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One moment the haughty cold, proud woman, the next the child, admitting her faults and asking for pardon. The letter had been duly delivered at Mrs. Bonner's cottage, and, coming in later, Hugh found it. "Bettses' Bob brought it," said Mrs. Bonner. "From Miss Meredyth at the Hall," she added, and looked curiously at Hugh. "That's all right, thanks!" Mrs. Bonner quivered with curiosity.
Bonner's cottage. How would she find Joan? she wondered. Softened, perhaps even confused, some of her coldness shaken, some of her self-possession gone? But no, Joan held out a hand in greeting to her. "I did not know that you were here, Miss Brand," she said. "Have you not seen Mrs. Everard?" "I have seen her," Ellice said, "but I didn't come here to-day to see her. I came to see you."
If I did hurt you, I ask your forgiveness, and I ask you also, most earnestly, to go, to leave Starden." She would have written more, much more, words were tumbling over in her brain. She had so much more to say to him, and yet she said nothing. She signed her name and addressed the letter to Hugh Alston at Mrs. Bonner's cottage. She took it out and gave it to a gardener's boy.
For reply Bonner seized the edge of the door with his left hand, first pushing his revolver in his trousers' pocket. Then he silently swung the heavy cane through the air and downward, a very faint light from below revealing the shock head of Davy in the aperture. It was a mighty blow and true. Davy's body fell away from the trap, and a second later Bonner's dropped through the hole.
But they were very late when they came into Starden, and with still some six and a half miles to go before they could reassure Connie. "Connie will be worrying, Gipsy," Johnny said. "You know what Connie is, bless her! She'll think all sorts of tragedies and " He paused, his voice faltered, shook, and became silent. They were running past Mrs. Bonner's cottage.
They talked of nothing, of the ducks and geese on the green, of the weather, of the sunshine, of the ancient stocks. "You are staying here?" she asked. "Yes, at Mrs. Bonner's." "Oh, then you are an artist?" "Nothing so ornamental, I am afraid. No quite a useless person." "If you are not an artist, and have no friends here, do you not find it a little dull?" "Yes, but I am a patient animal.
The bitterness of her situation stung her tenfold when she considered that she dared not. Meantime the champagne became as regular in its flow as the Bull-dogs, and the monotonous bass of these latter sounded through the music, like life behind the murmur of pleasure, if you will. The Countess had a not unfeminine weakness for champagne, and old Mr. Bonner's cellar was well and choicely stocked.
The door of the cottage stood open, and against the yellow light within they could see the figure of a man and of a girl, and both knew the girl to be Joan Meredyth, and the man to be Mrs. Bonner's lodger, the man that Joan had cut that day in Starden.
In her mind she compared them with the woman who poured the tea, and there uprose in contrast the gourds and pannikins of the Toyaat village and the clumsy mugs of Twenty Mile, to which she likened herself. And in such fashion and such terms the problem presented itself. She was beaten. There was a woman other than herself better fitted to bear and upbring Neil Bonner's children.
At any rate, you have done me a great service, which I shall not forget. The figure by the stream he knew to be that of Rose. He released Miss Bonner's trembling moist hand, and as he continued standing, she moved to the door, after once following the line of his eyes into the moonlight. Outside the door a noise was audible.
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