ap-
parently in the same box as myself. So the end of it all
was that I just ordered down my luggage and put on my
bonnet and my dolman and went."
"It's easy to be seen which it is,” said Fred to himself
at once, when some hours later he watched the two descend
from the train at Bartonsmuir railway station. "The
black and white one is much too young-looking to be dis-


186
BEFORE THE WIND
guised, and the other one's Early Victorian get-up must be
a fancy dress.”
Miss Eldershaw, indeed, was more Wrack-straw-like than
any of the company already assembled at Bartonsmuir. She
was shrivelled with cold in spite of her endless wrappings
and she was doubled up with stiffness and weariness. She
leaned heavily on the arm of her companion and the more
she did so the more Fred suspected her. He was so absorbed
in watching her slow advance that he did not notice, as he
otherwise must have done, the other old lady's start of
recognition. He only observed that the other old lady was
very smart and that it was she who gave the orders while
the Early Victorian seemed comatose and to move me-
chanically wherever her fellow-traveller led her.
"If this is Miss Eldershaw, it's decidedly clever," said
Fred to himself as he almost lifted her into the motor. “If
I didn't know better I should say she was about ninety."
“Yes, m'm," he said aloud to the other old lady who was
already seated. "Seven boxes and two hat-boxes and three
hand-bags. Yes, m'm, I understand.”
“Well, it's more than I do,” said the lady addressed
after he had gone again. "What in the name of mystery is
Mr. Lorimer here for?”
"Eh?” said Miss Eldershaw, rousing herself unexpected-
ly. “What are you saying about lorries?”
"I was only wondering if we would require one to bring
on our luggage, dear Miss Eldershaw,” said Mrs. Dods-
worth.
All the way to the house she sat staring at the driver,
thinking out the problem of why he was there and of how
his presence might affect her, and wonderfully soon the
shock of meeting him wore off and her quick mind had begun
adapting itself. By the time they reached their destination
she was reviewing the situation with calmness.
"It cannot be because of Bert that he is here," she
reflected. “He can only have arrived after Bert left.
Otherwise Bert would have warned me. Even if he had


BEFORE THE WIND
187
come on account of Bert, however, that can make no
difference to me, because it is impossible that he can have
the faintest idea who I am. ... What then can he be here
for?”
Again she racked and re-racked her brains and the more
she thought the more extraordinary Fred's presence at
Bartonsmuir and the position he had evidently assumed
appeared. In amazement she saw him handing down lug-
gage at the door and being spoken to on terms of equality
by Arbuthnot.
This was only momentary, however. She had other things
to do than to stand gazing at a young aristocrat posing as
a motor-man. She had to answer Miss Caroline's welcome
both for herself and her benumbed companion, and pre-
sently seated in a comfortable chair by the drawing-room
fire she was taking a preliminary reconnaissance.
The prospect pleased her very well. There was an air of
unobtrusive wealth about all the Wrack-straws. They wore
rich jewels as though they had had them on from their
cradles, as though they had become part of them, and were
quite a matter of course. As one old lady after another was
introduced to her she referred to the mental notes of them
with which Albert had provided her. “Mrs. Pitmirran-
that's the one who wears my diamond sun in the evenings,"
she said to herself. “Mrs. Bellairs—rings. Mrs. Fennimore
-sapphires. ..." And so on.
All the while she was saying charming suitable nothings
to these persons.
“She will be quite an acquisition, Emily," said Miss
Caroline when Mrs. Dodsworth had left the room escorting
Miss Eldershaw and being escorted in her turn by Ann.
“Yes—and she is a bridge-player, too, I am glad to hear,”
said Mrs. Fennimore. “For really,” she added in a lowered
voice to Mrs. Pitmirran, “Miss Emily is an atrocious bridge-
player.”
Miss Emily was only too thankful that evening to give
up her seat at the card-table. Bridge had been one of the


188
BEFORE THE WIND
chief trials of the wrack-straw dispensation to her. With-
out the least jealousy she sat viewing from afar the triumph-
ant début of Mrs. Dodsworth as Mrs. Fennimore's partner.
The evening passed, as Mr. Tosh said, like a pleasant whiff,
though Miss Gellatly was still too hoarse to sing even one
ballad.
Miss Eldershaw enjoyed herself, as she confided to Ann,
more than she had done since her niece had taken to V.A.D.-
ing. Ann for her part after two hours spent with her charge
at draughts was not surprised at the niece's defection.
She was conscious at the same time, however, that she
was not doing her own part well that night. The bewilder-
ment of the night before was still upon her. She was absent
and distraite and answered at random several times.
“The companion is not on a par with the rest of the
establishment," was Miss Eldershaw's verdict when her new
friend came in to say good night to her.
"Why, she is one of the most beautiful girls I have ever
seen!” cried Mrs. Dodsworth.
“Well, perhaps," admitted Miss Eldershaw. “But I have
never considered looks to be of any consequence."
"Thank heaven for that mercy!” thought Mrs. Dods-
worth as she regarded her travelling-companion for the first
time sans teeth and head-gear.
A few moments later she was seated by a cosy fire in her
own room attired already in her boudoir cap and her
quilted lilac dressing-gown. Her lilac-slippered feet reposed
comfortably on the fender. In her hand as a stage-property
she held the evening volume of Daily Light. The text at the
top of the page, however, had happened to occur in Miss
Caroline's reading for that evening and seeing it again made
her mind revert to the scene at the family devotions, and
more particularly to the mysterious Lorimer.
There he had sat quite composed between Arbuthnot and
the upper housemaid. Nobody but herself had the least
idea apparently that up till a few days before he had been
an honoured guest at The Gables.
Caroline's revert to
the my.mposed


BEFORE THE WIND
189
“What is he doing it for?" she asked herself again, and
once more the thought began to trouble her. "I shall lose
my nerve if I keep going on like this. He'll spoil my luck
whatever he is here for.”
She was sitting in deep thought looking older than she
had yet looked when a light tap at the door started her.
Then all at once as she prepared to answer it a new idea
occurred to her.
“Come in,” she said pleasantly, and as she expected Ann
came in..
"Oh, thank you, no!” she said with a genial smile in
answer to Ann's question as to whether she needed help.
"I find it quite amusing being without a maid for a time.
Later on probably the novelty will wear off. But don't go
yet, Miss Charteris,” she added, "there is one thing I should
like to know. Where did you get that extraordinarily good-
looking chauffeur from?”.
"A niece of Miss Barton's recommended him," said Ann
quietly, though her heart to her dismay began beating so
thickly that it nearly suffocated her.
"Is it not strange,” Mrs. Dodsworth went on, shading
her face from the fire with her Daily Light, "that a young
man like him should take such a post just now?"
"He doubtless has his reasons," said Ann, longing to be
free to go before the hot flush she felt beginning to rise in
her cheeks could be noted by the keen black eyes scrutinising
her.
“Of course," said Mrs. Dodsworth with a short little
laugh. "But in these times one is apt to wonder what such
a man's reasons are for being a motor-man on this east
coast especially.”
“What do you mean?” said Ann sharply.
: “I mean what I mean," said Mrs. Dodsworth. "In these
times we cannot be too careful.”
"But Miss Barton's niece recommended him," said Ann,
feeling suddenly cold.
"Such things have happened before,” said Mrs. Dods-


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BEFORE THE WIND
worth. “They say the trusted governess of one of our
highest officials was arrested for espionage. I would not for
the world make dispeace anywhere, but I felt I would like
since we are so many unprotected women and you seem to
be in charge of us all-to put you on your guard, Miss
Charteris.”
“You are very kind,” said Ann with white lips.
Her flush had died away as suddenly as it came. She felt
frozen now, but keen as steel all the same.
“You are very kind,” she repeated after a moment,
"but-forgive me I am perfectly certain you are mistaken.
Mr.-Green could have nothing to do with such a thing as
espionage.”
Mrs. Dodsworth was hard put to it not to laugh at
this.
"The name almost did for me,” she wrote to Albert
afterwards.
Her face, however, remained perfectly grave.
“Oh, in that case," she said, "my mind should be quite
at rest. In any case, Miss Charteris, I have warned you.
In your place of course I would say—when in doubt discard
at once. Get any one rather than Mr.-Green to fill the
post. It is quite an easy one, is it not?”
Ann hoped that the black eyes did not see her trembling.
"You are very kind," she managed to say again. "I
shall speak to the Miss Bartons about—what you have said.
But I must ask you to say no more to any one else about
the matter."
""I shall not think of doing so," said Mrs. Dodsworth.
"Because it won't be necessary,” she added to herself
when Ann had gone. "The two old things will be scared to
death at the idea and remove him quietly on the chance of
his being a spy without saying why and without hurting
anybody's feelings."
Then sitting there still by her cosy fire, she fell to wonder-
ing again what young Lorimer was really here for, and all
at once the face of Ann fell into place in the puzzle-picture.


BEFORE THE WIND
191
She slapped her forehead with the Daily Light as she realised
her own obtuseness.
"It's this young beauty he's here for I do declare," she
said to herself with great relief and satisfaction. "His
people don't think her good enough or something and he's
here courting her on the quiet. And so it's all for nothing
I've been frightened!”
After a pause for reflection she added
"Well, he's better out of here anyway."
A moment later she smiled broadly at the fire.
“I must tell Bert, he'll laugh,” she soliloquised. “To
think of me, Jane, being frightened of a silly lover! If I had
been one of the kissing kind I would have thought of that
first. But I'm not that, thank heaven."
With this she betook herself to slumber.
t later Shout of heshe added
Ann went straight from Mrs. Dodsworth's room to Miss
Emily's.
To her she entered very pale.
“What is it, Miss Charteris? Oh, what is it?" said Miss
"What iing up in ber shetland Miss Emil
Ann handed her her Shetland shawl.
“Something I must tell you, Miss Emily,” she said, "and
consult you about. I'm so sorry it can't wait till morning."
“Go on, Miss Charteris dear,” said Miss Emily with
forced composure.
“Mrs. Dodsworth has just been warning me that-Green
may be a German spy," said Ann hoarsely.
“What did you say, Miss Charteris dear?" said Miss
Emily, as though not believing her ears.
Ann repeated her words.
“But Lottie sent him," said Miss Emily as Ann had
done.
"Mrs. Dodsworth says— ” Ann went on. Then she
told the story of the governess.
“This is fearful,” said Miss Emily. “What do you


192
BEFORE THE WIND
she add know hishe pais
think, Miss Charteris dear? Do you believe what she says
about Green?”
“I don't believe one word of it,” said Ann at once.
“Then nor do I-nor do I," said Miss Emily.
"All the same ” she paused.
“We do not know him very well, do we, Miss Charteris
dear?" she added doubtfully.
"I would stake anything that he is a gentleman and not a
sneak,” said Ann with blazing eyes.
“But,” she added after a moment, "if you wish him
sent away, I had better go now and tell Miss Caroline.
At this Miss Emily almost leapt upon her bed.
"My dear,” she said, “you would never think of telling
Caroline about it?”
“I must if he is to be dismissed,” said Ann. “You know
I must."
"Yes, of course of course," said Miss Emily distractedly.
“Oh, dear me, this is a dreadful war! If only the need for
spies was over!”
“Then you think he is a spy!" said Ann.
“No, my dear, no,” said Miss Emily hastily. "But it is
a dreadful responsibility.”
“Then let me take it,” said Ann eagerly. “Let us take
it together, Miss Emily. If Miss Caroline knows nothing
she cannot be held responsible, and I swear to you that
the moment I see cause for suspicion I shall immediately
let you know of it.”
“Miss Charteris dear,” said Miss Emily. "I call that
really clever of you to remember that what Caroline does
not know of she is not responsible for. And it shows that
you are quite clever enough to keep watch as you suggest.
In any case, I think, my dear, that I would have been
inclined to take the risk, for, as you say, Green may not be
a spy at all, and Caroline would think her whole plan had
failed if there were even rumours of anything going wrong
about it."
With this "not proven” verdict Ann had to be content.


BEFORE THE WIND
193
But it was with a heavy heart that she tucked in Miss
Emily again and blew out her candle for her. Nothing is so
insidious as suspicion and in spite of herself this vote of
censure upon the man Green affected as with a blight her
whole remembrance of him. Not because it mattered to
her, she kept assuring herself. She of course had nothing
to do with the man Green. It was the sense of the responsi-
bility she had taken upon herself—for Miss Caroline's sake
-only for Miss Caroline's sake.
Nevertheless, when at last she reached her room, all her
duties done for that night, the load of doubt had grown to
an intolerable weight-an insufferable torment that she
must deal with and that at once. There was only one thing
to be done, therefore. It was half-past eleven, but without
giving herself time to think she put on a hat and rain-coat,
then her boots and even her gloves. Some vague idea was in
her mind that she was going as an official to a business
interview and therefore must be suitably dressed for it.
At last, however, she was ready, and opening her bedroom
door very quietly she felt her way along the passage. With-
out a sound she slipped downstairs. Not a board creaked.
Then hastening through the hall and crossing the darkened
drawing-room she opened one of the windows there and a
moment later was on the shrubbery path.
Fred was in the midst of a letter to The Gables and was
at the moment engaged on an entertaining description of
his duties as valet when his pen was arrested in the middle
of a word by the unexpected sound of some one knocking.
He jumped up at once to open the door, but even when he
saw the dim figure in the moonlight he had no idea who it
was. His feelings therefore may be more easily imagined
than described when the one voice in the world that he
longed to hear came out of the darkness.
“May I speak to you for a moment?” said Ann-faintly
-breathlessly, but Ann undoubtedly.
“Certainly," he said in as ordinary a voice as he could,
holding the door open for her to enter.


194
BEFORE THE WIND
When she came forward into the lamplight he saw that
she was very pale.
“Won't you sit down?” he said, turning his chair round
for her.
"Oh, no, thank you,” she said, “I can only stay for a
moment.”
"I hope there is nothing wrong up at the house?” he
said wondering as he noticed how she was dressed. She
had not run for him in a panic, it seemed. Besides, she
might have telephoned.
"I hope there is nothing wrong," he repeated.
"Oh, no," she said, pulling herself together. "I am sure
there is not. But that new Mrs. Dodsworth has been sug-
gesting that you were a German spy because—because you
had taken this post and I felt I had to come and ask you
at once about it.”
At any other time Fred would have laughed aloud, not
so much at the suspicion attaching to him as at the naïveté
of this questioning. But at that moment he had no thought
of laughter as the girl's faith in him revealed itself uncon-
sciously. Far more was involved than the mere answer to
her question. The answer to another problem was bound
up with it with which all day his mind had been trying to
grapple.
Something in Ann's face the night before when she had
come down to prayers with the Paolo and Francesca in
her hand had been calling to him ever since to leap the
barrier that divided them, to cut the bonds asunder that
bound her to that other man, to take what might very soon
be his, regardless of honour or dishonour.
But now since she had come to him thus, like a child,
trusting him, that other question too was settled at once
and for ever. It made him hot to think that he could ever
have contemplated the possibility of dragging her down
with him to lower levels.
"Miss Charteris," he said thickly, "I thank you for
coming to me. Will you take my word for it now that, so


BEFORE THE WIND
195
help me, God, I would never do anything you would think
unworthy."
There was no need for her to speak. Her eyes gleamed
her answer. Her whole face glowed in response to his
assurance. But he gave her no time to reply in words.
Turning from her, he opened the door again.
“That is all we need say, is it not?” he said.
“Except that I thank you, too,” she said. "Oh, I do
thank you."
Halfway up the drive she remembered that she had not
said good night. A strange depression was upon her as she
climbed the stairs again and went along the passage to her
room. Yet all her anxiety was gone. There would be no
need for her to keep watch. She was quite certain of the
truth of what the man Green had said to her. Nothing after
this could shake her faith, whatever any Mrs. Dodsworth
whispered. He would do nothing she would think unworthy
and that was all that needed to be said between them.
That was all, and she should have been satisfied. But,
strange to say, she was more unsatisfied than ever. While
he had been speaking to her she had been curiously happy.
It had been again as though she had known him always
known he would speak as he had spoken. But though she
ought to have known too that now he had said everything
that was necessary it had seemed to her when he shut the
door after her to be shutting her out again from all that
concerned him.
Well—she reasoned with herself—since she was nothing
to him, since he was nothing to her—what if he had shut
her out? But was he really nothing to her then—this man
whom she seemed to have known somehow from the be-
ginning of things?
She sat down then and there to think this out and as she
pondered all at once revelation came to her—not logically
as it might have come to Miss Caroline, but suddenly,
mysteriously.


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BEFORE THE WIND
“So that's what it is?” she whispered.
Then she sat silent in a strange amazement.
Hour after hour she sat there very still, until the dawn
came stealing in at the window and birds began to twitter
softly and then call to each other in the shrubberies. At
last, however, when footsteps began to be heard about the
house, she rose and going over to her writing-table sat down
there and drew some note-paper towards her.
Then taking up the first pen-
“Dear David,” she wrote rapidly. “You said that if
I was ever ill or wanted you very badly I was to let you
know. I am not ill, but I do want you now very badly. If
you can manage it at all do come before you go away. Do
come. Your- "
Here she paused for a long time thinking. Then she
finished in a great hurry, "your own little Ann."
After she had stamped and addressed this letter she went
out at once to post it.
Coming back she was 'surprised—for it was still very
early—to meet Mrs. Dodsworth on the lawn.
"Doctor's orders, my dear,” said that lady in answer
to the astonishment upon Ann's face. "I hate exercising
before breakfast, but I simply have to. I'm one of those
people who are simply slaves to their doctors. Mine will
worry me into my grave some day. Take warning by me
and be a Christian Scientist.”
"I wished to tell you, Mrs. Dodsworth,” said Ann, "that
I spoke to Miss Emily Barton last night about the matter
you discussed with me, and that she agrees with me that
there is no need for anxiety about it.”
She expected remonstrance or annoyance or sullenness,
but Mrs. Dodsworth only beamed at her from under the
brim of her garden-bonnet.
"In that case,” she said, “of course I am satisfied. And
will you both forgive me for being so interfering and
officious?"
Ann could scarcely believe her ears. Really people were


BEFORE THE WIND
197
incomprehensible! You agonised to please them and then
you found that after all they were quite indifferent.
“You meant it for the best I have no doubt,” she said
coldly as she turned away from the smiling lady towards
the house.
"Poor thing! She has made herself quite pale and plain
over it,” said Mrs. Dodsworth as she sauntered on towards
the shrubbery.
A moment later, however, she had forgotten Ann and
resumed the train of thought which the meeting had
interrupted.
For now that Jane was actually at Bartonsmuir she was
eager to get to work and that for several reasons.
Miss Corstorphine would be written to—had perhaps been
already written to—and though she knew-for she herself
was her secretary, now supposed to be on holiday—that
she never answered any letters if she could help it and
seldom even read them, one could never be quite certain.
Then, too, it was the first time that Albert had ever
allowed her to work alone and she was eager to distinguish
herself. She had wagered him the diamond sun that she
would, and she was determined that she would win that
wager. She recognised, for with all her admiration for
Albert's cleverness she knew his weaknesses, that it was
not his high opinion of her capability but simply and solely
his greed of gain that had overcome his caution on this
occasion. It was no wonder, however, she reflected, that
he had given in to her entreaties and sent her instead of
him on this adventure.
"It's as easy as Aladdin's cave," she said to herself.
"It's too easy. Any fool could do it.”
The only thing that worried her was Albert's precau-
tionary arrangement.
“Confound that underground passage!” she said more
than once as she paced along between the rhododendrons.
It was characteristic of her respectful attitude towards
Albert's experience, however, that never for one single


198
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moment did she think of dispensing with the services of
the passage.
"If it weren't for the moor,” she added after more
cogitation. “But the moor part will be simply beastly.”
She turned a corner just then to find herself unexpectedly
on the drive and facing her a little grey house all overgrown
with greenery.
She knew it for the West Lodge at once. Albert's de-
scription had been minute and accurate, and as she was
looking at it deep in thought Fred came out in a great
hurry and went off buttoning his motor-coat. Presently
the motor driven by him and with Arbuthnot on the other
front seat passed her and disappeared through the pillared
gateway.
Still Jane stood staring at the lodge.
“And the very door's left open!” she said to herself
presently. "I must have a look anyway before I go plung-
ing on the moor in these clothes and crawling under whin-
bushes.”
She looked round her then and up the drive. Not a soul
was in sight. No sound of any human being was to be heard.
“How like a man to think of such a plan!” she said.
Then she stepped lightly across the roadway.
A moment later she was in the lodge and here she paused
for a moment hesitating.
"I must see for myself anyhow," she muttered as she
approached the dresser, and unscrewing one of the drawer-
handles she pressed a spring underneath. Instantly the
great dresser rolled out from the wall smoothly and silently
on well-oiled castors, and a moment after she was looking
down awe-struck into the dark square hole which had been
below it. A ladder descended from it into unknown depths.
A box of matches and a candle stood beside it on the
bracket. Without giving herself time to think she lit the
light and holding it very carefully so that no spots of
grease should fall on her dress she climbed quickly down
the ladder. Then setting down her candle she climbed up


BEFORE THE WIND
199
again and found two handles at the back of the dresser by
which she easily pulled it back into its place.
A moment later she stood once more upon the sandy
floor at the bottom of the dug-out. All around her were
walls built up of petrol tins. The candle light everywhere
shone on smooth surfaces. Then holding her light lower
she saw the fateful packing cases and laughed as she read
the inscription—"Explosives. To be handled with the ut-
most caution.”
At the same moment as she looked round, however, she
noticed a gap of darkness in the wall of petrol tins.
Her black eyes glittered as they fell upon it and setting
down her light again she tucked up her heavy skirts. Then
pulling her bonnet straight on her head and giving her
white curls a shake and resuming her light-
"Now for it!” she said to herself.
A moment later she was in the passage.
She stepped at first gingerly forward. Soon, however,
she was hurrying on as fast as possible.
“Will it never end?” she muttered once or twice. The
sand-walls at times seemed to be closing in upon her.
At last, however, to her great relief, for she was breath-
less partly with nervousness and partly with plunging
through the soft sand, she saw the sand-wall right in front
of her.
"The turning!” she exclaimed. “The whin-bush should
be near now."
Sure enough round the corner there was light and fra-
grance, and a faint rushing sound which had been in her
ears for some time grew suddenly loud and distinct.
“The sea!” she cried and ran on sniffing delightedly.
A moment afterwards she was peering out at the dunes
and the waves beyond them through a golden glory of whin-
blossom.
There was no time to linger, however, or to admire
scenery. As she hurried back along the passage she realised
with great satisfaction that already she felt quite at home


