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She was so lost in thought, thought that strayed from crystal-bright imageries to nebulous shapes at once dark and terrifying, that the first intimation she received of Robert Fenley's approach was his stertorous breathing. From a rapid walk he had broken into a jog trot when he saw Trenholme vanish over the wall.
Evidently she was a practiced swimmer, and had at her command all the resources of the art. At last she climbed out, and stood dripping on the sun-laved rock beside the statue. Trenholme had foreseen this attitude had, in fact, painted with feverish energy in anticipation of it. The comparison was too striking to be missed by an artist.
She shrank behind the rest. Trenholme kissed her little cold hand when he had put her in. Then, last of all, he helped Sophia. She had no words ready now to offer him by which to make amends. "You have hurt your foot?" she said.
Why not pick up a tenner? Rush drawings by train. "That's the last straw," growled Trenholme fiercely. He raced out, bought a set of picture postcards showing the village and the Tudor mansion, and dispatched them to the editor of News in Pictures with his compliments. Coming back from the station, he passed the Easton lodge of The Towers.
It was raised for the space of a minute in a sort of chant, not loud enough for him to hear any word or to know what language was spoken. "Hi!" cried Trenholme at the top of his voice. "Hi, there! What do you want?" There was no doubt that a man out there could have heard, yet, whatever the creature was, it took not the slightest notice of the challenge.
When they came to the house whose roof was found to cover Saul, a party of eight entered to hear and pronounce upon his explanation. Certainly, if Trenholme had had the management of the business, he would not have proceeded in this fashion, but he had no choice. The carter had been drinking whisky not much as yet, but enough to give him a greater command of words than he ordinarily possessed.
Trenholme, that a person who is always seeking the Divine Presence, lives in it and has power to make other people know that it is near? But then, you see, these others fancy they must model their seeking upon the poor vagaries of their teacher.
These were both labelled "First Class." One was devoted to a few men, who were smoking; the other was the one from which Trenholme had descended. Its seats, upholstered in red velvet, were dusty from the smoke and dirt of the way; its atmosphere, heated by a stove at one end, was dry and oppressive.
Trenholme stepped into his room and lit his lamp that he might better examine his list of rates. Saul came inside to warm himself at the stove. The lamp in that little room was the one spot of yellow light in the whole world that lay in sight, yet outside it was not yet dark, only dull and bitterly cold. Trenholme stood near the lamp, reading fine print upon a large card.
Back in the kitchen again, she announced firmly to Mary "I'll take in the cheese." She put the Stilton on the table with a determined air. "You don't know anything about Miss Sylvia Manning, don't you?" she said, with calm guile. "Never heard the lady's name before you mentioned it," said Trenholme. "Mebbe not, but it strikes me you've seen more of her than most folk."
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