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This latter conclusion was carefully hidden from Buntingford, though it was known to Cynthia; and Philip knew, for a time, all the happiness, the excitement even of each day's slight advance, combined with a boundless hope for the future. He spent his evenings absorbed in the voluminous literature dealing with the deaf-mute, which has grown up since the days of Laura Bridgman and Helen Keller.
And meanwhile with all this slowly growing joy, Cynthia was more and more closely connected. She and Buntingford had a common topic, which was endlessly interesting and delightful to them both. Philip was no longer conscious of her conventionalities and limitations, as he had been conscious of them on his first renewed acquaintance with her after the preoccupations of the war.
The hospital had been warned by telephone, and all preparations had been made. When the two unconscious men were safely in bed, the Dansworth doctor turned warmly to Helena: "I don't know what we should have done without you, Miss Pitstone! But you look awfully tired. I hope you'll go home at once, and rest." "I'm going to take her home at once," said Buntingford.
Helena withdrew her hand. "How strange! how strange!" She covered her eyes. There was a silence. After it, Buntingford resumed: "Has Geoffrey told you the first warning of it you left this room?" "No." He described the incident of the sketch. "It was a drawing I had made of her only a few weeks before she left me. I had no idea it was in that portfolio.
An old friend of his said to me the other day 'I often feel that Buntingford is the saddest man I know." "Why should he be?" asked Helena imperiously. "I can't tell you. No one can. It's just what those people think who know him best. Well, that's one fact about him that his men friends feel they could no more torment a wounded soldier, than worry Buntingford if they could help it.
For the whole table had suddenly become aware of a gust in the neighbourhood of Lord Buntingford a gust of heated talk although the only heated person seemed to be Miss Pitstone. Lord Buntingford was saying very little; but whatever he did say was having a remarkable effect on his neighbour. Then, before the table knew what it was all about, it was over.
Her delicate little face was very pale, and Buntingford stooped to reassure her. "We'll take every care of her. Don't be alarmed. It's always a woman comes to the rescue, isn't it? We're all ashamed. I shall take some lessons next week!"
My occupation's gone such as it was it's not my fault!" "Marry, my dear child, and bring up children," said Buntingford bluntly. "That's the chief duty of Englishwomen just now." Helena flushed and said nothing. They drifted nearer to the bank, and Helena perceived, at the end of a little creek, a magnificent group of yew trees, of which the lower branches were almost in the water.
Instead, Buntingford put an arm through his, and leaned upon him, at first in a pathetic silence that Geoffrey did not dare to break. Then gradually the story was told again, as much of it as was necessary, as much as Philip could bear. Geoffrey made very little comment, till through the trees they began to see the lights of Beechmark.
Behind them, and to the side of them, through a gap in the wood, the moonlight found its way, but they themselves stood against the faint light, superbly dark, and impenetrable, black water at their feet. Buntingford pointed to them. "They're fine, aren't they? This lake of course is artificial, and the park was only made out of arable land a hundred years ago.
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