200
BEFORE THE WIND
in it. Nothing now would induce her to go round by the
moor and get soaked and draggled and chased by Highland
cattle perhaps.
"Here it's dry anyhow, and it's a short cut,” she said to
herself, "and as for stuffiness—it's no worse than some of
old Julia's passages. ..."
There was a certain delight, too, in setting aside Albert's
commands for once.
"So long as I use his precious cache it's no business of his
how I get to it,” she reflected.
By the time she reached the lodge again she was in great
feather. Mr. Lorimer had not yet returned. Everything was
plain sailing. The only delay was caused by the thick
powdering of sand with which as soon as she reached the
daylight she found she was besprinkled from her bonnet
downwards. To reappear like this was impossible. After
the first shock, however, she calmed herself. It was dry
loose sand. Two minutes with a clothes-brush was all she
needed. And there was Mr. Lorimer's clothes-brush. The
door was already locked. Quick as thought she whipped off
her bonnet. Her white curls came with it, her hair came
down, and it was only after this had happened that she
noticed that she had forgotten in ber hurry to lower the
window-blind.
“Not that it matters in this god-forsaken place," she
said to herself as she repaired the omission. She took care,
however, to draw it up again before she left the lodge spick
and span as she had entered it after a wonderfully brief
toilet.
Two hours later she was sitting at a little desk in the
morning-room where the Wrack-straws were wont to con-
gregate after breakfast. Mr. Tosh had just left them to go
to his literary labours. Miss Caroline in gardening gloves
and a large sun-bonnet had passed through the room on her
way to superintend planting. Miss Emily and Ann had


BEFORE THE WIND 203
“Certain,” said Arbuthnot. “I'll tell you how it was,
miss. I went down early to Mrs. Bisset's at the farm to get
some eggs for the breakfast, miss, for we were short, and all
the others was busy at the time. I got a lift from Green
when he went down with the motor."
“Yes,” said Ann faintly.
"Well, miss, I was on my way back and just passing the
West Lodge again when, to my surprise, I saw the door
was shut for I had seen it wide open when I passed in the
motor and had given Green a hearing about leaving it like
that in case of tramps and so on. Well it was shut, but I
have always kept myself from mixin' in other folks' affairs
when I could, so thinks I it's none of my business anyway
and past I goes, but something made me look back, miss,
and there in the window I saw a young woman with black
hair that was pulling down the blind as if the place be-
longed to her.”
"Could you not have imagined it?” said Ann after a
moment. "Some trick of shadows "
"Shadows canna pull down blinds," said Arbuthnot. "It's
been tormentin' me all day what I should do about it.
I made up my mind first not to say a word to anybody,
but I couldna go to my bed holdin' my tongue alto-
gether."
A bright enough colour was in Ann's cheeks now.
“You were right to come and tell me, Arbuthnot,” she
said. “But now that you have done so you need not say
any more about the matter. It is in my hands and it is now
my business to deal with it.”
“Very well, miss. Thank you, miss,” said Arbuthnot,
and relieved of responsibility she mounted her attic
stair.
"For though she's but a young body she's mair sense
than mony a auld ane,” she added to herself later as she
put on her night-cap.
Meanwhile the self-appointed warden of Bartonsmuir sat
facing towards the door until it had closed behind the old


204
BEFORE THE WIND
woman. Then turning to the desk again she folded her
arms upon it, laid her face down upon them, and wept long
and bitterly.
She quite forgot all about the letter to Miss Corstorphine.
The only one who remembered it was Mrs. Dodsworth.
"I wonder if the lovely Ann has written to old Julia yet,”
she soliloquised as she popped the extinguisher on her
candle.


206
BEFORE THE WIND
to the other woman that he had paled when he first saw
her and trembled in her presence. Who was she? Who was
this other woman? How long had she been at the West
Lodge? Had she been there in that inner room perhaps on
the night before when she had come there on her business
interview? Had she been listening while he was speaking
to her—reassuring her? The flame of her anger leaped up
once more, but after a moment it died down again. After
all what had he done? She-Ann-had sought him out
there and had put a question to him which he had answered
honestly—yes—she was sure—honestly. With a little thrill
she remembered how he had asked her to take his word for
it that he would not do anything she would think unworthy.
If he had not spoken truly to her, then nothing was true,
nothing in all the world. She could never believe that he
had lied to her. She had taken his word for it then and she
held to it now, in spite of everything-in spite of everything.
After all surely to know love at all was a great thing_even
love as hopeless as hers—as useless.
No—not useless—for it could stand by him through thick
and thin, though unknown, though unrecognised.
Again a saying of her father's occurred to her.
“Visible communication has failed," she quoted under
her breath, "but the invisible can hold strong and stead-
fast.”
It was a bracing thought, chill but invigorating like an
east wind, and it gave her energy to sit up in bed and to
think of rising to the occasion again and dressing.
As she sat there with her hands clasping her knees,
however, she heard the sound of some one digging steadily
in the garden below her window. Leaning forward and
pulling aside her curtain a little she looked out. And then
all in a moment the high brave thoughts went by the board
leaving only the realisation that he was there quite near
yet whole worlds away from her.
Fred, all unaware of what Arbuthnot had seen at the
West Lodge and indeed that there had been anything to
10 No not usech unknown, ther's occurreche quoted


BEFORE THE WIND
207
be seen there, had yet that night been unable to sleep
and was glad as soon as daylight gave him an excuse to
get to work.
There was plenty to do. Miss Caroline in a casual manner,
which had obliged him to conceal a smile at the time, had
ordered him to dig up all the lawn between the shrubbery
and the rose-garden. When he had ventured to suggest
that only half of it would be needed for the medicinal
plants which had come the day before, she had said perhaps,
but the other half could be filled with vegetables. In Ger-
many they had every inch of ground cultivated—even the
window-boxes—and she was thinking of having the other
lawn dug up too.
"Well, thank goodness I'm accustomed to it!" said the
man from the trenches as he shouldered his spade and set
out that morning. And there he was with his shirt-sleeves
rolled up hard at it when Ann looked out.
The scent of the wet earth came up to her watching him
as the young Marpessa might have watched her mortal
lover in his first strength and beauty turning over the soil
for her. And something of the young Marpessa's thoughts
stirred in the depths of her soul as she looked on—thoughts
of life and love on the low earth, of shared joys and sorrows,
dawns and sunsets, till a great wave of despair and regret
overwhelmed her and dressing hastily she escaped from the
house,
On the moor she grew calmer, but even the sea that day
had no power to soothe, and what alone pulled her to-
gether in time was the fear of her tear-stained face being
remarked upon.
Not to appear at breakfast was, of course, impossible.
She had a hundred and one duties to perform.
“And the one thing you can do now, Ann Charteris,” she
said to herself, "is to keep yourself to yourself and look as
little like an owl as possible.”
She flattered herself that the wind had effaced all traces
of what had been and it was with a measure of confidence


208
BEFORE THE WIND
therefore that she took her place among the Wrack-straws.
Hardly had she done so, however, when Miss Emily fixed
her little anxious eyes upon her.
“Miss Charteris dear, you are colded," she said.
"I hope it is not influenza,” said Mrs. Fennimore, who
was sitting next to her, and both she and Mrs. Pitmirran,
who was sitting on her other side, withdrew themselves a
little from her.
"Bed perhaps would be advisable,” said Miss Caroline,
regarding her through her long-handled eye-glasses,
“though I always have thought,” she added, "that except
in cases of severe illness it is relaxing.”
"And there's absolutely no severe illness about Miss
Charteris,” broke in Mrs. Bellairs. "She's just been out in
the east wind. I get like that too. It's unbecoming, but it's
nothing to worry about. Bring me some of whatever that is
on the sideboard, my dear. It smells good. And then go
to Miss Gellatly. I dared her to get up this morning, but
she'll be down if some one doesn't go to her for she has
finished every book and magazine she has up there, she
says."
Fred's labours afforded a spectacle that morning not
only to Ann, but to all the Wrack-straws. When he had
finishing valeting Mr. Tosh even that gentleman with his
manuscript on the eve of completion came and stood watch-
ing for the space of a whole cigar. As for the others, they
clustered round, whispering among themselves that what-
ever he was not, Green was a good digger. Even Miss
Eldershaw, more fallen together than he had yet seen her,
appeared towards noon in a bath-chair which to his in-
dignation was propelled by Ann.
“The impudent fraud!” he muttered under his breath,
and cut an unoffending worm in two pieces.
Miss Eldershaw, however, all unconscious of the emotions
she was arousing, stayed anchored in her bath-chair near
him till Arbuthnot came to wheel her in to luncheon.


BEFORE THE WIND
209
Whenever he looked up there she was still watching him
with dreamy placidity between perfunctory glances at her
Home Chat.
Now and again she was even moved to encourage him.
“You are getting on, Green, aren't you?” she would
say in her high cracked voice. And Fred in his irritation at
being addressed by her had much ado at times not to send
a turf flying in her direction.
His hostility, however, was lost upon Miss Eldershaw.
She enjoyed her morning thoroughly and after a good
lunch—the open air having made her sleepy—she betook
herself to her own apartment. It was a drowsy afternoon,
and she was soon on her sofa snoring gently, her head in a
shawl and supported on a large soft cushion. She was
dreaming that she was back at the Grange and that all the
servants had given notice, leaving her absolutely solitary
with a party of people coming to dinner. The first guest
had already arrived before she had begun to set the table
even and her voice was resounding through the house.
“Miss Eldershaw! Miss Eldershaw!”
In a panic she started up on her sofa. The voice, how-
ever, was no dream. It belonged to Mrs. Dodsworth, who
was standing looking at her.
"I am so sorry to rouse you,” she said. “But I am in
great trouble, Miss Eldershaw, and, short as our acquain-
tance has been, I feel that you are the only one to whom I
can confide a secret here."
“A secret?” exclaimed Miss Eldershaw, warming a little
towards the speaker.
Since they had arrived she had been feeling neglected by
her travelling-companion. Her new friend seemed now to
be always surrounded by other people. She had been in-
clined to receive her coldly. This appeal, however, made
her forget these past negligences for the moment.
“What is it?" she said, as Mrs. Dodsworth still hesitated.
“Sh-h!” said Mrs. Dodsworth, finger on lip, looking round
at the closed door behind her,


210
BEFORE THE WIND
Miss Eldershaw, quite wide-awake now, slid her feet off
the sofa and sat up. Then she hitched herself along a little
towards her visitor.
"Did you notice the emerald and diamond pendant I
was wearing last night?” said Mrs. Dodsworth, in a low
voice.
“Certainly,” said Miss Eldershaw. “You drew my at-
tention to it, I remember. The one that was given to your
great-grandmother by Napoleon. The heirloom.”
"The heirloom," repeated Mrs. Dodsworth. “Well, it's
gone, Miss Eldershaw."
“Gone?"
“Yes."
“Do you mean lost?”
Mrs. Dodsworth nodded. She could indeed not have
controlled her voice just then. It was hard enough to
confront the old lady's blank dismay with a straight face.
"But this is very serious,” exclaimed Miss Eldershaw.
"You should have a search made immediately, Mrs. Dods-
worth.”
"My dear lady," said Mrs. Dodsworth, very impres-
sively, “I have been doing nothing else but search for it
except at meal-times since this morning.”
“But this is terrible!” exclaimed Miss Eldershaw, clutch-
ing mechanically at a large amethyst she was wearing.
“And have none of the servants seen it?"
“Sh-h!” said Mrs. Dodsworth sharply. “Excuse me,
Miss Eldershaw, but I am so afraid of any one listening.
You see I am distressed to bring even a shadow of sus-
picion upon this household—but after all, Miss Eldershaw,
what do we know of these people? As I said to my niece
at the time she was urging me to come here, What do we
know of them?”.
“I have known the Bartons, or rather known of them,
since my childhood,” said Miss Eldershaw, drawing herself
up.
“My dear Miss Eldershaw, you mistake me," said Mrs.


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particular in such matters. It was in its case. I remember
distinctly closing it for it has a troublesome clasp. I had
some trouble making it fast. Well, this morning when I
was dressing I noticed that it was open. I could hardly
believe my eyes. But there it was. And on examining it I
found it empty also. Now what more proof do I require?
I can think of no other solution.”
Miss Eldershaw was rocking herself to and fro by this
time.
"Oh, this is terrible, this is terrible,” she ejaculated.
"If I had known I was to be mixed up in such things I
would never have come here. But it is not too late," she
interrupted herself, suddenly stiffening with resolve. "I
shall pack up this very minute.”
But at this Mrs. Dodsworth gave a little shriek of horror.
"And leave me here in trouble after I have confided in
you?" she said incredulously. "Leave me alone to track
down the criminal? Surely never!”
"But what can I do?" said poor Miss Eldershaw, wring-
ing her hands. “I was eighty-three on my last birthday.
I am not fit to track down criminals."
"My dear Miss Eldershaw," said Mrs. Dodsworth, “I
am not asking you to do anything except-surely it is not
much-to keep silence in the meantime."
"In the meantime-in the meantime,” said Miss Elder-
shaw distractedly, "but how long will that be?”
"Only a few days, I am convinced,” said Mrs. Dods-
worth.
“And that's the truth, anyhow,” she added to herself.
“If all of them are going to kick up such a dust the sooner
this house sees the back of me the better.”
She was retiring towards the door as she thus soliloquised.
“Very well, very well,” said Miss Eldershaw, wiping her
eyes. "If you assure me "
"I am certain of it,” said Mrs. Dodsworth. "If we are
only silent. Silent!” she repeated impressively. Then
she vanished, closing the door behind her.


BEFORE THE WIND
213
Miss Eldershaw remained seated rigidly on the sofa, too
unncrved at first from the shock she had received to think
connectedly on any subject. From the turmoil of her mind,
however, the thought presently emerged that if she re-
mained silent she might implicate the Miss Bartons whose
guest she was in some disreputable transaction. Mrs.
Dodsworth's suggestion that she did not know the people
of the house well had startled the old lady in a manner of
which the spurious Mrs. Dodsworth had no suspicion. It
had shaken her confidence all at once in that clever person
and made her, in a strong revulsion of feeling, inclined to
take the part of her two kindly hostesses. Any guest in her
own house, she reflected, who concealed from her the loss
of jewellery on her premises would be wanting in respect
to her.
Feeble and stupid she was certainly, but she had not
been so many long years the mistress of a great old house
for nothing. Her breeding took the place of brains in this
crisis and made her feel instinctively that it was wrong to
be silent.
Thus Jane, astute as she was, had made a false step at
the very beginning of her enterprise in choosing Miss
Eldershaw for her first accomplice. The old lady had had
no concealments in her own life because she had never had
anything to conceal, and the mere fact of having to hide
that with which her mind was fully occupied made her
exceedingly uncomfortable. So much so that after a time
she felt it to be absolutely necessary, in spite of what Mrs.
Dodsworth had said, to take some one into her confidence.
Had her solicitor or her doctor been available she would
have consulted one of them. She had quarrelled with her
clergyman, but she would have gladly summoned even him.
As she thought of them, however, she felt worse than she
had yet done, for the clergyman and the doctor were in
France and the solicitor in Mesopotamia. At the same
time the urgency of the need to unburden herself at once
seemed to increase from moment to moment. But to whom
clereyhe thought for the cleroy Mesopotarden he


214 BEFORE THE WIND
should she go? To whom? Who would be competent to
advise her?
With the thought of competence, however, another idea
came to her, for competence, in her opinion, was exclusively
a male attribute. There was one man besides Green at
Bartonsmuir—Mr. Tosh. From her corner of the drawing-
room she had looked approvingly on him, on his old-
fashioned courtesies, on his air of a man of the world. She
had even heard him read aloud part of his book, and though
she had not understood a word of it she had heard Miss
Caroline praise it highly. He was, moreover, a great friend
of Miss Caroline's. He certainly, whatever other people
might do, would never tolerate any disrespect to her or
any conduct which might injure the reputation of the
house whose head she was. On him she-Ellen Eldershaw-
might then confidently rely. She made up her mind, there-
fore, to go and consult Mr. Tosh.
Galvanised into immediate action by the thought that
in an hour or so her career of duplicity might have to begin
at afternoon tea, she hastened to the great mahogany ward-
robe, took therefrom her outdoor attire, and presently stood
tying the ribbons of her sealskin hood firmly under her
receding chin and looking, in spite of a trembling which she
could not altogether control, a wonderfully determined old
figure.
Mr. Tosh had that afternoon reached the last chapter of
his book. The plan of it was already drafted. All that was
left for him to do was simply to write it out. There were
five sections, A, B, C, D, and E, and he was well on into the
middle of B when with great annoyance he heard a per-
sistent tapping at the outer door of his lodge.
He had counted upon having an absolutely clear after-
noon, free from interruption of any kind. He had disposed
himself and his manuscripts accordingly. It will be re-
membered that his book, originally entitled “The Utter
Impossibility of a War with Germany,” had had to be


BEFORE THE WIND 215
adjusted to circumstances from beginning to end, and not
the least annoying and irritating part of this trying task
was this last chapter in which had been the climax of the
argument.
No wonder then that the floor round Mr. Tosh's writing-
table was bestrewn with torn papers which the author from
time to time had cast from him. No wonder that his rather
long white hair was rumpled, his collar torn open, his
dressing-gown unfastened. His eyes had been fixed in an
agony of composition on the ceiling, and his mind labouring
to transform one of his former thoughts into one more
compatible with recent happenings, when the knocking
rendered everything futile.
“Damn it!” he exclaimed at last with pardonable exas-
peration.
He said it softly, however, and no one heard it, least of
all Miss Eldershaw on the doorstep. She was, therefore,
totally unprepared for the door being violently flung open
and a red-faced apparition with white tousled hair and an
ink-bespattered dressing-gown appearing on the threshold.
If Miss Eldershaw was dumbfounded, however, Mr. Tosh
was no less so. Had the hall clock at the Big House
come to pay him an afternoon call he would have been no
more astonished than at the sight of this particular Wrack-
straw. He had never once before since her arrival at
Bartonsmuir seen Miss Eldershaw erect and unsupported.
He had always met her either being wheeled about in a
bath-chair or leaning heavily on the arm of somebody.
Never either had he observed the distracted expression as
of a trapped rabbit in her small and peering eyes. She was
a singularly plain old woman he reflected, but evidently in
need of some assistance.
“You wished to speak to me, Miss Eldershaw," he said
by way of a cue, for he had no idea, as he told Fred after-
wards, of spending the whole blessed afternoon upon the
doorstep.
For answer the old lady, as though she had stopped


216
BEFORE THE WIND
because she had run down and was now wound up again,
began once more to walk and, passing Mr. Tosh, was in the
centre of his room before he could utter another word, her
black silk skirt trailing among his papers. Then as though
mechanically she took the chair he had been sitting on and
said suddenly in a queer choked voice
“There's thieving going on.”
"Eh?” said Mr. Tosh.
“Thieving,” repeated Miss Eldershaw.
Mr. Tosh took another chair.
“By Jove!” he said to himself. “Can this be Lorimer's
and Piffard's affair?"
His annoyance about being interrupted was gone. After
all, that last chapter could wait. This old woman was, for
the moment, more important. For the first time he regarded
her with genuine interest. He drew his chair a little closer
and then, as his eyes searched her face for some explanation,
she nodded.
“Yes, it's a bad business,” she said, "and I felt I must
tell somebody.”
"Tell me more," said Mr. Tosh.
"It was Mrs. Dodsworth who told me,” said Miss Elder-
shaw. "Her diamond and emerald pendant is missing—the
one Napoleon gave to her great-grandmother—and she is
sure she put it in its case last night.”
At this Mr. Tosh seemed to be about to whistle. No
sound, however, escaped from him until at last after what
seemed a long time-
“Go on,” he said abruptly.
“And she came and told me a little ago," continued Miss
Eldershaw, "and told me not to tell anybody, but I felt
that to keep silence altogether would not-would not be
respectful to Miss Barton. ... So—50—as my lawyer is
in Mesopotamia and my doctor and my clergyman in
France," added poor Miss Eldershaw, wiping away a tear,
"I came to see you, sir, about it and to ask your advice.”
Here she all of a sudden became voiceless.


BEFORE THE WIND 217
“My dear Miss Eldershaw," said Mr. Tosh, “don't dis-
tress yourself.” He sat then, however, staring at her with
a strange expression on his face and without offering a
single word of further counsel. He behaved quite differ-
ently to any of her former advisers, quite differently to
what she had expected. Never since the beginning of the
war had she felt so utterly bereft and miserable. At last
after what seemed to her an age but was really about one
minute she could bear it no longer.
“What am I to do?" she burst out.
At this, still without answering, Mr. Tosh rose and began
pacing up and down the little apartment, and as he did so
he looked so sensible and, in spite of his déshabille, such a
man of the world still, that her confidence in him revived
a little.
"I shall do whatever you think best, Mr. Tosh,” she said,
putting her handkerchief back into her reticule.
“Then, my dear Miss Eldershaw," he replied, wheeling
round and bending towards her in a confidential and im-
pressive manner.
"I say-keep quiet about it. Silence. That is what I
advise. Silence.”
“What?” said Miss Eldershaw, hardly believing her ears.
“You advise the same as she does?"
“The very same," said Mr. Tosh.
“You are sure that you are right in keeping what has
happened from Miss Barton?”.
"Perfectly sure. To speak now might be to let the thief
slip through our fingers. And I would strongly advise you
to keep your visit here secret from Mrs. Dodsworth also."
“This is terrible,” said Miss Eldershaw faintly.
"I will take the responsibility,” said Mr. Tosh, smiling
reassuringly. “It will likely only be for a few days.”
Poor Miss Eldershaw was but little reassured, neverthe-
less.
She shook her head as she looked at Mr. Tosh. He seemed
suddenly altogether unreliable with his rumpled hair and


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his ink-bespattered draperies. Oh, for the business-like
deportment of Mr. Straker her lawyer, the good sense of
Dr. Turner, the benignity of Canon Fuller!
“This war will be the death of me," she said aloud with
apparent irrelevance.
Then rising with a certain tragic dignity, she added-
“I need not detain you longer, sir.”
Quarter of an hour later, ieaning heavily on her stick,
she entered the Big House unobserved and regained her
room feeling more than she had ever done since she had left
The Grange, Market Leighton, indeed a Wrack-straw.
No one noticed her state of mind, however. Miss Elder-
shaw was not one of those people who ever are noticed by
anybody very much. Her appearance that evening so far
as her outer garments went, even to the black pearls, was
just as usual. As no one happened to speak to her that
evening no one noticed that she was as dumb as the chair
she sat on. Mr. Tosh entering the dining-room a little late
met her peering eyes fixed on him and nodded reassuringly
again. But the length of the table was between them and
he had nothing besides to say to her at that moment. When
she refused to play draughts afterwards Ann was only
relieved, as she felt that evening even more repugnance to
the game than she generally had. So there sat Miss Elder-
shaw bunched up in a remote arm-chair, brooding drearily
over the situation and holding a Home Chat upside down in
front of her. Her slow mind was toiling away with the
problem of how far it was necessary for her to keep the
injunction of silence for the second time laid upon her by
Mr. Tosh. With regard to the latter part of this she had no
doubt. She had no desire to tell Mrs. Dodsworth of her
independent action. She imagined that lady in a rage or
coldly contemptuous and the idea of it completely scared
her. No—she would say nothing to Mrs. Dodsworth. ...
As to the theft itself, however, that was another matter.
In spite of what Mr. Tosh had said she could not persuade


BEFORE THE WIND
219
herself that it was honourable to hide what had happened
from Miss Caroline. Here, however, her fear of what would
be thought of her if she divulged the secret paralysed her.
Miss Caroline would of course raise a hue and cry immedi-
ately. Every one would know then that it was she-Ellen
Eldershaw—who had given the alarm. Mr. Tosh would
know—Mrs. Dodsworth—all those other people.
No, to tell Miss Caroline under the circumstances was out
of the question. ... Indeed, to tell any one. . . . There
was only one way out and that was to get herself removed
from Bartonsmuir as soon as possible. Ellen her niece must
act. She must come home at once and take her back to
The Grange again, where she would be secure and safe.
From there as from a port of refuge she might send word
to Miss Caroline that untoward things were taking place
beneath her roof. Once at The Grange she might do any-
thing. Her own old house servants or no servants—seemed
a haven of delight. The very thought of it caused more
than once a heavy tear to splash down behind the Home
Chat upon her satin lap.
Mrs. Dodsworth meanwhile, after vainly trying to catch
the eye of her unwilling accomplice, placed herself with her
back to her at the bridge-table. She had taken care, how-
ever, to have a mirror facing her and was thus able to keep
watch. By this means she saw that the old lady received a
letter when the post-bag was brought in and that after
reading it she had revived somewhat. Then presently she
became aware that she, leaning on the arm of Ann, was
being conducted from the drawing-room. She did not re-
appear and after a little Ann returned.
"Is Miss Eldershaw not coming down again?" said Mrs.
Dodsworth.
"No,” said Ann, “she is tired and has gone to bed. I
don't think she is very well to-night. She is not looking
like herself.”
“Your deal, Mrs. Fennimore,” said Mr. Tosh, but his
eyes wandered speculatively to the corner where Miss


220
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Eldershaw had been sitting and dwelt for a moment on the
empty chair and the discarded Home Chat before they
returned to the hand that had been dealt him. He too was
unusually silent that night. A strange oppression seemed
to brood over the drawing-room. Miss Gellatly after singing
one song, and that of a doleful nature, had immersed herself
in a new book and refused to sing another note. Miss Emily
was busy with accounts at a far-off desk and was appar-
.ently beset with great difficulties which at times obliged
her to lay down her pen altogether and tick items off with
her right hand upon her left-hand fingers. Miss Caroline
herself, though she was corporeally in the midst of her
guests, was mentally totally absent from them as she had
been entirely absorbed since dinner planning out her new
herb-garden. She had a large sheet of paper before her on
the round table where the rose-shaded lamp was, and was
sometimes bent so closely over it that her pearl-tassels all
but touched it. Ever and anon she would lean back in her
chair regarding the cornice fixedly.
"As though,” Mrs. Bellairs said, "she saw daturas grow-
ing on it. And if it were not such an entertainment to
watch Caroline excogitating an idea,” she added to Ann,
"she really at times would be very dull company."
Mrs. Bellairs herself was as usual doing nothing at all.
"I acquire merit best, you see,” she explained, "by
simply admiring everybody. Miss Gellatly has been
reading theosophy to me, and thoughts are real things.
They do any amount of good. I find theosophy a great
comfort.”
She sat therefore twiddling her rings on her idle fingers
and watching Ann, who, glad to be freed from the boredom
of draughts with Miss Eldershaw for that night at least,
was hard at work on a muffler.
"She is pale,” said Mrs. Bellairs to herself, "and she has
dark shadows under her eyes. No wonder with such a con-
fusion in her love affairs. ... Heaven send a climax
soon one way or the other! ... One thing I am certain of,


BEFORE THE WIND
221
when things do straighten out I shall at once tell Fred
frankly what I think of him.... Masquerading here,
masquerading there! . . . No other aunt of a V.C. would
stand it. ... While as for his keeping the thing a secret
that he is apparently thinking he is hiding—if these old
fossils were not all as blind as bats they would see as plainly
how it is with him as though he went down on his knees to
her in front of them.”
All the Wrack-straws that night except perhaps Mrs.
Fennimore and Mrs. Pitmirran, whom bridge—even as
played by Mrs. Dodsworth and Mr. Tosh that night-made
absolutely immune from boredom, were glad when ten
o'clock struck and the rest of the household filed in for the
evening devotions.
Mr. Tosh since the afternoon had been bursting with the
news of Miss Eldershaw's extraordinary visit. He had had
no opportunity of speaking to Fred since. Even his comfort
had been sacrificed to the new herb-garden for Fred, having
been sent off for more plants by Miss Caroline, had not
appeared as usual in his character of valet.
During prayers therefore the old gentleman mystified
and rather scandalised his colleague by facial contortions
meant to convey to him that he had tidings. His deport-
ment hitherto had always been so correct at prayers that
this departure from it was quite electrifying. Mr. Tosh's
behaviour was after all of no importance in Fred's mind,
however, as compared with the question as to whether he
could escape from him afterwards. For it had been dis-
closed to him by Maggie when they were cleaning out the
greenhouse together that every night at that hour, rain or
fair, frost or thaw, Ann made the round of the house to see
that no lights were showing.
For several nights now he had given himself the doubtful
pleasure of accompanying his lady-love unseen by her on
these expeditions. As soon as he could therefore he escaped
from the house in case Mr. Tosh should seize upon him. He
always went to the East Lodge later to see the old man safe


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his life Would red fossed
for the night and had several times had to remain for hours
there while Mr. Tosh, sitting up in bed, read portions of his
book aloud to him.
Ann on this particular night made him belated, however,
though she was all unconscious of the transgression. She
was indeed aware of little else but her own thoughts and of
her gladness to be out in the fragrant silence. The warm,
heavy atmosphere of the drawing-room combined with the
mental storms she had passed through had made her head
ache. She was too tired for grief or for anything but a dull
melancholy. Would it always be like this, she wondered?
All in this life, all beyond, so vague, so empty, while long
spring days, spring nights like this, made for two who loved
each other, were passing ... passing. ...
Ann, it will be seen, was in no very exalted mood, but to
Fred in the shadows watching her she seemed as though
she were already a saint, as far removed as the Blessed
Damosel from his wild desires and passionate longings.
Something of her thoughts, however, must have reached him
by mysterious ways, for never had he so longed to speak to
her and tell her whatever happened how he loved her.
It was only after Ann had finally disappeared for the
night that he so much as remembered Mr. Tosh. With haste
then, however, for it was long past his usual hour, he made
his way to the East Lodge. The door was ajar when he
reached it, which was unusual, but a streak of light showing
through the aperture seemed to indicate an inhabitant.
No human being was within, however, no night-capped
author manuscript in hand, and the only occupant lay
regarding him with no curiosity and little interest.
“Well, Walter!” said Fred to him nevertheless. "How
do you find yourself? And where does your master find
himself?"
But Walter returned ne'er an answer except to settle
himself more comfortably among the manuscripts. ,
"You'll be knocking that candlestick over, you know,”
said Fred, snatching away the light as it wavered above


BEFORE THE WIND
223
the papers. "You'll be like what's-his-name and Carlyle's
French Revolution, if you don't look out, you old sybarite.”
With that he set the candle on the mantelpiece and left
the East Lodge to return to the Big House where he found
Arbuthnot on the watch for him with a telephone message
from Mr. Tosh demanding his immediate presence at the
West Lodge.
Mr. Tosh was by this time in a frenzy of impatience. He
had poked the fire so often that it was roaring up the
chimney, and whenever Fred came in, without even waiting
for him to sit down, he launched his adventure of the after-
noon at him. Immediately, however, Fred was as much
excited as he was, though his excitement showed merely in
a tightening of the lips.
"I could hardly believe my eyes,” exclaimed Mr. Tosh,
“when I saw her walking about alone like that, Lorimer."
“That need not have surprised you," said Fred. “I
have information about this Miss Eldershaw. She is no more
Miss Eldershaw than you or I, Mr. Tosh. This afternoon
visit of hers was pure comedy from first to last. She is
really Albert's sweetheart-
Mr. Tosh here sat down as though Fred had just bowled
him over.
“What?” he said faintly. “Say that again, Lorimer.”
“Ah, I had forgotten,” said Fred. “You do not know
that Albert is the man we're after.”
"Albert!” whispered Mr. Tosh, voiceless with astonish-
ment.
“The time has now come, I think,” said Fred, laughing
a little at his bewilderment, “to post you up, colleague.
Your information lags behind events."
Then he gave him a full account of the stealing of the
emerald rings at the canteen, of the plan of pursuit arranged
at the Gables, of his determination to leave Bartonsmuir in
order to follow up the trail elsewhere until his reception of
the telephone message from some one unknown at the dead
of night had changed his plans again.


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"I don't know and can't think,” he added, “who sent
that message. But I think it is genuine. It sounded to me,
too, as though the man, whoever he was, knew much more
than he told.
“But Albert- ” exclaimed Mr. Tosh again.
Then rage overtook him.
“The miserable scoundrel!” he cried, banging his fist
with such force on the table that every bit of crockery in
the room rattled. “The wretched— ” he paused, search-
ing for some word to express his feelings, “the wretched-
Hohenzollern!” he shouted, "to bring disgrace upon me
and through me perhaps upon this house here. ..."
“Not that at least,” said Fred grimly. “We'll catch
her. Never fear.”
"Him you mean?”
“No, he's slipped through our fingers. I mean the sweet-
heart,” said Fred.
“Though he were twenty times enlisted he shall be
caught!” cried Mr. Tosh.
“Very well, sir, but in the meantime we have our work
cut out here,” said Fred. “That disguise as Miss Elder-
shaw is a really clever piece of acting, and the coming to
you for advice is simply a stroke of genius. Only an expert
would have thought of that. It will take the two of us work-
ing all we know, sir. You must do the bombing out and
I'll be ready to cut her off.”
"I bomb her out?” said Mr. Tosh, with less enthusiasm.
"Really, Lorimer- "
"I don't mean literally of course," laughed Fred. “But
now let's light up Watson and put our heads together.”
They made out a plan then for taking turns at watching-
Mr. Tosh in the day-time, Fred during the night-marking
down everything in the most business-like manner and then
Fred made two copies, one for the East, one for the West
Lodge. They made a night of it smoking and planning by
the fire which ever and anon Fred replenished from a great
heap of pine logs. It was between three and four in the


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its reputation, was still sunk in slumber behind its closed
yellow blinds.
Not altogether, however, for just as he was approaching,
it, Maggie emerged from a small side-door.
She grinned widely when she saw him. Fred grinned in
response, for he delighted in Maggie. She was a between-
maid in the fullest sense of the word. She was always doing
what no one else wanted to do, and had done so, she in-
formed him, all the thirty years she had been at Bartons-
muir. She was always working at whatever hour of the day
he saw her, yet always cheerful, always imperturbably
good-natured. Her mouth was too large and her nose was
too small, but in spite of those and her many other de-
ficiencies of face and figure she was to Fred, at least, always
good to look at.
“Well, Maggie,” he said as she approached beaming all
over, "you are an early bird this morning surely.”
“Not as early as I ought to ha' been,” returned Maggie.
"This letter should ha' gone last night by rights. But I'm
that scared o' the dark roads that I could not bring myself
to them. It'll make no difference though for the post goes
out they say at eight.”
"At eight?” laughed Fred. “Then you're in good time.
I hear the stable-clock striking five just now."
“Well, ye see,” Maggie explained, "I want to be back in
time so as Miss Eldershaw 'll not know that it's jist gone
the now.” With that she went on her genial way while Fred,
too, went on home to breakfast.
"It's fortunate for us that it's the sweetheart and not
Albert himself we have to deal with,” he reflected. “Catch
Albert giving a letter at night to poor old Maggie to post!”


BEFORE THE WIND
227
CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH
IN WHICH MISS CAROLINE IS FORCED TO EVOLVE
ANOTHER IDEA
MR. Tosh had left the hall immediately after prayers the
night before and his example had been followed by most
of the other Wrack-straws. There seemed less disposition
than usual to linger by the fire, and about twenty minutes
after the departure of Mr. Tosh only Mrs. Fennimore and
Mrs. Dodsworth were left to enjoy it. Miss Caroline, with
her herb-garden plan still unfinished, had retired with it
in her hand to her own apartment. Miss Gellatly, too, had
withdrawn to hers with The New Bernhardi and a glass of
boiling water. Mrs. Pitmirran and Mrs. Bellairs were fin-
ishing off a friendly argument on the upper landing. Miss
Emily and Ann were nowhere to be seen. The coast was
clear in more senses than one, for Ann had written that
morning to Miss Corstorphine and Mrs. Dodsworth, who
was going out at the time, had kindly posted the letter for
her in the rhododendrons.
She now drew her chair a little closer to Mrs. Fennimore's
and taking two fire-screens from the mantelpiece she handed
one to her companion. Then holding hers so that only her
eyes, her lace head-dress, and the upper part of her curls
showed over it-
"I am so glad to have this opportunity," she began in a
low voice, "of consulting with you, Mrs. Fennimore.”
"Of consulting with me?” said Mrs. Fennimore, staring
at her, as she settled her neat feet more comfortably on the
fender.
“Yes," said Mrs. Dodsworth. “Though our acquaintance
is not a long one I feel that we have much in common, and
her, as stulting Wilting with


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that there is no one else here that I would care to consult
with.”
As she spoke she watched the effect of her words with
some anxiety, but Mrs. Fennimore immediately rose to the
bait, and for the first time since her encounter with Miss
Eldershaw, Jane regained full confidence in herself.
“Yes—they are a little You know what I mean,"
· said Mrs. Fennimore.
“They are," said Mrs. Dodsworth. “And what I want
now is a practical woman of the world.”
"I understand," said Mrs. Fennimore, trying not to look
gratified and tucking up her satin skirt so that her petti-
coat only might be exposed to the heat. "Well, I'm sure
if I can do anything,” she added, getting her fire-screen
into position again.
Mrs. Dodsworth hitched her chair yet nearer, glanced
over her shoulder, and waited for a moment, listening.
“They are all gone,” said Mrs. Fennimore.
"I wanted to be quite sure,” said Mrs. Dodsworth.
“This is such a very delicate matter. Mrs. Fennimore-
have you examined your jewel-case lately? Last night or
the night before I mean?”
Mrs. Fennimore almost dropped her fire-screen.
"Examined my jewel-case?" she exclaimed.
“Because," said Mrs. Dodsworth, “I have reason to think
-I am extremely sorry to say so—but I am certain that
there is thieving going on here."
"My dear Mrs. Dodsworth!” ejaculated Mrs. Fenni-
more.
“I am certain," continued Mrs. Dodsworth, “because
I myself have lost my diamond and emerald pendant."
"Not,” exclaimed Mrs. Fennimore, “surely not the heir-
loom?”
Mrs. Dodsworth nodded solemnly.
“It was taken out of its case,” she added after a moment.
"I never could have imagined anything so barefaced. It
was in the case on the dressing-table when I went to bed
Mrs. Fennd my jewel Dodsworth,


230
BEFORE THE WIND
nad nothing to the whole thar again. N
suspicion. Besides for all her boasted lack of sentiment
Jane had her weaknesses and one was a love of beauty for
its own sake. Whenever she had seen Ann she had, in a
manner, fallen in love with her. Thus for a moment she
had nothing to say. A little reflection, however, restored
her sangfroid. The whole thing would only last for a few
days. Then all would be clear again. No matter then who
was suspected. The more the better. The more unlikely
people the better. Vogue la galère!
"Ah, you think so?" she said with raised eyebrows.
"I do,” said Mrs. Fennimore. "Who else is in and out
of our rooms at all hours?”.
“The servants perhaps,” suggested Mrs. Dodsworth.
“These old women?” said Mrs. Fennimore. "No, my
dear Mrs. Dodsworth. No. But you should have heard
how that girl stuck up for that chauffeur man. She was
most insolent to me. But we shall see now what we shall
see."
"But, Mrs. Fennimore,” said Mrs. Dodsworth hastily,
"we must say nothing to any one for a few days."
Mrs. Fennimore stared. Disagreement, even rebellion,
sparkled and snapped in her little narrow eyes.
"It is our only chance, believe me, of recovering our
property,” Mrs. Dodsworth went on. "I have written to
a great friend of my late husband's, a Sir Joseph Bird. No
doubt you have heard of him. No? One of the greatest
living detectives. They always consult him at Scotland
Yard. And though no one could be more impatient about
it than I am, until he comes or sends some one to handle
the case we must act as if nothing had happened, so that
the thief may be taken unawares, you understand.”
“Ah, I see,” said Mrs. Fennimore, but still doubtfully.
"I was sorry I could not consult you first,” said Mrs.
Dodsworth, “before writing to Sir Joseph. But there was
no opportunity.”
“You have done just as I should have done, Mrs. Dods-
worth,” said Mrs. Fennimore graciously. “The only


BEFORE THE WIND
231
objection I should have had would have been that in the
meantime—before your friend has had time to arrive
more may be stolen.”
"I thought of that,” said Mrs. Dodsworth. “But it
does not matter, does it, that the thief should go on stealing
if in the end he is captured ?”
"She you mean?” said Mrs. Fennimore.
“She,” Mrs. Dodsworth corrected herself. "On the
other hand, we could stop the stealing now, of course, by
publishing the matter abroad, but it would be extremely
unlikely that we should ever see our property again.”
"How long will it be before-Sir Joseph Bird can be
here?” said Mrs. Fennimore.
"I have told him to come at once," said Mrs. Dodsworth.
"I know he will come as soon as he possibly can. My
husband and he were such very great friends. They used
to spend hours discussing cases together and it was most
interesting. I am acting now on what I used to hear then.
‘My dear Mrs. Dodsworth,' he used to say to me. 'More
things are lost by being premature in raising an alarm than
any one would believe. Never do anything till an expert is
on the spot if you can possibly help it, and in delicate cases
-avoid the local police!'"
“Did he say that?" said Mrs. Fennimore.
"He did indeed," said Mrs. Dodsworth, "and so I know
he will come at once. But, of course, he may be a little
detained. A man whom even royalty consults ”
"And the trains are very irregular just now," said Mrs.
Fennimore.
“Oh, once he gets clear of London that will not detain
him," said Mrs. Dodsworth. "He always travels by special
train.”
Mrs. Fennimore was silent for a moment gazing medita-
tively at the fire, her brows drawn together, her lower lip
protruded, while Mrs. Dodsworth sat silent also watching
her.
"I see the advisability, Mrs. Dodsworth,” she said at


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last, "of keeping the matter quiet-between ourselves I
mean—but what about the others?”.
"The others?” exclaimed Mrs. Dodsworth. “Have
they too lost something?”.
"Not that I know of," said Mrs. Fennimore. “But
what's to hinder their losing something and making an
outcry if we don't warn them?”.
"My dear Mrs. Fennimore,” said Mrs. Dodsworth, glanc-
ing over her shoulder again and then laying her hand im-
pressively upon her companion's arm, "if you take my ad-
vice you will not warn them.”
“Why not?” said Mrs. Fennimore. "How are you going
to keep them quiet if anything does happen?”
“We must just chance that,” said Mrs. Dodsworth. "If
they do lose something they may never miss it, just as
you never missed the lower tray out of your jewel-case till
I drew your attention to it. Besides,” Mrs. Dodsworth
smiled a peculiar smile, "we do not really know who the
thief is. Do we? You suspect Miss Charteris. Yet you
have no proof that it is Miss Charteris."
Again she smiled her peculiar smile. And this time a
reflection of it appeared upon the face of Mrs. Fennimore.
“My dear Mrs. Dodsworth,” she said, “surely- "
“One can never be sure,” said Mrs. Dodsworth. "Such
queer things happen."
“Oh, I know," said Mrs. Fennimore eagerly. “There
was a woman once at an hotel where I was staying in
Switzerland -a millionairess too_who had taken a fancy
to "
"An heirloom? Yes, I quite believe it,” said Mrs. Dods-
worth. “There are things that cannot be bought with
money, you know.”
“Well, well!” said Mrs. Fennimore, settling herself more
comfortably in her chair. "One lives and learns. Now
whom do you suspect?”.
"I do not like to say—to you," said Mrs. Dodsworth
meaningly.


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233
The two looked at each other steadily over their fire-
screens for a few seconds.
"She was certainly playing very badly both to-day and
yesterday,” said Mrs. Fennimore at last with apparent
irrelevance.
Mrs. Dodsworth understood, however.
"I noticed that,” she said at once.
“She is a queer creature, you know, Mrs. Dodsworth,"
Mrs. Fennimore went on with unction. "I have always
made allowances for her—for you know they do say that
old Pitmirran married his cook—and as we are neighbours
I have always tried to be friendly—but she is a queer
creature. There's no doubt about that.”
"Have you noticed that?” said Mrs. Dodsworth.
“Oh, always,” said Mrs. Fennimore. "Between our-
selves, she has shifty eyes. And—but this must go no
further, Mrs. Dodsworth
“Oh, no—certainly not,” said Mrs. Dodsworth.
Mrs. Fennimore leaned forward and spoke behind her
firescreen. “She said she had not noticed that revoke she
made last week,” she whispered. “But- "
Here Mrs. Fennimore shrugged her shoulders, pursed her
lips, and shook her head.
"Ah, did you think that too?” said Mrs. Dodsworth, who
had herself not thought it till that moment. “Then I was
not mistaken?”
"No, Mrs. Dodsworth,” said Mrs. Fennimore, with de-
termined firmness. “No, I am sorry, but I am afraid you
were not. And a woman who can do that "
"Well, it confirms me, anyhow," said Mrs. Dodsworth.
“One hates to think evil of people, but really- "
"It's distressing,” said Mrs. Fennimore. "It's very dis-
tressing."
But she did not look at all distressed. Indeed, since she
had been at Bartonsmuir she had never enjoyed herself so
thoroughly.
“And to think,” she went on, “that I have known Bethia


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Pitmirran for twenty years. I quite agree with you now,
Mrs. Dodsworth. We must hush this affair up all we can.
Poor Bethia!”
"Oh, Sir Joseph will make that all right,” said Mrs. Dods-
worth. "He has great tact and discretion."
“Nevertheless," said Mrs. Fennimore, “I suppose it's
bound to come out somehow. People are so malicious and
her neighbours at home, except me, all dislike her so.”
"Would you prefer then, Mrs. Fennimore,” said Jane,
"that she should be given a hint quietly in order that she
may have a chance of replacing the things?”
"My dear Mrs. Dodsworth,” said Mrs. Fennimore,
"much as I should wish to do so, I could never think of
such a thing. Sorry as I am for Bethia, I feel she must take
the consequences of her action. To allow her to do other-
wise would be to defeat justice.”
"In that case," said Mrs. Dodsworth, rising and replacing
her fire-screen on the mantelpiece, “till Sir Joseph Bird
comes not a word. Is that agreed?"
"Not a syllable," said Mrs. Fennimore.
On her way up to bed Mrs. Dodsworth paused to pay a
passing visit to her other accomplice, Miss Eldershaw,
whose unexpected intractability that afternoon had given
her some thrills of uneasiness. Tapping softly at the old
lady's bedroom door and receiving no response she opened
it and cautiously peeped in.
All was perfect peace apparently. The candle was extin-
guished. Only a faint light came from the fire. By it Mrs.
Dodsworth could just see the outline of Miss Eldershaw
upon the bed. Her back was towards her. The clothes were
pulled up over her ears. Nothing could be seen of her but
her nightcap.
Nevertheless, though she took no notice and was appar-
ently quite unaware of the presence of a visitor Miss Elder-
shaw was by no means asleep. She was feeling by this time
indeed that she would never be able to sleep more till she


BEFORE THE WIND
235
was safe in her bed in her old house again. Every sound in
the passage outside her door startled her. Every cinder that
dropped from the grate gave her palpitations. Might not
the thief in the house at any moment appear before her?
The room seemed to be full of queer unaccountable noises.
It was not so much that she dreaded being robbed as the
thought of what it would be her duty to do if that did
happen that worried her. For this reason she had put
everything of value that she had under the part of the
bolster that was between her and the back of the bed. As
long as she lay there, she reflected, no one could possibly
touch any of these things without her knowing it. All she
had to do then was to stay in bed until her niece came,
which, she reckoned, would be in about a week's time.
She had heard that night from her certainly that she was
going on further to some unpronounceable destination, but
the letter she had written that evening to her would reach
her in time to stop her going there. And whenever Ellen
read it she would be sure to act upon it. The one thing her
aunt was afraid of was that it might unduly upset Ellen.
She had not dared to be explicit and on thinking over what
she had written it seemed to her very alarming. She would
not have liked to receive such a letter from her aunt if she
were a niece. ... Well, she could not help it. After all it
was entirely Ellen's own fault. If she was alarmed now it
would be a lesson to her. It was rather pleasant to think
of Ellen the deserter hurrying across the continent of
Europe torn with anxiety to effect her rescue. The thought
of it soothed Ellen the elder as nothing else would have
done, and just as she was picturing to herself her reception
of the repentant V.A.D. kneeling remorsefully before her
she unexpectedly fell asleep.
Next morning there were inquiries on every hand for
Miss Eldershaw. Not that she was missed at all as a social
unit. It was merely as though some familiar piece of
furniture had been removed. There was a blank where she
generally sat, a gap in the circle of the Wrack-straws, and


238
BEFORE THE WIND
ust break in It seemed to ... The gale uhe
the wind and the rain she heard the sounds of the distant
battle-fields and saw a great multitude going forward through
the shadows of young warriors with faces like the dear dead
Jim's, like the soldier's she had seen in the railway carriage,
ghastly, sunken-eyed, exhausted. ...
Then the thought of the man so near yet so far from her,
who was not among them, struck her as with a blow.
Ah, why was he not there, too, in this great legion of
honour? Why was he not going forward too? Why was he
lingering here in the background where people thought
strange thoughts of him, said strange things?
Miss Gellatly had ceased playing for the moment. The
rain was battering now on the windows. The gale was
howling in the chimneys. It seemed to Ann as though the
storm-spirit must break in. She wished wildly that it would.
Suddenly she felt as though she could not bear the warm
scented room, the low voices of the bridge-players, Miss
Caroline at her herb-garden, Mrs. Bellairs sitting twiddling
her rings.
Ah, why was she not a man that she might pass triumph-
antly out from all this and offer up her empty life on the
field of honour? Then with no thought of shame she might
have taken her love by the hand and have said, “Come with
me, let us fare forth, you and I, and fighting gloriously side
by side go out into the beyond together. ..."
Ah, if she could have done that!
But no—she was only a woman. She must watch in
silence the man who had become all the world to her, play
the part of a carpet-knight, a squire of dames like old Mr.
Tosh, while others, mere weaklings in comparison, flung
themselves into the strife like heroes.
It seemed incredible to her that he was not among them.
Those eyes which had looked into hers were not coward's
eyes. Her heart beat more quickly again as she remem-
bered what he had said,
"Will you take my word for it that, so help me God, I
would never do anything you would think unworthy?”


BEFORE THE WIND
239
Yet that great multitude of heroes was marching on and
on, leaving him behind them. Was this worthy? Was this
honourable?
She had defended him against these old women, but had
they not had a right to whisper? Had they not had a right
to look askance at him?
The thought of it all suddenly seemed to suffocate her.
But at that moment Miss Gellatly began to play again-
slow, deep, soft chords that swept soothingly over her
troubled heart-strings. It was a magician's touch. The
tumult within her sank to rest and presently, in a strange
silence of the soul, she sat with parted lips content to listen.
“My own, own love, if thou in the grave,
The darksome grave must be,
Then will I go down by the side and crave
Love-room for thee and me. ...
The dead will rise, the dead may rise
And pass up to heaven above,
But we will remain in the darkness there,
Close clasped in each other's love. .
“What's that?” said Ann breathlessly as the music
ceased.
“It's Heine," said Miss Gellatly. "Have I never sung
it to you before?”
“No, never,” said Ann.
She sat on in that strange inner silence. The poet had
spoken for her the ultimate word. She knew now that, if
it must be so, her love would go down even into the depths
of dishonour and condemnation.
Miss Gellatly made as though she would begin some-
thing else.
"Ah, please,” said Ann, “let that be the last to-night.”
Miss Gellatly rose at once, glancing at her curiously.
“That's right,” said Mrs. Bellairs's comfortable voice
far down the room. “Your songs are all perfectly lovely,
Miss Gellatly dear, but have they not been to-night, for the
kind of night it is, a little dismal?"
far..Gellatly it is a littl


240
BEFORE THE WIND
Miss Gellatly laughed as she shut up the piano.
"I can't help it to-night,” she said. "It's in the air
somehow, or perhaps misfortune is brooding over us."
"Oh, don't!” cried Mrs. Bellairs, warding the words off
with her plump white hands. "It's the wind I'm sure. It
always gets on my nerves, too. . . . Well, thank goodness,
here's the post-bag.”
Even the post-bag, however, was that night unsatisfactory.
It contained mostly circulars and half-penny envelopes.
There were only two letters in it, one for the cook, and one
in a batted envelope with “On Active Service” on it for
Miss Eldershaw.
"Who is the one person not present, of course, to give
us the news," grumbled Mrs. Bellairs as Arbuthnot bore
it away again. "If this goes on much longer I shall have
to take to draughts which will inaugurate the very last
stage of my earthly existence.”
The night was not over for Mrs. Bellairs, however, though
when bed-time came she retired as usual.
"But whether it was the wind, my dear, I do not know,"
she said afterwards when she was telling Ann all about it,
"but no more than Nebuchadnezzar could I sleep one wink.”
In vain she tried getting up and sitting reading by the
fire. In vain she tried eating biscuits and walking up and
down the room. Nothing had the least effect, and well past
midnight she was still broad awake.
She had resigned herself to fate and was making up the
fire again when, during a pause in the storm outside, she
was certain that she heard an unusual sound in the next
room to hers. Miss Eldershaw, she remembered, was her
neighbour on that side. There was a door of communica-
tion between them, too. It was locked, however, and the
key had been removed.
“Can she be worse or something?" said Mrs. Bellairs to
herself. Then partly out of kindliness and partly because
it would help to pass the long hours between that moment
and her morning tea she determined to go and see if any-


242
BEFORE THE WIND
Bellaircot sick.nje medic
down,
“Good heavens, she's delirious!” thought Mrs. Bellairs,
and wished that the bell-rope had been on her side of the
bed. It was on the other side, however, between the bed
and the wall. But she felt she must ring for some one and
was leaning over to snatch at the rope when suddenly the
patient announced-
"If you come one inch nearer I'll drink this Bow's Lin-
iment straight off.”
And to her horror she saw that in her trembling hand
Miss Eldershaw was holding a dark blue medicine bottle.
“Then I knew that it was not sick-nursing she wanted,
but commonsense,” Mrs. Bellairs related afterwards.
"Put that down,” she said, "and don't talk rubbish.
Rather tell me what's the matter with you—or shall I fetch
Miss Caroline? I don't want to pry into your affairs. I
only came in hearing that you were awake, too out of
kindness, and I am ready to go away this minute. Nobody
can say that Maud Bellairs ever forced her company upon
anybody.”
Here she took up her candle again.
“Well, shall I fetch Miss Caroline?" she said once more.
“No-oh, nor " exclaimed Miss Eldershaw. “At least
-yes Oh, I don't know what to do— "
Then clasping the blue medicine bottle in both hands she
bent her head down upon it and began sobbing in the most
distressing manner.
Mrs. Bellairs was touched, and setting down her candle
again she seated herself on the edge of the bed.
"My poor old friend,” she said when she thought it likely
that she would be heard, "something is worrying you. Is
there nothing I can do to help?"
There was no verbal answer, but one of the hands clasp-
ing the bottle was removed and stretched out blindly to-
wards the comforting voice.
Mrs. Bellairs secured it and patted it gently.
“That's right,” she said. "Now tell me what is wrong.”
“My niece refuses to come home,” Miss Eldershaw just


BEFORE THE WIND
243
managed to articulate after three attempts. “I've had a
letter to-night. She won't come.”
“But do you want her to come?" said Mrs. Bellairs sur-
prised. “You do not need her when you are here, do you?”
"Yes, I do," burst out Miss Eldershaw. “I want her to
take me away from this place.”
“Take you away?” exclaimed Mrs. Bellairs. “But I
thought you were so happy here. Only the other day you
told me-"
“Ah, yes, but that was before I got mixed up in—what
I am mixed up in,” said Miss Eldershaw, wiping her eyes.
"Mixed up?" said Mrs. Bellairs more and more mystified.
"As I said before I don't want to pry, but if you care to
tell me what your difficulty is "
Again she patted the hand she held persuasively.
“And perhaps I mesmerised her unconsciously,” she said
afterwards, "for quite soon she burst out saying that she
would tell me in spite of everybody, and though she would
not give up the Bow's Liniment she tucked it away under
the bolster to oblige me.”
About half an hour after this Mrs. Bellairs with a gravity
quite unusual on her comely countenance entered Miss
Caroline's room without knocking.
As she had expected, the lady of the house was sound
asleep. Faint snores could be heard from behind her cur-
tains. She could be seen in the shadow of them in dig-
nified repose like the recumbent statue of some queen
regent, her thick grey-gold hair in long plaits on either
side of her, her large hands clasped across her substantial
middle.
Mrs. Bellairs at another time would have paused to look
at her. That night she did not linger.
“Caroline!” she said shaking her. "Caroline, wake up!"
The faint snoring ceased.
“No, Green. No," said the sleeper calmly, “that bed
is for the fox-gloves, the second year fox-gloves.”


BEFORE THE WIND
245
“But, my dear Maud— ”
"It's true. She has everything she values collected
there, from those priceless black pearls in the Florentine
setting that she has to the silver thimble that her great-
aunt left her.”
“How ridiculous of her!” exclaimed Miss Caroline.
"Not at all,” retorted Mrs. Bellairs again. "I think
it remarkably clever of her since Mrs. Dodsworth had told
her that her diamond and emerald pendant had been
stolen.”
“What?” exclaimed Miss Caroline. “The Napoleonic
heirloom?”
“That,” said Mrs. Bellairs.
“But when was this?” said Miss Caroline, sitting up.
“About a week ago,” said Mrs. Bellairs.
“About a week ago?” exclaimed the lady of the house.
“And this is the first time I have heard of it?”
“I thought you would be annoyed,” said Mrs. Bellairs.
“Where is Miss Eldershaw?” said Miss Caroline, pre-
paring to rise.
But Mrs. Bellairs laid a detaining hand upon her.
“My dear, don't go to her now!” she said. “You'll
only upset her again. I said you would see her about it in
the morning. She is probably sleeping now in sheer relief
at having told me. She has hardly slept for about a week,
you must remember, though she has been in bed all the
time.”
"Poor creature," said Miss Caroline. “But why did she
not tell me?"
"My dear, she was dying to,” said Mrs. Bellairs. “But
they told her not to.”
"Told her not to?” exclaimed Miss Caroline with indig-
nation. “Who dared— ”
"Well Mrs. Dodsworth first,” said Mrs. Bellairs, "and
then Mr. Tosh.”
“Mr. Tosh!” ejaculated Miss Caroline.
"Yes—one can understand Mrs. Dodsworth," said Mrs.


246
BEFORE THE WIND
Bellairs. "She was the loser and did not want to vex you.
But one can not understand Mr. Tosh.”
For a few moments Miss Caroline sat sore amazed.
Then with great dignity-
"He doubtless has his reasons,” she said. "The problem
with which we have now to deal concerns, in my opinion
at least, no one but ourselves.”
“Right, Caroline,” said Mrs. Bellairs. "I knew, dear,"
she added, "that you would hit the nail on the head im-
mediately."
"No, Maud-no,” said Miss Caroline, staring straight
before her, "it will take some time I fear. Will you kindly
tell Arbuthnot to bring me some hot milk?”
"No, dear,” said Mrs. Bellairs, “but I'll heat you some
myself. There's sure to be some in the hall still. I'll go
downstairs for it as soon as I have poked up your fire. I
know you like a good fire-don't you, Caroline?—to do
your thinking at."
"But, dear Maud," said Miss Caroline, "surely it is not
necessary for you— "
"It is,” said Mrs. Bellairs, “because I can't sleep and I
must have something to do. Besides,” she added, pausing
with her hand on the door-handle, "in the meantime, of
course, Arbuthnot must have no inkling of what has hap-
pened.”
"Is it likely, Maud," said Miss Caroline stiffening, “that
I should in such a case consult Arbuthnot?”
“No, Caroline,” said Mrs. Bellairs, “though it concerns
her, of course, as much as any of us.”
With this parting speech Mrs. Bellairs left the room, but
when she returned in about five minutes she found Miss
Caroline still pondering over it. She was sunk in such deep
thought that she did not notice her friend's entrance. The
storm besides, which was in full force at this side of the
house, would have rendered a much louder sound than that
of satin-slippered footsteps inaudible.
At last, however, Miss Caroline looked up and saw her.


BEFORE THE WIND
247
"Ah, thank you, Maud,” she said as she accepted the
hot milk. "You said something just now,” she went on,
"which opened up new vistas to me. Surely," she paused
for a moment, "surely you don't think, Maud, that any of
our guests would suspect any of our servants of stealing
the pendant?"
Mrs. Bellairs laughed her slow comfortable laugh.
"My dear Caroline, I myself was suspected,” she said.
"Miss Eldershaw said when I came in—Ah, so it's you,
is it?' She gave me quite a turn."
Miss Caroline remained grave.
“This is no laughing matter,” she said. “Leave me now,
Maud, if you please.”
“And when may I come back?” said Mrs. Bellairs as she
obediently moved off.
“When I am ready I shall come to you,” said Miss
Caroline.
Before Mrs. Bellairs had reached the door she was plunged
once more into profound meditation.
Mrs. Bellairs lingered fascinated for a moment or two
longer.
"She's like Madame Blavatsky when she glares in front
of her like that,” she said to herself, looking back half-
awestruck at her friend.
Miss Caroline, indeed, seated with folded arms by the
fire, her pale eyes fixed, her long amber-grey plaits dangling,
had a somewhat weird and sinister appearance. The wind
was roaring round her ancient house, the rain was battering
on her windows, but in her abstraction sitting there she
seemed superior to the elements.
It must have been two hours or so after that according
to the reckoning of Mrs. Bellairs when that lady was
aroused from her first doze that night by Miss Caroline's
voice saying to her, “I have come to a decision, Maud.”
She started up in her bed, for she had lain down, and
found Miss Caroline standing at the foot of it.
"Have you, Caroline?" she said, only half awake.


248
BEFORE THE WIND
“The thing I have decided to do,” Miss Caroline went on,
"is to hold a conference of the whole household to-morrow
evening.”
"About the theft of the pendant?”
“About the theft of the pendant.”
“Oh-yes " said Mrs. Bellairs doubtfully.
"You should be pleased with the idea," was Miss Caro
line's next remark, "since it arose from your suggestion.”
"My suggestion?" exclaimed Mrs. Bellairs.
"It was you who reminded me," said Miss Caroline,
“that the affair concerned the servants too. I had not
thought of the servants in connection with it.”
“But, my good Caroline,” cried Mrs. Bellairs, “doesn't
one in such a case generally think of the servants first?"
“Suspect them, you mean?”
Mrs. Bellairs nodded.
“Not in this house, Maud,” said Miss Caroline grandly.
“Nothing would ever make me think that any of my people
would steal anything."
“I see,” said Mrs. Bellairs smiling, "you prefer to sus-
pect your guests, Caroline.”
"My guests too are above suspicion,” said Miss Caroline.
“I shall call this conference together merely to warn them
that some outsider—some German probably_has succeeded
in gaining access to the premises. I shall also have notices
posted about the grounds "
"Eh?” said Mrs. Bellairs.
"I shall also have notices posted about the grounds,"
repeated Miss Caroline, "for the benefit of this outsider,
whoever he may be
"Or she " put in Mrs. Bellairs.
“Or she," repeated Miss Caroline, "announcing to him
or her that if the pendant is returned within twenty-four
hours no blame will attach to anybody.”
For a few moments Mrs. Bellairs sat staring in dumb-
founded silence. Then suddenly she was overcome with
șilent laughter. Almost immediately, however, under the
silent lausilence. nents Mis to anywhed withiuncing to me


250
BEFORE THE WIND
“And perhaps his last,” put in Mrs. Bellairs, shaking her
head.
"By any domestic disturbance,” concluded Miss Caroline,
“if we can help it.”
"I agree with you, Caroline,” said Mrs. Bellairs heartily.
"After all,” she added, “he will not be staying long."
"Only one night,” said Miss Caroline. “It seems a long
journey for so short a time. But of course he wants to see
Miss Charteris before he goes. By the way—there is an
enclosure for Miss Charteris.”
“Let me take it to her,” said Mrs. Bellairs. “And now
be advised by me, Caroline, and stay in bed to breakfast.”
"Certainly not, Maud,” said Miss Caroline, preparing to
rise. “At a time of crisis like the present the head of the
house must not absent herself.”
Thus dismissed, Mrs. Bellairs betook herself with the
enclosure from the Lowhampton letter to Ann's room.
"He wishes to see Ann," she muttered to herself, hugging
her kimono round her as she stepped along the chilly pas-
sage. “But will Ann wish to see him?"
It seemed that she did. Her eyes were eager as she read
the few lines that the letter contained.
"He has been called up,” she exclaimed.
Then looking up she found Mrs. Bellairs still standing
watching her.
“And he is to be here this evening,” she added breath-
lessly.
“Ah, that's delightful,” said Mrs. Bellairs. “For you,
at least,” she added, laughing her soft slow laugh. “We
Wrack-straws I suppose may expect to be deserted.”
"I shouldn't wonder if you will be,” said Ann, growing
grave all of a sudden. "I have so much to tell him."
Her eyes grew far-away even as she spoke and a curious
shadow seemed to darken in them."
“Well, well!” said Mrs. Bellairs, as she left the room
unobserved. "Poor Fred may just as well pack up his
bag again."


BEFORE THE WIND
251
Returning along the passage she bethought herself of
Miss Eldershaw and peeped in at the door of that much-
tried old woman. No agitated pile of bed-clothes was to be
seen in the bed now, but a happy old lady placidly uncon-
scious of all perturbation. Everything had failed to wake
her-bells, gongs, Williams with her morning tea, the
opening of the window-curtains, the sunshine pouring in
upon her.
“Poor lamb!” said Mrs. Bellairs as she pulled the cur-
tains together again, and drawing the door to after her she
left her to her well-earned slumbers.


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BEFORE THE WIND
CHAPTER THE TWELFTH
IN WHICH TWO PEOPLE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE WRACK-
STRAWS ARRIVE AT BARTONSMUIR
“But, my own little Ann,” David Warren had ended his
letter, "when you say you want me that is enough for me,
as you know. I shall be with you on Saturday then without
fail. By the time this reaches you I shall be far on my way
to you.”
Then having dispatched this to the post he began to
wonder how he was ever going to accomplish it. In ten days
he was to go abroad, and there were endless things to do
first.
“At the worst I can always wire of course," he reminded
himself, as one hindrance after another loomed up before
him.
It was about nine in the morning and he had been out
all night. His breakfast had been waiting for an hour.
It occurred to him that while he was planning he might as
well be saving time by feeding also. Who knew when he
would have leisure for another meal? He rang the bell and
a maid appeared.
“Is any one in the waiting-room?” he asked her.
"Five, sir, and Mr. Atterbury,” she answered. "Mr.
Atterbury said he wouldn't keep you long, sir, he only
wanted to speak to you for five minutes.”
“Ask him to come in here,” said David.
A few minutes later Mr. Atterbury the lawyer, fragrant
with scented soap, neat and dapper as though he had come
out of a band-box, was seated also at the breakfast-table.
"It's too bad troubling you when you are so busy,” he
said, as the maid placed a steaming cup of coffee before
him. “You must be fairly run off your feet just now.
When were you in bed last night?”


256
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Lifting her hands to his lips he had kissed them passion-
ately. Then he had gone forth.
She sat for a moment thinking of this.
Then with a little sigh she returned to the letter.
"MY DEAR MRS. ALLEYNE," it ran, “I must apologise
for troubling you and also explain who I am, for you will
of course have entirely forgotten Charlie Atterbury of
Lowhampton, who used to be a humble follower in your
train at the balls and meets in this neighbourhood, of
which you were the reigning belle in happier days than
these are. This same Charles Atterbury is now an old man
with a large family of grown-up daughters, but he has his
memories too, and one of them is that one of your chief
charms was your invariable kind-heartedness. Be so good
then, dear lady, as to pardon an old forgotten acquaintance
for intruding on your time—now I hear more than fully
occupied by good works—by asking you to read the en-
closed letter and to advise me as to what action—if any-
I should take about it. I am, as you know, very far away
from Bartonsmuir and my nephew's head clerk, who is the
man to whom the letter is addressed, is also at a great
distance. We are both very short-handed just now and
over the ears in work of all kinds. This, however, we would
put aside if necessary. It seems to me, however, that by
coming ourselves to Bartonsmuir we might do harm instead
of good, and that you who are a relative and an intimate of
the house might, without causing any disturbance, find out
the cause of Miss Eldershaw's mysteriousness for us. If
you can do this, or if you are already aware of what the
reason of her agitation may be, I shall be exceedingly
obliged and grateful if you will let me know what it is, so
that I may advise my nephew's clerk what to do, and
through him advise Miss Eldershaw's niece.
"Trusting that you will not think that I am presuming
too much upon the memories of days that are no more, and
that you will be able to give some explanation of this
strange little affair,—I remain, dear Mrs. Alleyne, yours
very truly, CHARLES ATTERBURY.”
reason, and graterise my heldershaw's that I a


BEFORE THE WIND
257
“Funny little Charlie!” said Mrs. Alleyne, smiling for a
moment. "I wonder what the family of daughters is like.
He was the one who always used to wear camelias in his
button-hole. Le Monsieur aux Camélias. What fun we
used to make of him, and how he always enjoyed it
himself!”
For a moment she was back again in bygone days amid
laughter now silent in the old ball-rooms at Lowhampton,
and from there it took only an instant to go riding on the
downs where one rode with her-not the Monsieur aux
Camélias—who said he would ride with her to the world's
end if she would let him. ...
“You little fool!” she admonished herself, as she ad-
dressed herself to the enclosure.
It was written evidently in great haste and had neither
date nor heading.
"DEAR SIR,” it ran, "As you know, my aunt, Miss Elder-
shaw, is at present living at Bartonsmuir in Eastshire,
Scotland, in the house of the two Miss Bartons. Up till
to-day she has been writing me what, for her, are glowing
accounts of everything. But to-day I have received a letter
from her which is causing me some uneasiness. In it she
implores me to return at once before it is too late and
rescue her from an impending danger, a danger the nature
of which she does not disclose.
"I cannot help thinking that this danger is purely imagin-
ary and I feel that it is not my duty to leave here—where I
am urgently needed, as several of the others are ill—to
come home to my aunt unless there is real necessity for it.
In any case I have no means of leaving here this week.
Therefore if any real trouble is threatening my aunt I may
not, even if I leave here, get home in time to avert it. In
Mr. Atterbury's absence, therefore, I am writing to you
asking you to be so very kind as to investigate the matter
for me, and to let me know as soon as possible what you
think I should do.—Yours sincerely, ELLEN ELDERSHAW.”
“Now I shouldn't wonder,” said Mrs. Alleyne aloud,
Thereapen if I leavesence, thereforeo investigatele what you,
d as to iam miravert it. may


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BEFORE THE WIND
folding up the letter and addressing her own reflection in
the tea-pot. “I shouldn't wonder in the least if this had
something to do with Fred's affair. ... Yet he said
nothing in his last letter but that he now knew who the
thief was and that to catch her at it would be merely a
matter of days. . . . Poor old Miss Eldershaw! There
must be something or she would have been miserable from
the first. . ... If Fred. ... I simply must see Fred!
Wiring is no use, and writing would take too long. ...
They're half-expecting me besides. Aunt Caroline would
be delighted.”
She rose here and went over to the mantelpiece where a
note of her engagements stood.
"O Lord!” she ejaculated, looking at the list for the
day.
Then she read it over rapidly in a low voice.
“'Canteen, nine to twelve.'
“Two off ill as it is. . . . Canteen must be done.
“ 'Twelve . . . Parcels...!
“Heavens, is this parcel day?
“ 'One. ... The Callaghans coming to lunch—from the
parcels.
“ 'Two to four. ... Parcels again.
"'Four. . . . Jane Bloomfield coming to tea to talk over
arrangements for the Jumble Sale.
“Four forty-five. . . . Jumble Sale Committee.'
"And goodness knows how long that will last!
“ 'Six, . . . Prisoners' Committee at Mrs. Collins's to
settle the dispute about
“That'll take another hour at least.
“ 'Seven-thirty. ... The Ballard girls coming to dinner
on their way to the canteen-concert, where you are to take
them at eight-thirty.'
"Are you?” said Lottie, staring at this last memoran-
dum in a kind of desperation.
But at that moment the pert little French clock alongside
it struck nine suddenly, as though on purpose to alarm her,


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and lost no time in leaving the compartment. A little porter,
apparently at leisure, was standing with his back to him
just outside.
"What platform does the train for Bartonsmuir start
from?” he asked him laying his hand on his arm.
The little man started as though he had been shot.
“Bartonsmuir?” he said in a kind of hoarse whisper.
He was trembling like a leaf, too.
“Over there,” he said pointing.
David turned, and when he looked round again the little
man had disappeared.
"Another case of war-nerves,” he said to himself. “They
must be hard up here for porters."
He might well say so, for this particular little man was
that day as incapable an official as could have been found in
Great Britain. What work he managed to do was done in
the intervals of running round and round in a frenzy of
apprehension. For a dreadful rumour had filtered through
to the station in the small hours of that morning that the
next night a Zeppelin raid was expected which might affect,
not only Edinburgh, but all the eastern counties.
As he heard the news, though he had expected it ever
since he had left Bartonsmuir, the terror he had felt when
he saw Albert in khaki returned to him in double measure,
not because of the accomplice Albert had sent to Bartons-
muir—that move he believed he had already countered
but because of the man who, since Albert had left, had come
to take his— Japps'—place at the West Lodge. He would
not have felt so bad if he could only have been sure that
Albert had done as he had promised to do, and removed
those awful packing-cases marked “Explosives” from the
dug-out. He had tried to be sure. He had forced himself to
be sure. But now that the Zeppelin was actually coming he
found himself woefully doubtful about it. On the other
hand, he was quite sure that if Albert had failed him and if
a bomb fell on the West Lodge while that man was in it he
- Japp—would be a murderer and miserable for the rest
nce he had left'he news, though stern counties.
Albert had done imor-cases marked
and forced himself to


BEFORE THE WIND
263
He had had to drive Ann to the station to meet this man,
but at least he would not see her meet him. Ann had not
guessed how many times on the way he had been on the
point of springing down and imploring her to let him take
her anywhere rather than to the railway station. Still less
did he guess her thoughts. All he knew was that this man
they were on their way to meet was to take her from him
for ever and ever.
He was doing something to the machinery, which appar-
ently required his whole attention, when David and Ann
came down the path towards him.
“Conceited old ape!” he was saying to himself in un-
reasoning wrath at his rival's undeniably prepossessing
appearance. He wrenched round the steering-wheel in a
furious temper.
"Your driver's a bit reckless for your old ladies, is he
not?” remarked David as the car swerved wildly on to the
foot-path.
“Not usually,” said Ann, “I never saw him drive like
this before.”
"It's just as well,” said David as they started off again
with a violent jerk.
Then recollection coming to him he looked keenly at Ann.
“Are they all well at Bartonsmuir, dear?” he said.
"Oh, yes,” said Ann smiling up at him.
She at least evidently knew nothing of any mystery.
Yet—she had told him to come.
“And happy?” he asked again. "Are all your old ladies
happy?”
"Oh, yes, the old dears,” said Ann again, quite cheer-
fully. “I left them all waiting in state to receive you."
“Heaven help me!” he laughed. “Not all of them sure-
ly?"
"Every one of them,” said Ann. "Even Miss Eldershaw,
who was in bed all last week, has come down this afternoon
for the occasion.”
Miss Eldershaw! David was more and more puzzled.


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How am I once it seier when shen to see
One thing was clear, however—what Ann had asked him
to come for had nothing to do with her old ladies. Here
then was another mystery.
He put his arm round her and drew her close to him.
“And my little Ann-is she happy?” he asked then,
watching her. There came then into the eyes looking up at
him into his—he remembered it afterwards—a strange
aloofness as though some spirit were confronting him. But
the expression passed almost before he had remarked it.
“Yes, dear David, I am happy to see you,” she said
softly.
He noticed, however, that this time she did not smile.
“How am I ever to tell him?” she had begun saying to
herself. All at once it seemed an impossible thing to do. It
has seemed so much easier when she had written to him to
come. It had seemed necessary then to see him before he
was right away. She had not realised how difficult his
presence would make everything. She had not thought
before how heartless her action would appear to him. Now
she saw how selfish it had been to bring him all the way
from Lowhampton when he was already so over-driven. In
spite of his gaiety and cheerfulness he looked much older
she thought. The winter's work—so much harder than
usual because so many doctors had been away–had told
upon him. There were new lines and wrinkles about his
mouth and eyes. The eyes, too, though keen as ever, looked
tired nevertheless. Her own grew wistful as she looked at
them. How kind were these eyes of his! How strong was the
arm that held her! How safe and sheltered life would have
been with this man! How she might have sheltered him, too,
shared his troubles and joys, soothed his hours of weariness!
Could she bear to say to him what she had to say? Could she
bear to send him away from her for ever-to go out to die,
perhaps, knowing that she had deserted him—had never
loved him as he loved her? Would she be able to do it?
Then all at once as she looked at him it seemed to her
that she was being unfair to him even now. It seemed


BEFORE THE WIND
265
suddenly unbearable that they should appear together at
Bartonsmuir before she had told him what she had to tell
him. It seemed as though it would add hopelessly to her
offence against him that she should allow this to happen.
He at least must know at once. He must. As for the others
they did not matter. But to him she owed it that she should
speak now, should tell him-announce to him-
"David,” she said breathlessly.
They were passing the West Lodge already.
But he mistook her meaning.
"My little Ann,” he murmured remorsefully, for again
at the well-known gate the girl of old years had met him
and gone on before him up the old drive between the
trees.
“My own little Ann,” he repeated drawing her once more
closer to him.
She could find no more words then, and they sat side by
side till they arrived with silence still between them.
All the Wrack-straws, as Ann had said, were assembled in
the hall to receive them.
“Though in my opinion it is quite absurd,” Mrs. Fenni-
more remarked to Mrs. Dodsworth where they sat with-
drawn from the delighted circle surrounding The Engaged
Couple, as Mrs. Pitmirran called them. "Miss Charteris is
quite conceited enough already without having all this fuss
made about her.”
"But it's not all about her, it's about the doctor, too,"
replied Mrs. Dodsworth. "He is a very old friend of Miss
Caroline's and he is going immediately abroad on active
service. You must admit besides that Miss Charteris-if
she is conceited-has some cause for it. Dr. Warren when
he was young must have been almost as handsome as the
other one."
“As the other one? What do you mean?” said Mrs.
Fennimore, who was inclined to be captious that afternoon,
for Sir Joseph Bird, the oracle of Scotland Yard, had not
yet made his appearance, though, according to Mrs. Dods-


BEFORE THE WIND
267
Charteris had informed us that after dinner she was going
to take you away with her for a walk.”
Ann laughed a little as in duty bound, but her heart
sank as she heard the words. She had been thinking that
after all she need say nothing that night. But if she went
for this walk with David she must speak. Well, after all,
perhaps the sooner the better. She would not be able to
see his face so well now. In the daytime all these sorrowful
little lines and wrinkles would be sure to take the courage
out of her.
She slipped aside for a moment to one of the windows
and looked out. There was a flush of sunset still behind the
woods. The storm which had raged round the house for
many days had sunk into a little fitful sobbing. The sea
as though weary of its roaring was now merely whispering
in the distance. Everything to Ann in her nervousness
seemed waiting for her disclosure. She turned her back on
it all again and found Mrs. Bellairs approaching her.
"Well, now, aren't you grateful to me, my dear?” she
said. "If I hadn't taken the evening in hand and made
Caroline and the rest of 'em dress before tea you and your
man would have had to stay in till prayers and bore your-
selves being sociable to us.”
"You have been very good,” said Ann, laughing again
in spite of herself.
But the gong sounding just then was as the trump of
doom to her.
Mrs. Bellairs it seemed had taken the dinner also in
hand. The table looked bridal. There were white flowers
everywhere. There were little white bouquets in each of
the elaborately folded table-napkins. The soup had little
hearts in it cut out of carrot and turnip. The tart too was
an open fruit one bestrewn with more little hearts in
pastry.
The late Mr. Barton's oldest Burgundy graced the feast
and there was champagne also. At dessert, after Miss


268
BEFORE THE WIND
Misihat old gentlets with himar. Tosh, how
and rang during one of his, when the ha
Caroline in a short speech had welcomed the guest, Mr. Tosh
in his happiest vein proposed the health of The Engaged
Couple. Even Mrs. Fennimore brightened towards the
close of the entertainment, and when Miss Gellatly, respond-
ing to a unanimous call, sang one of her ballads without
accompaniment, she was seen to applaud quite heartily.
Mrs. Dodsworth on Mr. Tosh's right, to the huge delight
of that old gentleman, clinked glasses with him and even
exchanged bouquets with him. Miss Eldershaw on his left
actually made two jokes. Mr. Tosh, however, though he
laughed politely, eyed her the while very much askance.
“Whatever is she up to now?" he said to himself. "I
had better tell Lorimer as soon as possible that she's down-
stairs again.”
After dinner accordingly, when the hall was quite clear,
he went during one of his dummy hands to the telephone:
and rang up the West Lodge. No answer came from the
West Lodge, however, though he rang again and again and
yet again.
By this time David and Ann had crossed the moor and
were following the broad sandy path that led winding
through the dunes.
The moon had set now behind the woods, but the twi-
light still lingered and the stars were very bright.
Ann, looking up at them all in a tremor at what was
before her, was steadied and calmed as she looked up at
them. The thought came to her that even then other
lovers beyond that still grey water were seeing them through
blood and tears as they fought for their loves, giving up
their very lives for them. How could she then hesitate to
go forward now even if, for her love's sake, she must sacrifice
this dear friendship?
Yet it was hard—very hard.
"David,” she said, and her voice sounded unnaturally
loud to herself, though in reality it was little above a:
whisper. “David dear, I have something to say to you."
“Yes, Ann," he said quietly.


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happened. It was impossible as a dream and yet like a
dream too wonderfully natural.
“Not all?" she whispered bewildered.
“No, little one,” he said. “For I have something to tell
you too, and it is that you have not only done the brave
straight thing as you always do, but the thing—” he
paused for moment—"that you will never regret, never
be sorry for doing as long as you live, child."
Again he paused, and Ann holding her breath to listen for
his next words could feel the throb of his quickened heart-
beats.
"I know,” he went on after a moment, "twenty years
ago and more I came to know what you have called the
cruel love, Ann dear, and though you are to me what no
one else has ever been, I know now, though, more shame to
me, I would have hidden it from you, that nothing can ever
change or kill that other love."
"David,” cried the girl turning to face him again eagerly.
“Oh, David, is this true?”.
“God knows it is,” he whispered, "and cruel as it is,
thank God that you know it too.”
They stood silent then for a long moment.
"And thank God,” he added, “for your fine courage.”
“Oh, but I was afraid!” exclaimed Ann, with a breath of
relief, "I thought it would be all over between us."
"And so it is,” he laughed as he drew her arm through
his, “but something far better has begun between us, Ann
dear."
They left the path then and the whispering grasses and
for long and long they paced up and down the sands talking,
for the first time in their intercourse soul meeting soul
though no word more was spoken of these other loves of
theirs.
At last with compunction Ann came to a standstill.
“Oh, what time is it?” she said. “We must get back for
prayers. The poor old dears will be so disappointed if we
aren't there.”


272
BEFORE THE WIND
Alleyne and this and that—and past days, and half-fora
gotten dreams. So twiddling her rings pensively she sat on,
feeling low-spirited and altogether on the shelf.
Outside it was very quiet, and gradually as she sat think-
ing of it the quietness seemed to steal in and upstairs and
along the passages till the only sound to be heard besides
the drowsy crackling of the fire was the big eight-day clock
ticking. ... But it ticked and ticked. ... Then words
seemed to fit themselves to it. A verse of the ballad that
Miss Gellatly had sung after dinner. She could not help
saying it again and again and again to that monotonous
accompaniment.
"And she rade on, and on she rade,
All by the licht o' the moon,
Until she cam' to the wan water
And there she lichtit doon."
Over and over Mrs. Bellairs said these words to oblige the
ancient timepiece.
"Bother the thing,” she said at last. "I can't stand this.
Sleep or no sleep I must go to bed.”
She had risen stiffly and was adjusting her rheumatic
knee, which felt out of joint, preparatory to going upstairs
when suddenly, without warning, the heavy stillness was
broken by a knock on the outer door-very light, but very
distinct.
Now that every evening Miss Gellatly had been telling
stories of warnings and spirit-rappings which she had heard
from intimate friends upon whose veracity she could rely.
Consequently Mrs. Bellairs could not bring herself to move
until the knock had been twice repeated. Then however-
"It would be a strange thing,” she admonished herself,
"if you couldn't face a ghost yet.”
And resolutely she limped forward, drew the bolt, undid
the chain, then after a slight pause turned the handle of
the door, and opened it.
She fully expected to see nothing at all. Neither did she


BEFORE THE WIND
273
at first, being still dazzled by the lamplight. But immedi-
ately out of the darkness came a cry of delight-
“Aunt Maud!”
“Lottie!” she ejaculated, and flung herself open-armed
upon the visitant.
"You see,” said Mrs. Alleyne when she had finished all
the biscuits and milk, had refused anything more to eat,
and had been permitted to have a cigarette, "you see they
are expecting a Zeppelin raid and the train was held up for
hours and hours at Briars Junction.”
“A Zeppelin raid? Here?” exclaimed Mrs. Bellairs.
Lottie shrugged her shoulders.
“One can never tell,” she said. “But your station-master
is a perfect duck, and rather than disturb you all by
ringing up so late he said he would drive me to the gate
in the luggage-cart.”
Mrs. Bellairs laughed.
"Same old Lottie,” she said. "Always getting round the
men. Crombie is as a rule anything but a duck. On the
contrary, he is celebrated for his bad temper. But tell me
more about this Zeppelin raid.”
“I can't,” said Lottie, “because it hasn't come off yet.
And don't let us talk of Zepps. Tell me rather how you all
are."
“Oh, we're all well—so far,” said Mrs. Bellairs.
"Is Miss Eldershaw well?” said Lottie next.
Mrs. Bellairs raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips.
“Yes. Come along, Aunt Maud. Out with it!” said
Lottie laughing.
“I see you have heard something,” said Mrs. Bellairs.
"Miss Eldershaw is well now. But, Lottie my dear— "
Then she told her all about the theft of the Napoleonic
heirloom. "For I didn't promise not to tell Lottie,” she
reflected. “Though it's a wonder I didn't.” And she de-
lighted in telling it.
When she had finished all she had to tell, Lottie in her


BEFORE THE WIND
275
“Another Wrack-straw? I see,” said Lottie and her tone
was a trifle contemptuous.
"Not a bit of it,” said Mrs. Bellairs with spirit. "It is no
more a Wrack-straw than you are yourself. It is a man who
is going abroad immediately on active service. It is David
Warren from Lowhampton, Lottie here for the first time
since—well you know best.”
For a moment there was silence while Lottie held her
cigarette suspended.
“David Warren?” she said, then in an incredulous half-
whisper, “Going on active service—and here in this house
-now?"
“Here,” said Mrs. Bellairs, “on a farewell visit to his
fiancée. He leaves again to-morrow. So you can under-
stand— ”
Lottie flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette.
“I understand," she replied with elaborate indifference.
"His visit has occurred a little awkwardly.
"It has," said Mrs. Bellairs in the same tone and looking
at the fire. "It was a pity about the conference.”
She sat on then in silent immovability with a curious
expression staring steadily at the glowing embers.
She was not in the least surprised, however, though she
pretended to be, when Lottie said,
"Stop being an Egyptian sphinx, Aunt Maud, and tell
me-is he much altered?”.


276
BEFORE THE WIND
CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH
IN WHICH GREEN SPENDS A PROFITABLE EVENING AND MRS.
DODSWORTH SUFFERS FROM OVER-FATIGUE BEFORE
BREAKFAST
Now, though Mrs. Bellairs thought it a natural thing that
Fred should absent himself from prayers that night, it was
as a matter of fact the last thing that Fred would have done
on the occasion of the presence of his triumphant rival.
He arrived home from the station in a wrathful and defiant
mood which made him for the time being angry even with
Ann, and determined to show her as well as everybody else
that her engagement to another man was of no moment to
him.
Accordingly, after cleaning his motor and housing it for
the night, he made for the herb-garden and dug there until
it was too dark to dig any more. Then shouldering his spade
he went home to the West Lodge just as at the Big House
they were nearing the end of the Betrothal Dinner. He
could hear it proceeding as he passed outside in the twilight.
A great clapping of hands was going on and the whole com-
pany seemed to be laughing and chattering.
"Poultry-yard!” he muttered contemptuously as he strode
past the open windows.
Just then a sudden silence supervened and Miss Gellatly
began her ballad-
“Lady Margaret sat at her bower door
Sewing her silken seam. ..."
“Bah!” he exclaimed and began singing, “Where the
wind blows we go," to drown the sound of that other singing.
Never had the West Lodge been more congenial to him
than on that night. The storm of the days before had left
its marks upon it. Greenery hung down in strips off the


278
BEFORE THE WIND
"Enough to keep me from sleeping myself if you don't
promise to keep clear of it,” said the voice.
“Oh, rot!” said Fred. “Tell me why and then per-
haps "
"I dare not tell you why," said the voice breathlessly.
“Then nothing will induce me to run away,” said Fred.
“Of that you may rest assured.”
And with that he rang off.
At the same moment, however, his heart began to beat
a little faster. Was there danger then-really danger at the
West Lodge?
The thought exhilarated and revived him strangely.
Never, he realised, had he been so reckless of risk as on that
particular evening.
What could the man have meant? Explosives?
The thought thrilled him with the once familiar thrill of
the trenches. If that was it-explosives hidden somewhere
about the house, mine that a bomb falling from a
Zeppelin might blow up he laughed a little as he thought
of the tremor in the warning voice. Ten to one-a hundred
to one—no Zeppelin would pass that way, and if it did no
bomb would fall from it on this particular spot. Why
should it? Yet the fear of it had served its turn. It had
given an enemy secret away and into hands fortunately
trained to deal with it. He wished he could ring up the
owner of the trembling voice and tell him who he was and
how much he was enjoying himself.
But even if he could have done so, he could not have
spared the time. He was eager to find whatever there was
to be found. With the quickened perception that he had
acquired on outpost duty he looked curiously round the
homely room. Then taking up the poker which was the
nearest implement handy he began tapping carefully all
over the wall above the fireplace.
His practised ear could detect nothing abnormal there.
The little old house was solidly built of stone and the walls
were overlaid with plaster. Systematically, however, he


BEFORE THE WIND 1
285
memories of Mrs. Fennimore's threats to write to Scotland
Yard crossed her mind. Had the old lady already written
she wondered. Her manner that afternoon had been rather
strange.
At this thought, however, just as Fred had done at the
thought of danger, Jane felt the spirit of defiance and ven-
turesomeness arise within her. Before her slippers were
on her feet, she felt better than she had done for days.
“Whoever it is will find his match anyhow," she said to
herself as she stepped lightly along the passage.
But at the top of the stairs she came to a sudden stand-
still, and her heart within her seemed to pause too for a
moment, for she could see the hall fire very well from where
she stood and on the rug before it, laughing and talking to
Mrs. Bellairs, was Mrs. Alleyne from The Gables, her former
mistress.
Jane would rather have seen the man from Scotland
Yard. Whatever had Mrs. Alleyne come about?
She had not been a maid for a month at The Gables with-
out acquiring a high regard for the astuteness of its mistress,
and without being aware that it could be no light reason
that had brought her here from Rathness out of the midst
of a thousand urgent duties. Did Mrs. Alleyne know that
she was here? Had Mrs. Fennimore by some means got at
Piffard? Was the lady of The Gables merely waiting till the
morning to denounce her? In any case she was convinced
that Mrs. Alleyne's quick eyes had only to look at her to
recognise her.
Well, that decided it anyhow, thank goodness. She
Jane-must not wait. What she had still to do must be
done now. As Albert said it was always best to be on the
safe side. The safe side here clearly would not be to meet
Mrs. Alleyne.
As she thus pondered, leaning over the bannister and
seeing how unconscious of her presence the two at the hall
fire were, the spirit of bravado rose higher and higher in
Jane. She leaned over still further to listen to what they
were saying.


BEFORE THE WIND
287
detractor and her visitor at the same time was in a moment
either snoring or pretending to be snoring.
Regaining her own room Jane gave herself one moment
to look at something very bright and shining that she had
clutched in her hand all the way from Mrs. Pitmirran's
room. Only one moment she gloated over it, however, the
next she hung it round her neck. Then dressing herself
completely she put on her night-dress over everything and
was apparently sleeping soundly when the maid in the morn-
ing came to wake her.
No one in the house was more wide awake than she
however. She must take the first chance of the Lodge being
unoccupied. Once down in the dug-out all would be plain
sailing. The crossing of the moor would be the only bother,
but even that would be a trifle for she would no longer be
Mrs. Dodsworth. That lady's long tiresome garments would
be left in the tunnel. She had everything there already that
she needed, from a neat short skirt to a box of ginger-nuts.
Her mind made up she was all impatience. She could
not wait till the time for her constitutional. But no one
noticed that she went out on to the lawn three-quarters of
an hour earlier than usual.
It was a beautiful morning, one of the first of the summer,
but like Fred she had no eye for scenery just then. Hover-
ing round the West Lodge on the look-out for his departure,
however, she did notice on the door the patch of white
paper.
She went forward as though in passing to examine it.
“Will be back in an hour,” she read.
Luck! Mr. Lorimer was out, more than half an hour
before his usual time. But when had he gone? the hour
might be nearly up already. No time was to be lost there-
fore.
Both doors were open. To move the dresser, light the
candle, and descend with it into the dug-out was the work
of two or three minutes.
With a sense of elation she turned into the passage. It


288
BEFORE THE WIND
was for the last time and she was glad of it. She had had
enough of Bartonsmuir, enough, not so much of the risks
and dangers—these she had enjoyed—but enough of posing
as a Wrack-straw. Ah! It would be good to put on pretty
clothes and flit away from it all to be young and jolly again.
"Though now I am more like an earth-worm than any-
thing else,” she said to herself as she made her way with
moderated pace along the narrow tunnel.
This thought of being an earth-worm oppressed her. The
air seemed thicker, heavier than usual, and there was a
smell of petrol she had never noticed before, for Fred's lamp
had been smoking badly. Her feet seemed to sink deeper
and deeper at every step, but she pressed on as quickly as
she could to the turning. Round it would be fresh air and
light and fragrance. Just before she reached it, however, she
had to pause for a moment panting, and then another un-
usual thing struck her.
The sea should be audible here. Even on calm days the
familiar rushing sound was never absent. To-day all was
heavy silence, as of the grave, unbroken, absolute. In spite
of herself the impressionable Jane felt the excitement and
enterprise oozing out of her, and in an impulse to escape
from the feeling of being buried alive that was beginning
to possess her and make her want to scream she hurried
on again faster than ever.
At the corner she raised her hand mechanically to shelter
her candle which more than once before had been blown
out there by the draught. But to her surprise there was no
draught when she turned the corner-only the same heavy
airlessness. There was no twilight either on ahead to show
where the passage ended. Only darkness still as of midnight.
She went forward as in a nightmare, hardly noticing the
suit-case which lay as she had left it a few feet further on.
She was staring beyond it at something inexplicable and
terrifying. Then, not believing her eyes, she moved for-
ward and touched it. Yes, there was no doubt about it,
it was sand. Sand in barrow-loads. Sand from floor to


BEFORE THE WIND
289
ceiling. She was buried there sure enough. The roof of the
passage just within the entrance must have fallen in.
She stood quite still for a moment steadying her shaken
nerves. After all what was more natural? She had noticed
before that the whole roof here was riddled with rabbit-holes
—then the storm of the last few days—the high tide
there were a hundred causes for it.
And that was the way with Nature, too, always to be
utterly indifferent to little human arrangements.
So Nature had closed up her exit—the way out that
Albert had thought so safe. She laughed as she thought of
that. She imagined Albert in her position. He would have
sweated with fear. As for her she was quite cool. She would
merely change her clothes now and take the suit-case out
the other way by the West Lodge. She was glad to find
that she was able to reflect calmly.
There would be plenty of time if that notice_"Will be
back in an hour”—had been posted just before she saw it.
Even if not, even if Mr. Lorimer had returned, she could
reconnoitre from beneath the dresser as she had often done
before and choose her own time to take her departure.
Only let her keep her head and all would be well yet.
Quarter of an hour would bring her safely with her booty
to a place in the wood she knew where she could wait till
evening. Then after night-fall she could make her way to
Ferlie Station three miles away from Bartonsmuir. There
she could await the next train to Edinburgh. ... Only let
her keep her head. ...
These thoughts in her mind, she had stooped to move the
suit-case out of her way with her right hand, holding her
.candle in her left, when suddenly she stiffened in that
attitude as though transfixed and with an expression on
her face such as Robinson Crusoe might have had. For
there by the light of the candle she could see on the fresh
sand with which the floor was sprinkled, not one foot-
print, but a dozen at least-footprints not her own, but
made by a big man's hobnailed boots. Turning slowly as


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though against her will she looked again at the fallen sand-
heap. Then she clenched her free hand.
"Damn him!” she whispered between her teeth. “He
has found my hiding-place whoever he is!”.
Yet he had left the suit-case. Breathlessly she flung it
open. No, it was not empty. Everything was there as she
had packed it. But kneeling beside it the truth dawned
upon her and she felt suddenly cold.
It was not an accident that the roof of the passage had
fallen in. It was a trap and she was in it-she and her
stolen goods. For a moment she felt paralysed. There was
only one way out. Like a frantic thing she rushed to the
barrier and began digging at it with her hands.
A moment later, however, she sat up.
The crash of something metallic falling had suddenly
echoed through the heavy stillness.
She rose to her feet, finding to her surprise that all in a
moment she had regained her coolness. Her former elation
of spirit indeed had returned to her in double measure.
She knew the worst now. Everything was perfectly clear.
The game was before her. It remained but to play it.
“Ah, you think yourself very clever, don't you?" she
muttered. “But you'll find that I am cleverer-much
cleverer.”
She stood back against the wall quite near the corner
holding the lighted candle in her right hand.
Only once she looked regretfully at the suit-case.
“But it's no use,” she said to herself. "I couldn't do it.”
“And I have this,” she added. “That is worth them all.”
She patted as she spoke Mrs. Pitmirran's diamond sun
now eclipsed for the moment under her black brocade
bodice.
A queer figure she looked in the wavering candle-light,
her bonnet on the back of her head, her white curls powdered
with sand, her small white teeth set firmly in her lower lip,
her black eyes flashing, her head on one side listening.
She had need to listen for after the first crash there were


BEFORE THE WIND
291
no more. Yet the trapper was approaching. She was sure
of that. He could have no light, for he was feeling his way
along the wall. Now and then a pebble fell. Ever nearer
and nearer. Then she could hear him breathing. At that
she held her own breath and grasped her candlestick more
firmly.
Fred within a few yards of the corner saw the light waver
suddenly. In his excitement he had stumbled against the
wall where the tunnel swerved a little and had let his
electric torch fall. He had been cursing his stupidity ever
since, for not only had it fallen on a stone and made noise
enough to wake the dead, but something had gone wrong
with the thing and it had utterly refused to relight. He
hesitated for a moment, but decided to go on in the dark.
He had matches in his pocket if the worst came to the
worst. Besides the lady had a light and she had not dis-
covered apparently, in spite of the noise he had made, that
she was trapped.
He had a great curiosity to know what she would be like.
... Miss Eldershaw. ... He smiled to himself as he re-
membered her encouraging him from her bath-chair. Would
she still be in costume he wondered? What was she about?
Was she packing her latest trophies?
All these questions passed through his mind. Then he
reached the turning and there found the answer ready for
him.
A black and white spectre with corkscrew curls seemed to
spring up like a jack-in-the-box right in front of him. ...
It almost touched him it was so close. ...
“Mrs. Dodsworth!” he exclaimed utterly taken by sur-
prise.
For reply the lighted candle was thrust into his face.
Involuntarily he closed his eyes for a second and in that
second Jane was past him. For one instant longer he had a
vision of flying draperies. Then the candle was extinguished
suddenly and all was pitch darkness.
“The devil!” he exclaimed, and turning like a flash, he


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BEFORE THE WIND
“What do you mean, Arbuthnot?” said Mrs. Dodsworth
more and more mystified.
"I mean that he'll have the one with him that he had
before," said Arbuthnot. “The young woman with the
black hair. I saw her myself, m'm, not two weeks ago in
the West Lodge one morning lowerin' the blind as if the
place belonged to her.”
“Indeed, Arbuthnot?” said Mrs. Dodsworth gravely.
"I hope you reported it in the proper quarter?"
"I reported it to Miss Charteris, mồm,” said Arbuthnot,
"but I'm thinkin' this day that I would have been better
to report it elsewhere.”
"Elsewhere? What do you mean?" said Mrs. Dods-
worth again.
"Oh, jist that I'm no' that doited,” said Arbuthnot
darkly, “but that I can see things that's takin' place before
my nose, m'm."
She departed then shaking her head mysteriously, and
leaving Mrs. Dodsworth quite perturbed.
“What an idiotic little incident,” she said to herself.
“The woman with the black hair. It sounds like the title of
a penny novelette. And that woman reported it to the
lovely Ann. It's too bad. That beautiful couple are a per-
fect nuisance. Not content with spoiling all my plans they
make me sorry that I ever made any."
She lay in deep thought for some minutes.
"It must be rotten for him down there," she said to
herself, "with nothing to think about but that other man
being in possession. But I can't help it, you know," she
went on apostrophising the imprisoned Fred. “When I
get clear I shall attend to you—not a minute sooner."
She went on pondering then as to how she was to accom-
plish getting clear. The clothes she was to have travelled in
were beyond her reach. She had a rain-coat, however, which
with different accessories would be quite suitable for her
to wear as a young person. Shc spent the afternoon there-


BEFORE THE WIND
295
fore behind closed doors in turning one of her black and
white bonnets into a neat toque.
When Arbuthnot reappeared with tea, however, no sign
of any of this millinery work was visible.
“Yes, they're off,” Arbuthnot informed her.
“So early?” said Mrs. Dodsworth surprised, “and whom
do you mean by they?”
“Mrs. Alleyne and Dr. Warren, mềm,” said Arbuthnot.
"And sure enough they're walking to the railway station.”
“Green still absent?” said Mrs. Dodsworth selecting a
scone
“Oh, yes. He'll not hurry his-self,” said Arbuthnct.
“And Mr. Tosh?”
“Oh, he's shieldin' him, though it's my belief he knows
no more about where he is than I do, m'm.”
“Why do you think that, Arbuthnot?” said Mrs. Dods-
worth.
"It was me that took down his luncheon, m'm," said the
old woman, "and I know by the looks of him he was fair
scared when I asked him if he knew when Green was comin'
back. He's never been up at the house all day, an' he does
nothin' but sit there writin' and writin' and havin' meals
brought down to him and that cat, till all the maids has flat
refused to take them.”
Mrs. Dodsworth's eyes over her book looked sympathetic.
Behind it, however, she was smiling broadly.
“Well, I feel much better, Arbuthnot,” she said brightly
after a moment. “I shall come down to dinner and save
the trouble of bringing it up to me."
"No trouble, m'm, I'm sure,” said Arbuthnot cordially.
“Things would run smooth enough if folks was all like you,
m'm.”


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CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH
IN WHICH MR. TOSH FINDS IT INCREASINGLY DIFFICULT TO
COMBINE THE PURSUIT OF LITERATURE WITH THAT OF
CRIMINALS, AND MISS CAROLINE ABSOLUTELY REFUSES
TO BE ESCORTED IN TO DINNER BY HIM
"I WANT to see Mr. Tosh for a moment on my way to the
station,” Mrs. Alleyne had said that afternoon to her
fellow-traveller as the early tea was brought in. "I shall
go on there immediately and meet you afterwards at the
East Gate.”
This manœuvre she felt served two purposes. She would
see Mr. Tosh alone and she would leave the Engaged
Couple to say their farewells in private.
Ann, she gathered, was to go no further than the gate. In
the midst of all her talk and laughter that day she had con-
trived to hear most of what passed in her presence between
her old love and his new one, and as they had sat down near
her at tea in the hall Ann had said she had to do planting
for Miss Caroline and could not go to the station. The
planting, Lottie supposed, was because of the absence of
Fred. This was doubtless his work. Wherever was the boy?
She, too, had heard the message sent that morning by
Mr. Tosh. He knew where Fred was, at least Fred wished
him to pretend to know evidently. It might spoil everything
if she fussed about it. She did not fuss, therefore, but as the
day wore on and there was still no sign of Fred she wondered
more and more what could be keeping him.
She would have gone down at once to see Mr. Tosh if she
had any hope of going there alone, but the Wrack-straws,
as she said afterwards, simply stuck to her, and wherever
she went that morning escorted her in twos and threes.
Miss Caroline, indeed, who had taken her to see the herb-
bim


BEFORE THE WIND 297
garden, became forthwith so engrossed in it that she forgot
all about her for the moment, and she was taking advantage
of this lapse of hospitality to escape to the East Lodge
through the shrubbery when she was cut off by Miss Emily,
who up till then had had no opportunity for a tête-à-tête.
"My dear,” she said. "How do you think your Aunt
Caroline is looking?”
“Very well, indeed, dear," said Lottie drawing her little
aunt's arm through hers as they passed along the walk
between the laurestinas. “But you,” she added glancing
at her, "you look thin and worried yourself."
"I am,” said Miss Emily in a low voice. “I am worried,
Lottie. This disappearance of Green's worries me. You-
you recommended Green to us. Are you sure that he is all
that he seems to be, my dear?”.
Lottie laughed evasively, thinking what she ought to say.
“You see," Miss Emily went on without waiting for an
answer, so eager was she to unburden herself. “This is the
east coast, you know, and there have been so many of them
about. There have been suspicions."
"Suspicions?” said Lottie. “Suspicions of what, Aunt
Emily?" Emily Hough
Miss Emily before answering looked around at the
laurestinas as though listeners might be expected to be
lurking behind each one of them.
“They suspect him of all kinds of things," she said in a
trembling whisper clutching on to Lottie's arm in her
anxiety. “It began by their wondering why he had not
enlisted that was Mrs. Pitmirran and Mrs. Fennimore-
and when I said it might be a weak heart, they said faint
heart was more like it. Then the next was that he was a
German spy. That was Mrs. Dodsworth, and Miss Charteris
came and told me. She would have told Caroline—at least
she said she would—but I-I thought it would worry
Caroline and it might not be true--and-I fear it was very
wrong—I arranged with Miss Charteris not to tell her.
Miss Charteris said she would let me know the moment she


BEFORE THE WIND
299
At this Lottie laughed aloud.
"Oh, hush, my dear,” said Miss Emily. "It's such a
chance to get you alone and if they hear you they will
arrive from all directions. Besides I haven't told you the
worst. To-day is silvercleaning day.”
“Yes," said Lottie with sudden gravity.
“And Arbuthnot has just told me that all the Queen
Anne silver is missing."
“All those lovely old forks and spoons?”.
“Yes and other things as well. I–I can't bear to tell
Caroline,” said Miss Emily fairly breaking down.
“Well, don't tell her,” said her niece unexpectedly.
Miss Emily gazed at her in blank amazement. Standing
in the middle of the walk she looked a forlorn little figure.
“You poor dear!” said Lottie suddenly seizing her and
kissing her on both cheeks.
“There's no need to tell her,” she went on. "It's all
right. You'll get all that silver back. I sent Green to look
after you all and he's doing it. That's why he's away to-day.”
“Green-looking after us?” said Miss Emily bewildered.
“Yes—Green,” said Mrs. Alleyne. "You can have com-
plete confidence in him, Aunt Emily. I can tell you nothing
more now. But you can trust me, can't you, and I tell you
that you might as soon convict me of being a thief and a
spy as Green. Why he is here to protect you!”
"Oh, Lottie,” cried Miss Emily, "you have no idea how
you have relieved me!”
"Poor dear,” said Lottie again, “I wish I had not to go
back to-night. But the moment I get things fixed up at
Rathness I shall come back to stand by you.”
"Hush!” said Miss Emily suddenly, and begun violently
blowing her nose as Miss Caroline, who had just remembered
that she had a visitor, came round the corner trowel in
hand.
From that moment till the time came for her to bid fare-
well to the assembled household Lottie had been surrounded.
She had not had a moment to herself even to think.


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“Though God knows,” she said to herself as she hurried
down the east drive, “I have enough to think about.”
She thought hard then all the way to Mr. Tosh's door.
“The wretch,” she concluded as she reached the door-
step, "if she throws him over for Fred I'll kill her.”
This, however, she reflected as she waited for Mr. Tosh
to respond to her knock was not likely to be necessary.
"Who would have thought it of Fred?” she soliloquised.
“A young woman with black hair. Well, it just shows how
you never can man with blackt zit of Fredpue necessary.
She had reached this point in her reflections when the
door opened and disclosed Mr. Tosh in his dressing gown
and somewhat dishevelled as to hair.
He was evidently mentally dishevelled also. He was
quite unconscious of his strange appearance and his face
fell when he saw her in a most unflattering manner.
Lottie laughed as she came in closing the door behind her.
“You are not glad to see me," she said, taking the chair
he placed for her. “You expected to see Fred.”
“Yes. Where is he?” he asked eagerly.
"Don't you know?” said Lottie surprised.
“My dear lady," he said, "I haven't the faintest idea.
I thought when I heard that you were here that you had
come to help.”
“But this morning you sent a message,” said Lottie.
“They all think you know."
“Yes, he told me to prevent any disturbance if he dis-
appeared, he wrote me a letter to that effect,” said Mr.
Tosh. He turned to the writing-table and fumbled among
the papers there.
"Get up, Walter,” he said then. "Perhaps you are lying
on it.” The cat being poked up rose reluctantly, but with no
result.
"It's there somewhere,” said Mr. Tosh helplessly.
“Never mind," said his visitor. "You see I am in a
hurry, Mr. Tosh. I'm going away. I'm on my way to the
station now."


BEFORE THE WIND
303
fifty and sixty-how the Kaiser has renewed our youth for
us. We've no time to get old now, to sit in arm-chairs and
have nervous break-downs. We have no time for too much
bridge. We have no time for rest-cures. The lonely ones of
us who before were cut off from the world of men now are
set in the midst of it at the hospitals and canteens. Born
mothers without sons and born sisters without brothers
can find any amount of them among these soldier lads. ...
Oh, I can tell you it has been a new life for them. It has
renewed their good looks too. You should see even the
plainest ones with their Queen Mary's Guild head-dresses on.
Why they look like madonnas! You wouldn't know 'em
again. Yes, we middle-aged of this war-time will never
grow old I think, or at least when we do we shall have had
a double share of youth first.”
"I know what you mean,” he returned eagerly. "I have
felt the same. I feel the same. By Jove, this getting called
up has a wonderful effect. We had begun to have the too-
old-at-forty feeling-a lot of us. We had begun to dislike
leaving our easy-chairs and going out again on wet nights.
Now look at us—even the ones who were invalids, in the
trenches and better often than ever they were. This war
has made us ordinary men extraordinary.”
They went on then for a little in silence again, their faces
towards the west and the soft glow of sunset, and as she
thought of the past and of the future concern for the man
at her side gradually took possession of Lottie. She thought
of what Miss Emily had told her of Ann. Was this second
youth of David Warren's then to be blighted as his first
had been? Was this beautiful girl—his second love to treat
him as his first had done? Worse, far worse, because she-
Lottie had never promised to marry him. . . . As she
thought of Ann with Fred's image in her heart pretending
to make love to him her blood boiled within her. Was
public affront to be added this time to his private grief?
Would she throw him over?
She hated Ann at that moment. Yet for some mysterious
huisWe had to have to called


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reason, do as she would, she could not help speaking
of her.
"Your fiancée is very lovely. I congratulate you," she
said quite suddenly.
It was the last thing David had expected her to say just
then.
"You—you mean Miss Charteris,” he said after a mo-
ment.
“Yes,” she said wondering.
“She is not now my fiancée," he went on quietly though
his soul was in a turmoil. “She is as brave as she is beauti-
ful. She had the courage to tell me last night that she could
never be my wife because her love was given to another
man. . . . She made me feel ashamed of myself.”
“Ashamed?” said Lottie softly. “You had no need to
be ashamed surely.”
"I had,” he said, looking steadily at the road in front of
him. "I was a fool and a coward too—a fool to think I
could ever love any one else, and a coward because after
I had bound myself to dear little Ann I was afraid to tell
her that I could never love her as she should be loved."
All this time they were walking on “through mud-pools
and everything," as Lottie said afterwards.
Neither looked at the other till Lottie burst out
brokenly-
“I am a fool too, then, David. Look, I am crying like a
great baby.”
"Lottie,” he exclaimed, coming to an abrupt standstill
and facing round in incredulous amazement.
"But I am not a coward,” she went on fumbling for her
handkerchief. "I'll be as brave as Ann Charteris. I'll tell
you though you haven't asked me to, and though you
perhaps don't want me to, that I love you, David, and have
loved you from the very beginning, and so far as I know
always will. There now.” Here she began walking on again
very fast.
"Don't speak,” she adjured him, half-laughing, half-


BEFORE THE WIND
1 305
crying, as quite unable to believe what had happened to him
he came up with her. “We've no time for talking of such
things in these days—we middle-aged ones. We've to
catch trains and make plans. So for heaven's sake say
nothing."
"I couldn't anyhow, Lottie,” he said hoarsely. "It's all
too wonderful—too impossible.”
She slackened her pace then and held out her hand to
him, and they went on hand in hand between the green
hedges towards the sunset, till when the station-house hove
in sight she drew away from him again and said in her most
business-like manner-
"Now tell me, what do you think of Miss Eldershaw,
David?”
At this he laughed aloud. It was so like the Lottie of
former days, and as of old he entered into her mood and
did his best to fix his attention on this new object.
“Miss Eldershaw?” he said as sensibly as he could, for
Lottie was looking at him at that moment and for one half-
second there had been that in her eyes which made it diffi-
cult to be sensible. "I can't say I think much of her. She
is an uninteresting old woman."
“There you are wrong,” said Lottie, "she is very interest-
ing and quite young. She is a thief and has probably kid-
napped and possibly murdered somebody."
"Lottie!” exclaimed David, standing still. “Are you
joking?”
"Not a bit,” she replied, and then she told him what she
had heard from Mr. Tosh and her deductions therefrom with
the reasons annexed.
"This is fearful,” said David, "and it is quite impossible
for me to go back.”
"For me also,” said Lottie. "But there is one consola-
tion, we are not needed.”
“Not needed?” he exclaimed.
"No. Fred's there,” said Lottie. “And Fred is a host
in himself. He is my nephew-in-law and a V.C. and is spend-


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BEFORE THE WIND
if Mr. Tosh knew more about what had been going
on there would be less of “Where's Miss Charteris?" or
“Where's Green?” when she came to attend upon
him.
This last thought came into her mind again as she stood
waiting for the return message.
"I was to take word back to Miss Caroline, sir,” she said
at last.
Mr. Tosh started out of deep thought concerning his
own affairs.
"I had not thought of coming up to prayers to-night,
Arbuthnot,” he said. “I am, as you see, very busy."
He shuffled about among his papers.
“Will you tell Miss Caroline with my compliments "
he began.
"I will if you like, sir,” said Arbuthnot as he paused to
think of another excuse. "But if ye take my advice, sir,
and pardon me for offerin' it, you'll attend the conference,
sir."
“Why, whatever is it about?” said Mr. Tosh, with some
impatience.
"I know what I am going to do at it, anyhow, sir,” said
Arbuthnot.
“You, Arbuthnot?” he exclaimed.
"Yes, me, sir,” said Arbuthnot. “Queer things is happen-
ing at Bartonsmuir and has been kept quiet to oblige people
that's jist as queer theirselves. But now I am goin' to speak
out, sir. Speak out!” repeated Arbuthnot in a loud deter-
mined up the devil ite right," bak out ab
“What the devil does she mean?" thought Mr. Tosh.
“Quite right, quite right,” he said aloud. “That is to
say if there is anything to speak out about.”
“There's them here, sir,” Arbuthnot continued, "that
are in charge when they should be no longer in charge. They
were right enough at first so long as there were no young
men about. But now they're fair carried away an' care for
nothin' but hushin' up things.”


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“Beggin' your pardon, sir, I'm not accustomed to be
called names,” she said, “and fine you know, sir, I dare say,
that Green is provided for. You men always shield each
other. I know. But I saw her with my own eyes in his
lodge one morning.”
Mr. Tosh's lips seemed to form the word “What?" but
no sound came from them.
Arbuthnot moved towards the door. Then with one hand
on the knob she turned for a parting word.
"Doin' her hair she was, sir,” she said. “Long black hair,
sir, quite at home, and lowerin' the blind as if the place
belonged to her. But they've gone too far now as they'll
see very soon.”
She was gone before Mr. Tosh had recovered his power
of speech.
"Now what on earth has Lorimer been up to?” he asked
of the closed door.
The manuscripts as Walter lay down finally made a
rustling sound. There was no other answer.
“There has been some nonsense somewhere, you know,"
Mr. Tosh went on, addressing the ink-bottle this time.
“There is never smoke without fire. Has some woman got
hold of Lorimer? Am I keeping them all quiet here think-
ing he is on the trail while he is simply away philandering?
These young fellows, you know— Well, this is a lesson to
me. I should have taken the lead sooner in this matter. But
that reptile Albert needn't think he's going to score another
success. From this time onwards he has me to deal with.”
Here leaving his tea untouched on the table he hurried into
his bedroom and began collecting various garments for the
evening. He also selected a good strong stick and saw that
his lantern was in readiness.
Meantime, Arbuthnot went on her way, having to her own
great satisfaction astonished and impressed Mr. Tosh, and
finding that she had still some spare time at her command
she naturally wished to repeat the performance. Looking
round for some one else to experiment upon, therefore, her


BEFORE THE WIND
311
eyes fell upon Ann planting fox-gloves in the new herb-
garden, and grunting with grim joy she left the drive and
began to thread her way through the intervening rose-
bushes.
Ann was happier at her work that evening than she had
been for many a day. Her parting with her new friend
David had been a thing to remember. A load of care had
been lifted off her heart. She was free to love now without
disloyalty the man who had taught her to love.
It was wonderful to be working thus amid his very foot-
prints in the garden that he had prepared. Every clod of
the freshly turned earth seemed dear because his hands,
perhaps, had touched it.
Around her was the sorcery of the spring evening. A
dreamlike haze overspread the further shrubberies. The
tops of the highest trees still glowed faintly in the fading
sunset. Hidden thrushes and blackbirds were singing
among the laurestinas. All round the peace of night was
closing in gently, solemnly. Ann drew a long breath of sheer
delight in it all as she sat up for a moment among her fox-
gloves. Grief for the moment was lulled to sleep. Soon it
would wake again, but just then she was free and happy.
Anything, everything, seemed possible. Then suddenly a
footstep crunched on the gravel behind her. Arbuthnot was
coming through the rose-garden, the sunset-light falling on
her white cap and apron and making her wrinkled face
seem browner than it was by contrast.
To Ann, watching her, there was something ominous in
the way in which she approached silently, without a smile
of greeting, threading her way among the rose-bushes.
“Well, Arbuthnot,” she said with the feeling that if bad
news was coming the sooner it was over the better. She
half rose as she spoke scattering a lapful of fox-glove
plants.
“Well, Arbuthnot,” she repeated. “What is it?”
Arbuthnot came still nearer, stepping gingerly over the
clods.


BEFORE THE WIND
313
away along the path through the laurestinas, scaring the
blackbirds and the thrushes.
On the door-step of the East Lodge she paused for a
moment to recover breath and to force back the tears that
would rise in spite of her. She must be able to speak clearly
and distinctly to Mr. Tosh. He would want to know all
particulars.
After a moment, however, she tapped sharply and then
stood waiting for permission to enter. It was long in coming.
She tapped again.
Mr. Tosh, however, was otherwise engaged at that mo-
ment.
He was in fact undergoing his third interruption since tea-
time, and just as Ann knocked he was trying to make out
what a squeaky little voice in Edinburgh was saying to him
on the telephone.
“Damn you, sir, speak out!” he was saying and con-
sequently he did not hear the first knock at all.
The squeaky voice began again.
"I was saying,” it replied, “that if you have any in-
fluence, sir, with the man that is living at the West
Lodge, I implore you do not allow him to sleep there to-
night.”
“Why not?” demanded Mr. Tosh.
“There is to be a Zeppelin raid," said the voice.
"That's no reason," snapped the old man. "The man
at the West Lodge must just take his chance like the rest of
us."
"No, no, no!” urged the voice. "He'll not be like the
rest of you. The West Lodge is dangerous!”
"Dangerous? I don't believe it," said Mr. Tosh. “What's
the difference between it and this lodge?”.
“There's this difference," replied the voice in a kind of
shriek. “There's a dug-out and a passage under it cram full
of bombs and petrol.”
Here the unseen speaker rang off.
“The devil!” exclaimed Mr. Tosh, and he was so shaken


314
BEFORE THE WIND
that he started violently when Ann knocked for the second
time.
Recognising the need for composure, however, in the
"only gentleman in the place," he forced himself to go and
open the door.
The sight of Ann pulled him together again. Not that
he was glad to see her. He had been very fond of Ann and
now his revulsion of feeling on hearing of what he thought
was her duplicity was proportionately strong against her.
He remembered with wrath the speech he ha' made at her
Betrothal Feast only the night before.
Like the renegade Lorimer, it seemed Ann had thought
to hoodwink him. In taking hold of the situation, therefore,
he must also take hold of Ann. He would begin at once.
She evidently wanted something. Well, whatever it was-
she did not deserve it and she should not get it.
“Come in, Miss Charteris,” he said blandly.
"I won't keep you long, Mr. Tosh,” said Ann as soon as
they were seated, speaking very quietly and rapidly though
at times the words seemed to choke her. "But Miss Caro-
line wishes some plants planted and I am not sure how to
do them. Is—is Green likely to be back soon?"
"He did not say when he would be back," said the old
man, looking coldly at her as he polished his spectacles.
There was a moment's silence and then Ann burst out-
"Mr. Tosh, you are a friend of Green's, aren't you?”
"Why do you ask that?" he said.
“Because he will need a friend presently-to-night, per-
haps,” said the girl passionately. "They are accusing him
of awful things—things he never did, I am sure of it."
“Oh, indeed?” said Mr. Tosh.
At those two words and the tone in which they were
spoken Ann's flow of eloquence ceased as though it were
dried up at the source. She sat looking at the old man for a
moment in silence while he went on polishing his spectacles.
Then she rose from her seat and Miss Caroline could not
have been more dignified.
not sau een likely to and I am "But Miss Lough


BEFORE THE WIND
315
"I see," she said, "that I have made a mistake in think-
ing of you as his friend. I beg your pardon for intruding.
Good afternoon, Mr. Tosh.”
Then she was gone before he could say anything or even
so much as open the door for her.
This last annoyed him more than anything she had
done.
“The chit,” he soliloquised, "posing as a tragedy queen
and carrying on with two men—at least not content with
one—they're all alike, these pretty women.”
Then with a shock his mind reverted to what it had been
occupied with when Ann came in, and after standing
thinking for about a minute he proceeded to his bedroom
and changed into evening clothes. Then donning his wide-
awake and his fur coat, and taking up his stick and his
unlighted lantern, he went forth resolutely into the dusk,
setting his face towards the West Lodge. It was almost
dark when he reached it, but immediately he caught sight
of the white paper on the door and with a smothered
exclamation he approached it, striking a match to read
it by.
The notice was disappointing, however.
“Will be back in an hour.”
“Now when,” said Mr. Tosh, addressing the surrounding
trees, "when do you suppose that this was written?”
The trees, though they whispered a little, gave no articu-
late reply, but his ear at that moment caught the sound of
strenuous raking, and looking up the drive he saw a stout
short-petticoated figure there with sturdy white-stockinged
legs that glimmered at him through the twilight.
It was Maggie working as usual against time. She was so
absorbed that she did not notice his approach and started
violently when he addressed her.
"Eh, mercy, sir, ye fair scared me!” she exclaimed,
clapping her hand to her side.
"Margaret," said Mr. Tosh, taking no notice of this
remark, indeed not hearing it, he was so absorbed in his


318
BEFORE THE WIND
Mrs. Dodsworth saw the new moon too through the
drawing-room window where she was standing talking to
Mrs. Pitmirran when Mr. Tosh entered.
“Come along, naughty man,” said Mrs. Pitmirran who
was in a heavily facetious mood that evening. "Come and
share my scolding with this lady here and help her to,
explain what you two have been doing with yourselves since
last we had the pleasure of your society.”
Mrs. Pitmirran's wit, for her, was quite scintillating that
night, perhaps because, as she informed Mrs. Dodsworth,
she was giving her diamond sun a rest. She had heard that
day of the death of a second cousin and was wearing a
sumptuous set of pearls in consequence. She was still
rallying her two rather inattentive companions when the
other Wrack-straws began to come in. Then, however, the
air of gravity, almost of depression, that these brought with
them seemed to spread till it reached and gradually quenched
her.
From various causes the Wrack-straws that night were
anything but a cheerful gathering.
Miss Gellatly was the first to enter. She seated herself with
a book and from time to time as the talk in the window still
continued looked round with a resigned and reproachful air.
"Just as if it were a reading-room with 'Silence' writ-
ten up,” said Mrs. Pitmirran to Mrs. Dodsworth. But
Mrs. Dodsworth only nodded. The depression already was
affecting her. When Mrs. Fennimore entered a moment
after Mrs. Dodsworth began talking at random and hardly
listening to what was being said to her. She was remember-
ing that she would see this old room in the twilight no more
and realising with surprise that she was sorry to say fare-
well to it. Her restless black eyes roved round it for the
last time, over the bowls of Spode and the jars of Lowestoft,
over the quaintly valenced window-curtains once too bril-
liant green perhaps, but long since mellowed by the suns
of many summers, over the gorgeous hollyhocks and roses
Surprise ack eyes to the jars


BEFORE THE WIND
319
of the carpet now worn into vague beauty by the tread of
many comers and goers.
Then they returned to Mrs. Fennimore sitting frowning
at the fire and the sight recalled her to herself once more,
"I am getting sentimental," she reflected, “and it's as
safe for a tight-rope dancer to get sentimental on his tight-
rope as it is for me to get sentimental at this moment.”
The next comer was Mrs. Bellairs, usually the liveliest of
company, to-night, however, rather nervous-looking and all
but silent.
Miss Eldershaw, on the other hand, who came in after
her leaning on a gold-topped stick, kept smirking unac-
countably at everybody.
In spite of the new moon the dusk fell heavy like a pall.
Clouds overspread the sky and filled the room with queer
shadows.
Miss Emily who came in next said, with a little shiver,
that they really ought to have had the lights lit.
At that moment, however, the gong began to sound and
before it had ceased booming Miss Caroline entered. She
was statelier than ever and grave as an executioner.
"Well, Caroline,” said Mrs. Bellairs with forced light-
ness as the lady of the house advanced, "it's not often that
you are the last, my dear.”
Miss Caroline's gaze, however, was fixed for the moment
elsewhere.
“Good evening, Mrs. Dodsworth, good evening, Mr. Tosh,”
she said. Those persons responded to her greeting.
Mr. Tosh as he did so came forward as usual to offer her
his arm.
“I thank you, sir,” she said bowing majestically, "but I
have a fancy to lead the way alone to-night. Or no—Emily,
come here,” she added. “We will lead the way together.”
She turned her back upon them all then and with stately
steps swept on ahead, Miss Emily obediently trotting along-
side her, while the cortège, as Mrs. Bellairs called it after-
wards, followed them to the dining-room in solemn silence.


320
BEFORE THE WIND
CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH
WHICH SPECIAL CONSTABLES IN THE COURSE OF THEIR
DUTY COME WITHIN AN ACE OF MAKING THE FINAL
CHAPTER
WHILE upon the surface all these things were going forward,
the subject of so many contradictory opinions was making
the best of it underground. He had tried at first to attract
the attention of Maggie whom he knew to be likely to be
engaged upon the drive that morning. But he had not
had much hope of success and his lack of confidence was
justified, for though she did hear him and admitted after-
wards that there had been an awful queer noise, she had
thought, she said, that it was guns practising. This was the
less remarkable because since the beginning of the war every
abnormal sound had been put down by her to this cause.
She therefore did not think of mentioning what she had
heard to Mr. Tosh. Neither did it occur to her to seek to
discover its origin in the West Lodge.
So Fred hammered at the bottom of the dresser till he
was tired of hammering. His failure to make Maggie hear,
however, by no means made him give way to despair. He
neither tore his hair nor gnashed his teeth, he merely
shrugged his shoulders, reminded himself that the suit-case
must be there as no human being could have gone at such
a pace carrying it, and felt in his pockets for his match-box.
When he found it, however, he did say a few things, for
there were only two matches in it. He reserved them both
for viewing the scene of action, for he had made up his mind
that his best cause was to dig himself out with his hands if
no other better implement offered. He would have given
much for his spade, now lying in the corner of his room,
but he remembered that the sand was soft and friable. It
would be strange, he reflected, if he could not make a way
through. Therefore the sooner he got to work the better.


322
BEFORE THE WIND
"He is returned,” she said to herself with a strange thrill
of mingled joy and sorrow when she saw the light through
a chink in the doorway.
She had stolen away after dinner for a few moments and
hastened down the drive in the darkness. Night had fallen
heavily now. Hardly a star illumined the blackness and
the warm lamplight showed very clearly slanting out
through the half-open doorway. It struck her as strange
that the light should be showing like this. It was her duty,
she remembered, to see that everything was dark. She
could not bring herself to go near the West Lodge however.
He had come back. The rest must take care of itself.
She returned to the drawing-room with a beating heart.
The clock on the mantelpiece pointed to eight. In an hour
would come prayers and she would see him again.
Miss Eldershaw beat her at every game of draughts that
night without any effort on her part to allow her to do so,
though that old lady from another cause was as distraite
as her opponent. At the card-table the same symptoms
were noticeable in Mr. Tosh. He kept glancing at the clock
from time to time in a manner quite unusual with him.
Once he actually put down his cards on the wrong side
after shuffling them, which made Mrs. Dodsworth regard
him curiously for a moment.
Mrs. Dodsworth indeed, though her play showed no
sign of it, was more absent-minded that night than any
one in the drawing-room. Ann's face at the dinner-table
had taken away her appetite.
“If anything happened to that man down in the hole
she would wilt like a flower,” she kept saying to herself.
Then the awful thought came to her that perhaps there
really might be bombs concealed down there somewhere,
and she grew hot all over till she remembered that Fred
was as used to bombs as she was to turnips.
“And no doubt he's found the ginger-nuts," she reas-
sured herself, “and by breakfast-time I shall be far away
and be able to telephone to them to rescue him. And he's
Once shuffling for a momend, thougba
reall.hen the abilike a floed to that


BEFORE THE WIND
325
a much worse disturbance for the cook who was on the verge
of hysterics was so furious with her subordinate that she
recovered instantly.
Without pausing, Miss Caroline continued her discourse.
“We must all die,” she said, at which Maggie shud-
dered visibly under her apron, “and it is probable that
death from an aerial bomb may be less painful than many
others. The fact remains, however, that it is a manner of
extinction which may come suddenly at any time without
giving opportunity for preparation. For this reason I am
speaking to you as I am doing to-night. I wish you, my
friends, to be ready for any emergency that may arise and,
as Joshua was commanded to remove what must prove to
be a source of internal weakness in the community of which
he was in charge, so I feel that it is my duty to remove from
our midst any feeling of mutual suspicion and distrust
which may have arisen among us. I have reason to believe
that as valuables of various kinds have gone amissing during
the last few weeks, some outsider, some German probably,
has succeeded in gaining access to this house. It is there-
fore my intention to notify him by means of placards
which I myself will place about the grounds that if the
missing articles are not returned in twenty-four hours
proceedings will be taken against him. On the other hand,
should the missing articles be returned within the time
fixed no more will be said about the matter. Silver and
gold and precious stones,” added Miss Caroline, "at such
moments as these seem of little account. Therefore let not
the loss—the temporary loss, I hope—of earthly goods
cause us who are in the shadow of death to feel any unkind-
ness towards each other. Let us meet the foe in a united
spirit. So that whatever be the state of its material wealth
the courage at least of this community shall remain
mundiminished.”
"Oh, Caroline, Caroline!” said Mrs. Bellairs to herself
as she looked round the semi-circle of faces, some blank
with bewilderment, some aghast, some indignant, but all
with eyes fixed upon the lady of the house.


BEFORE THE WIND
327
man she loved was being accused and she was unable to
move hand or foot to help him.
The bell rang again violently. With shaking hand she
placed the receiver at her ear.
"Is that Bartonsmuir House?” said a rough voice im-
mediately.
“Yes,” said Ann.
“This is the police office,” said the voice. “What d'ye
mean by havin' a bonfire in yer garden at this time o' night?
Are ye not aware it's a criminal offence?”
“A bonfire!” exclaimed Ann.
“Ay, a bonfire,” said the rough voice, "lightin' up the
whole country-side an' this the night they're expectin' a
Zeppelin raid. I never saw the like o' it.”
"But there must be some mistake,” said Ann in-
credulously.
At this a bellow came through the telephone.
"Mistake? Well, it's to be pit oot double quick an’ see
there's no mistake aboot that or it'll be the worse for ye
and no mistake. Ye pro-Germans! Ye damned pro-Ger-
mans!”
Here the speaker rang off with great violence.
Next moment Ann had opened the drawing-room door.
“Come!” she said, "there is a fire in the grounds some-
where."
She thought she said it loudly and peremptorily. In
reality she spoke the words in a hoarse whisper.
Even if she had not, however, it is probable that no one
would have paid any attention, they were all so absorbed
at the moment in listening to what Mr. Tosh was saying.
She did not wait for any response, however. In a few
flying steps she was in the deserted dining-room and had
drawn back the curtains from one of the open windows.
Even before she had time to look out she noticed the strong
smell of charred wood. Next moment she was out of the
window and running hard across the lawn, for it was the
East Lodge that was burning and throwing up sparks like
a great bonfire just as the policeman had told her.


328
BEFORE THE WIND
How it happened will never be known for certain.
Walter the cat was the only living being who could have
explained it for Ann remembered afterwards seeing him
come out of the lodge when it was in full blaze and take up a
comfortable position on the branch of a neighbouring laurel.
At the time, however, she was conscious only of the leap-
ing, licking tongues of fire that were streaming out of the
sitting-room window and of the fact that no one had
followed her, that she had been left to herself to cope
with them. After all, however, she reflected in a kind of
desperation, the only one who could have been any real
help was gone—had abandoned her utterly, or so they said,
and she had no time to think. . . . She had no time to wait
either for a set of old women-servants who might or might
not lose their heads, for the Wrack-straws who were here
because of their incapacity. The reinforcements were not
worth wasting precious time over. The one thing was to get
the motor hose. Mercifully there was a gardening-tap
near the lodge that she could screw it on to. She had seen
Green using it more than once. She thought of all this as
she ran. It seemed hours before she reached the motor-
house. In reality, however, wonderfully few minutes had
elapsed before she found herself kneeling breathless in
front of the tap.
At any other time she could have screwed on the hose in
two minutes. Now her hand shook so that she could not
adjust it. Again and again she tried with the crackling of the
fire behind her and her heart thumping in her ears. The
fear at last came upon her that in another moment she
would fall unconscious.
"Oh, God!” she exclaimed.
Then at once, as though in answer to the half-articulate
cry, a cool firm hand closed over hers and took the hose
from her. Next moment it was screwed into place and a
great hissing from the burning house told her that the
water was already playing upon it. Turning towards it
she saw that clouds of white steam were rising from the
roof among the leaping flames and smoke.


330
BEFORE THE WIND
In an instant Ann had flung down the hose, leaving it
spouting on the ground, and in two minutes she had over-
taken Mrs. Dodsworth.
She seized her by the wrists. She held her.
"Stop,” she shouted through the fearful din. “Where
are you going?”
"To the man you call Green," shouted Mrs. Dodsworth
in answer. “I'm a thief and he just about caught me this
morning, but I got away and left him shuc in where he may
be in mortal danger."
“Where?" shouted Ann.
For answer Mrs. Dodsworth wrenched her wrists sud-
denly free and raced off again, Ann following after her. She
did not come up with her until they were in the West Lodge
and Jane had moved the dresser back from the opening.
Then Ann caught hold of her again.
"Don't stop me!” shrieked the half-demented Jane. "He
may be in mortal danger, I tell you!”
"Go back!” shouted Ann. “Go back to where you came
from!"
And before Jane could stop her she was halfway down
the ladder carrying the lamp that Mr. Tosh had lighted.
It was strangely quiet in the passage. The din that had
been so terrific up above was reduced here to a muffled
buzzing, not so loud as the beating of her own heart. The
air too was thick and heavy. It seemed to choke her. Yet
she hurried on-on and on—till just as she was nearing the
turning a stupendous crash that seemed to shake the very
foundations of the earth sent her half deafened reeling for-
ward.
The lamp had fallen from her hand and blazed up behind
her, but that seemed a small thing at that moment. It was
only for a moment too, for with a rushing sound the passage
seemed to close in upon her and it. The light was suddenly
extinguished. Sand fell cold upon her head and shoulders.
“Oh, my love—my love,” she cried, staggering.
Then all at once there was a great shout. A second
after strong arms caught her up and bore her swiftly along


BEFORE THE WIND
331
through the thick darkness till she was set down gently with
her back to the sand-wall just as another crash worse than
the first seemed to bring the whole world down about her.
It seemed to her then that she must die of it. The air
was full of sand. She could not breathe. Presently, how-
ever, it grew clearer and she found herself still alive and
clinging desperately to the strong hands that all the while
had held hers.
Then at last Green spoke.
"Miss Charteris,” he said, with a strange trembling in
his voice, “why did you come here?”
"It was a Zeppelin,” said Ann, "and I came to warn
you. I was told—that woman—the thief told me you were
here and that you might be in mortal danger—so I just
came,” said Ann simply.
His hands tightened their grip for a moment. Then he
laid hers gently in her lap and rose from her side in silence.
She heard him groping about in the darkness. Some sand
and pebbles fell quite near with a rattling sound, and she
heard him smother an exclamation.
Then after a long moment of deathly stillness he came
and sat down again close beside her.
“Miss Charteris," he said quietly, but still with that
strange tremor in his voice, "I–I cannot thank you. I
only know that you are brave enough to be told. That
second bomb must have fallen about half-way down the
passage. A solid mass of sand seems to have fallen between
and saved us, but the whole passage has collapsed up to a
few feet of where we are.”
He paused and she could hear his quick breathing. Then
there was another soft thud in the darkness. At the slight
sound he started and half rose, but he paused again and
spoke quickly, breathlessly. "I am going to try to force a
passage at this end,” he said. “Fortunately we are penned
up in the airiest part of the tunnel. This gives us a chance.
You must not mind if I leave you alone here in the dark. I
shall be quite near. You will hear me digging—and if it is
within my power we shall get clear.”


BEFORE THE WIND
333
For reply he caught her to him and for one moment they
clung together, the next he almost flung her from him.
"Don't say another word,” he said. "We are going to
get out now. I know it. I feel it.”
As he spoke he began digging again as never before,
while Ann in her former place with the sand and the peb-
bles dropping round her sat with closed eyes and set teeth
praying hard for dear life.
It seemed to her ages afterwards, and Fred had just
shouted in triumph at the first glimpse of the daylight when
she heard several people talking outside the opening he had
made.
“What's that?” said somebody. "Did ye hear it,
Crombie?"
“Ay, did I. · It was a man's voice. Will it be them, think
ye?”
“Yes, it's them,” shouted Fred hastily, at which there
arose a confused sound of ejaculation. “Keep back, for
God's sake!”
“It's some confounded special constables or something,"
he added to Ann as he went on enlarging the opening.
“They'll be the death of us if they come stamping about
over here. Keep back, you fools!” he shouted again.
“Bide whaur ye are, Crombie man!” said another voice.
“I'm jist seein' whaur they are,” said Crombie obstin-
ately.
“You'll see us buried, then," said Fred frantically, heav-
ing out lidfuls of sand at the intruders. “What blooming
idiot sent you here just now?” he added ungratefully as he
went on heaving.
"It was a woman body,” said Crombie, “that spoke
over the telephone and told us to search the shore till we
found the end o’ the passage."
“Well, you've found it,” said Fred, "so now quit and
give us a chance."
"Ask if they are all safe at the Big House,” said Ann
inside.


BEFORE THE WIND 335
"They must wait,” said Fred recklessly. "You heard
they were all safe and I claim this hour, Wrack-straws or
no Wrack-straws. Why you do not even know my name
yet!”
"Is it not James Green?” said Ann.
“Certainly not,” said Fred.
At this the first faint shadow fell across Ann's happiness.
The thought of the assumed name recalled her former vague
misgivings—the insinuations—the suspicions.
She would love him in spite of all. She could not help it.
But the old regret revived in her. Why was he here out of
it all? Her heart sank a little.
He was watching her curiously the while, the colour
rising in his face as he lay full-length on the ground before
her, resting his chin on his hands. Some words of Piffard's
were coming back to him again at that moment and he
was thrilling with the understanding of them.
"I could imagine," Piffard had said, "that it would be
fine to have an honour like that to lay at the feet of a
woman if one loved her.”
“No, my name is not James Green," he said after a
moment, "and I am not a chauffeur, and I'm not a detec-
tive—I've made a regular hash of that-I am a soldier- "
Ann drew a sharp breath.
“—at least for the period of the war, and I came home
from the front wounded, and I'm going back soon, dear,
but we won't talk of that yet. And you've seen me before,
you blind little thing, long before I came to Bartonsmuir."
She was silent, leaning towards him with parted lips, her
whole wondering soul in her eyes.
“Where have I seen you?” she whispered breathlessly.
She felt the tears rising—tears of relief and pride and joy.
She forced them back, however. “Where have I seen you?”
she repeated.
“You were very good to me,” he said, watching her,
"extravagantly good on a long railway journey once. You
gave your rug to me, you foolish child. And I-I love it so
much that I have never been able to give it back to you yet.


336
BEFORE THE WIND
to practicalitice a long timetied and crieder face in her ough
But I have it at the lodge-if there is a lodge now-I have
had it with me ever since.”
Still for a moment longer Ann sat leaning forward, gazing
at him through her rising tears, recognising him through
all the alterations in him, then hiding her face in her tat-
tered rags, she cried and cried and cried for happiness.
It was quite a long time after this before they returned
to practicalities. The tide had come in and the sun was
fully risen.
"By the by,” said Ann, with her head on his shoulder,
where it had been for the last half-hour or so, "you haven't
told me your name yet!”
"Nor I have," he laughed. “Well, it's Fred Lorimer.
Have you ever heard it before?” he added, as she started
up.
"Heard it?” exclaimed Ann, flushing scarlet in her ex-
citement. "Do you mean to say you are Mrs. Bellairs's
nephew?"
Fred laughed and nodded.
“The V.C.?” cried Ann.
“The same," said Fred, flushing scarlet in his turn.
“Well, I shall never forgive you!” said Ann.
The very next moment, however, she had flung her arms
round his neck.
After that of course there followed more explanations,
but as the reader knows them all already they shall be
omitted here. They would be dull reading. They were
anything but dull, however, to those two among the bents
that morning.
It was broad day when they were ended and Ann started
to her feet.
"I am an unheard-of little beast,” she exclaimed. "What
will my poor old dears be thinking?"
And with that she went hurrying off down the path by
the shortest cut and refused so much as to pause again
before she reached the Big House.


BEFORE THE WIND
337
CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH
IN WHICH MISS CAROLINE AND THIS RECORD BOTH COME
TO A CONCLUSION
It will be remembered that just before the telephone bell
rang, which was the prelude to such strange events, Mr.
Tosh had risen to address the conference, and that when
Ann had left the room to attend to the call Miss Caroline
had motioned to him to proceed.
"Ladies and gentlemen,” he began forgetting that he
was “the only gentleman.” In the general perturbation,
however, the mistake passed unheeded. "Ladies and gen-
tlemen, it seems to me, with all due deference to Miss
Caroline, that the method proposed for dealing with the
-German who has gained access to this house is hardly
adequate. If he—or she—is a German, he or she will be
a person who has no sense of shame to appeal to and no
gratitude to be aroused. Miss Caroline's manner of deal-
ing with him or her presupposes both these qualities. There-
fore—again with all due deference to Miss Caroline-it will
fail I much fear of its object. But- "
Here Mr. Tosh paused and smiled encouragingly upon
his audience. They all sat listening as though petrified.
Even Maggie had removed her apron from her head. She
now sat breathing heavily through her nose and the sound
seemed to add to rather than to detract from the general
tension. Miss Emily, too, swallowed audibly once or twice.
She sat craning forward the picture of anxious bewilder-
ment. The whole conference had come upon her as an
overwhelming surprise. Lottie herself must have been de-
ceived surely. Her reassurances had been as hollow as Ann's
promises. She shuddered, too, as she reflected that it would
be her duty presently to tell all she knew.


338
BEFORE THE WIND
“But,” Mr. Tosh went on, “recognising that it would
be a thousand pities that so much generosity should go to
waste, I am pleased to be able to inform you that another
already has this matter in hand and by different and-
shall I say?-by less altruistic methods has all but secured
the criminal.”
At this there was a sensation among the audience and
Mrs. Fennimore bounded to her feet in great excitement.
"Aha!” she exclaimed. “I know who you mean, Mr.
Tosh. But surely I should have been informed of his
arrival sooner.”
"Madam?” said Mr. Tosh, raising his eyebrows in
astonishment. “You know who he is then?”
“Of course I do,” said Mrs. Fennimore. "It's Sir Joseph
Bird from Scotland Yard."
At this the sensation was doubled and trebled.
“Sir Joseph Bird!” exclaimed Mr. Tosh. "Who is Sir
Joseph Bird?”
“From Scotland Yard?” exclaimed Miss Caroline in great
indignation. “Who has dared— ”
She rose majestically to her feet.
"Oh, well, Miss Caroline,” said Mrs. Fennimore, her
self-assurance seeming to wither in the glare from Miss
Caroline's eyes, “I didn't and I wouldn't have done it
without consulting you—though I am sure,” she added,
reviving a little as she thought of her wrongs, “considering
that the Fennimore sapphires are a-missing—it would have
been only natural if I had.”
“You have not answered my question, madam,” said
Miss Caroline, taking no more notice of the Fennimore
sapphires, as Mrs. Bellairs said afterwards, than if they
had been glass beads. “I did not ask you who had not
sent for a detective from Scotland Yard without consult-
ing me. I desired to know who had."
“Let her speak for herself then,” said Mrs. Fennimore.
“Mrs. Dodsworth "
Here she stopped as though she had been shot.


344
BEFORE THE WIND
air, "that the East Lodge is burnt,” here she turned
triumphantly to Mr. Tosh, "and the West Lodge is all
fallen in for a bomb from the Zeppelin fell beyond it-an'
she says it's a mercy it didna fall on the lodge because o' all
the patrols that's under there—though if the lodge has
fallen in anyway I dinna see what odds it can be to the
patrols, puir craters. But that's no' the worst,” continued
Maggie, revelling in the chance that caused her for once to
he the centre of her little world, “that's no near the worst.”
Once more she gasped for air. “Miss Charteris an' Mr.
Lorimer's buried below the West Lodge in a underground
passage.”
At this the surrounding silence was broken by a wail from
Mrs. Bellairs which was echoed all round the room in a
hubbub of lamentation. Everyone was mourning and
speaking at once when Miss Caroline made a sign for silence.
“Then if our two young friends are buried,” she said
firmly, "I now call for volunteers to dig them out. And
we should be thankful,” she added, “that they are in a
passage, which having, as all passages must have, two ends,
thus affords two chances of escape.”
“Bravo, Caroline!” said Mrs. Bellairs, removing her
handkerchief from her eyes.
"Here's me then, m'm,” said Arbuthnot, looking more
wrinkled than ever as she came forward, “And before,"
she added, turning to the others and speaking in a choked
voice, “before I had said what I have said about them
two I wish I had been buried myself."
At this there was a murmur of approval and Mrs. Bellairs
rose and crossed the room to her.
“Never mind, Arbuthnot,” she said. "It was my
nephew's own fault throughout. When a man's a V.C.
he's a V.C. and he shouldn't try to be anything else. But
never you fear,” she added, "we'll get them out."
“I'll go, Caroline,” she went on stepping forward.
“And I'll go, Miss Caroline," said Miss Gellatly un-
expectedly.


BEFORE THE WIND
345
“To think,” she added, “of those two down there! It's
a romance. The brave soldier and the lovely maiden. I'll
go at once and get my boots on.”
“Will I get the spades, m'm?” said Maggie, "an' the
lanterns.”
One by one they all volunteered.
"Though what I'm to do when I get there I know not,”
said Mrs. Pitmirran.
"You can wheel me in my bath-chair for I am going,"
said Miss Eldershaw.
"Oh, thank you,” said Mrs. Pitmirran with a sniff, “one
of the servants can do that for you.”
It ended of course in Maggie having to do it.
Mrs. Fennimore was the only exception.
. “I really cannot see,” she said, "what object would be
gained by my going. It is very unlikely indeed that we
shall find those two unfortunate young people alive. I
shall be delighted, however, to telephone to the police and
ask them to come to your assistance as soon as possible.”
"Madam, I have already done so," said Mr. Tosh, "and
the man in the police office, who seemed rather excited,
said there was no one in except himself.”
"Indeed?” said Mrs. Fennimore. "I am sorry for that.
All the same, though it seems nasty to say it, I really cannot
see why, because Mr. Lorimer and Miss Charteris have
exposed themselves to danger and suffered for it, I should
do likewise. I never could stand night-air since I had
pneumonia.”
Just as she said these words, however, Maggie burst in
again.
“Oh, and I had forgot to tell ye, m'm,” she said to Miss
Caroline, "all the jewels and silver is with—with the gen-
tleman that was Green, m'm. He got them all from her
but one before she got away—and he has them there with
him, m'm.”
“Bring my fur coat,” said Mrs. Fennimore suddenly.
“But I thought you wasn't goin', m’m,” said Maggie.


350
BEFORE THE WIND
trothal feast was a success this should be doubly so, since
there are two Engaged Couples instead of only one at it.”
Here he sat down amid a storm of approbation.
Then up sprang Mr. Tosh as though he were seventeen
instead of seventy, waving his table napkin.
"Three cheers for the V.C.!” he cried.
"And for the R.A.M.C.!” yelled Fred, determined to
make himself heard through the tremendous cheering which
arose in response this time. It came not only from round
the table but also from the hall outside. They could
hear Arbuthnot's cracked voice taking the lead there and
Maggie's boots wildly stamping.
“They have been listening,” said Miss Caroline, “but
after all why should they not take part on this occasion?
Be so kind, Mr. Lorimer, as to open the door that they
may hear what I have to say since it concerns them as
much as any of us.”
“I am proud,” she continued when her order had been
executed and a crowd of excited faces had appeared in the
doorway with Arbuthnot in the fore-front and Maggie open-
mouthed as usual in the rear behind the cook, "I am proud
to see a united household here and to know that in a time
of stress and during a crisis of the first magnitude the
behaviour of those who constitute the community of which
I have the honour to be the chief has been beyond all
admiration. I am glad to be able to inform those who
were not there at the time, that during the actual occur-
rence of the Zeppelin raid not one only but all of us showed
the utmost self-control and composure."
"Don't tell, my dear,” here whispered Mrs. Bellairs to
Lottie. "I screamed out several times and I have no doubt
the others did too, but that blessed Zeppelin made such a
noise that mercifully no one heard us."
“Not one moved,” continued Miss Caroline. “Not one
rose from his or her knees.”
"Except me, m’m," said Maggie from the doorway, "and
you told me to, m'm."


BEFORE THE WIND
351
any is into and being a Couples only, over, and
“Quite, ye fool!” whispered the cook sternly.
"Except Maggie,” said Miss Caroline graciously, "and I
told her to. She was the one exception.”
It was now the turn of the Quartette to applaud and
they took full advantage of their opportunity.
Miss Caroline waited patiently till they had subsided
again. "But not only did we show fortitude,” she con-
tinued at last, "under a test to which none of us before had
been subjected, but on a second contingency arising imme-
diately after the first we showed ourselves to be possessed
of both energy and initiative.”
Here for one moment only she permitted applause again.
“You see us now,” she went on after it was over, and
addressing herself to the Engaged Couples only, "having
surmounted this billow and being all the better for it. Our
little company is intact except for a spurious unit better
absent. Our possessions are intact except again for a
spurious unit.”
This last was received by a cackle from Mrs. Pitmirran.
“Our author's genius is intact," continued Miss Caroline,
"whatever his manuscript may be."
Here there was such great and prolonged applause that
che gratified Mr. Tosh had to rise and bow twice over.
"Our courage is intact," Miss Caroline then went on.
"Indeed, it is what it never was before. We are now aware
that in these times of tumult even those possessed of every
capability are like ourselves but Wrack-straws. We are all
without exception being borne hither and thither on the
tide of war, together with our loves, our hates, and our
ambitions. But, my dear friends, so long as we are honest
and devout we are prepared, as we have seen, for any
weather.”
The enthusiasm after this was quite indescribable. It
lasted indeed till the afternoon, when amid showers of last
summer's rose-leaves from the pot-pourri jars, Lottie and
David set off for the station for the second time.
This time, however, they did not go on foot. Fred drove





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