CHAPTER XIX
Aunt Penelope got better very quickly; having turned the corner, there were no relapses. Whether it was my society or whether she was easier and happier in her mind, or whatever the cause, she lost her cough, she lost her weakness, and became very much the Aunt Penelope of old. I watched her with a kind of fearful joy. I was glad she was so much better, and yet I trembled for the day, which I knew was approaching, when I must return to Hanbury Square. Aunt Penelope used to look at me with the steadfast gaze which I had found very trying when a little child, but which I now appreciated for its honesty and directness. It was as though she were reading my very heart.
Meanwhile, no letters of any sort arrived; not one from my father, not one from Captain Carbury. I pretended to be very glad that Vernon did not write, but down deep in my heart of hearts I know that I was sorry; I know, too, that my heart beat quicker than usual when the postman's knock came to the door, and I know that that same heart went down low, low in my breast, when he passed by without any missive for me.
At last there came an evening when Aunt Penelope and I had a long talk together. On that evening we settled the exact day when I was to return to my father and to Lady Helen. We were able to talk over everything now without any secret between us, and that fact was a great comfort to me. Once she spoke about my dear father's sin, but when she began on that subject I stopped her.
"When you forgive, is it not said that you ought also to forget?"
"What do you mean, Heather?"
"Well, you have forgiven him, haven't you?"
"I never said I had."
"I think you have, and I think you must; and as you have forgiven, so, of course, you will absolutely forget."
She made no reply for a long time. Then she rose, kissed me lightly on the forehead, and said:
"You are a good child, Heather, you take after your poor mother. Now go out and help Jonas with the tea."
I went out, and it was that very day that an extraordinary thing happened – that thing which, all of a sudden, changed my complete life.
Jonas and I were in the kitchen; we were excellent friends. I was busy buttering some toast, which he was making at the nice, bright, little fire. Tea had been made and it was drawing on the top of the range. There was a snowy-white cloth on the little tray, and when enough buttered toast had been made I was going to carry the tray into the drawing-room, for Aunt Penelope liked me to do this, in order to save Buttons and give him more time to "look after the garden," as she expressed it. We were so employed, and were fairly happy, although we both knew quite well that I must shortly take my leave, and that the little house would have to do without me – that Jonas would have nobody to help him, and that Aunt Penelope would miss me every hour of the day.
Well, as we were thus occupied, I suddenly heard someone run up the steps which led to the front door. There were four or five steps, rather steep ones. The person who ascended now must have been young and agile, for there was quite a ringing sound as each step was surmounted. Then there came a pull at the bell and a sharp, very quick "rat-tat" on the front door.
"Miss Heather, who can it be?" said Jonas.
He had his toasting-fork in his hand and a great slice of tempting brown toast, which he was just finishing, on the edge of it; his round, very blue eyes were fixed on my face. For no earthly reason that anyone can tell I felt myself changing colour, and I knew that my heart began to beat in a very queer and excitable way.
"What can it be?" repeated Jonas. "It's a man, by the step. I'll take a peep out by the area."
"Oh no, Jonas, you mustn't," I said; but I might as well have spoken to the wind. Jonas, toasting-fork, toast and all, were out of sight. The next minute he came tiptoeing back.
"It's as smart a young gent as I ever laid eyes on," he said. "Miss Heather, for the Lord's sake slip upstairs and put on your best 'Sunday-go-to-meeting' dress and tidy your 'air, miss, it's ruffled from doing things in the kitchen, and take the smut off your cheek, and – there! I mustn't keep him waiting any longer. He be a bloomin' fine boy and no mistake."
"Let me pass you, Jonas; I'll go first," I said, and in this fashion we both left the kitchen, I rushed to my room – I wasn't above taking a hint from Jonas; soon one of my pretty frocks, which I used to wear at Lady Helen's, was on once more, a white embroidered collar encircled my throat, my hair was tidily arranged, the obnoxious smut removed, and I came slowly downstairs. Jonas was waiting for me on the bottom step.
"It's you he's asked for, miss – he's a captain in the harmy, no less. Carbury his name be. I 'as took in the tea, and my missus is chatting with him as lively and pleasant as you please. You go in, miss; you're all right now, you look like any queen. Ring if you want me, Miss Heather; don't you be doing things yourself when a gent like that's in the house. Ring and give your orders properly, same as if there was twenty Jonases here instead of one. I'm not tired, not a bit of it; I'm real pleased to see you looking so perky, miss."
I put out my hand and touched his; he grasped mine in a sort of pleased astonishment, and tears absolutely moistened his eyes.
"Go in and prosper, miss," he said, and then he dashed downstairs.
I entered the drawing-room.
There was no one like Vernon. He had a trick of making friends with people in about two minutes and a half. It could never be said of Aunt Penelope that she was a person who was brought quickly round to be cosy and confidential and friendly with anyone; it had taken me the greater part of my life to know the dear old lady as she really ought to be known, and yet, here was Vernon, seated on a low chair facing the tea table, and absolutely pouring out tea for himself and Aunt Penelope! He looked up as I entered, threw down the sugar tongs with a slight clatter, came towards me and gave my hand a squeeze.
"She's much too weak, Heather, to be bothered making tea, so I thought I'd do it."
"He is making it very nicely, Heather, my dear," said Aunt Penelope, "and I don't see why he should not go on. I'm quite interested in Captain Carbury's stories about the army; it is so long since I have met a soldier. I assure you, Captain Carbury, in my young days I hardly ever met anyone else."
"And a very great advantage for the army, madam," said Vernon, with that pleasant twinkle in his eyes which would have made an Irish girl call him "a broth of a boy" at once.
I sat down; I found it difficult to talk. Aunt Penelope took no notice of me; she kept up a ceaseless chatter with Vernon. He was in the best of spirits; I never saw anything like the way he managed her. What could he have said to her during those very few minutes while I was changing my dress and tidying my hair and getting that smut off my cheek?
The tea came to an end at last, and then the dear old lady rose.
"Heather," she said, "I am a little tired, and am going to lie down. You can entertain Captain Carbury. Captain, I have not the least idea what this dear child of mine has ordered for supper, but whatever it is I hope you will share it with us. We should both like you to do so."
"Thank you, I shall be delighted," he replied, and then Aunt Penelope went out of the room. The moment she had gone Vernon looked at me and I looked at him.
"Oh, you have done wrong," I said, "you know you have done wrong!"
"Shall we have our little talk," he said, in his calmest voice, "before or after Buttons removes the tea-things?"
"Oh, what do the tea-things matter?" I replied. "Let them stay. Vernon, you oughtn't to have come here."
"Oughtn't I? But I very well think I ought. Why shouldn't a man come to see the girl who has promised to marry him?"
"Vernon, you know – you got my letter?"
"I did certainly get a letter – an extraordinarily dear, sweet, pathetic little letter. Well, my dear, I have acted on it, that's all."
"Acted on it, Vernon! What do you mean?"
He put his hand into his pocket and took the letter out.
"Come and sit close to me on the sofa, Heather."
"No, no; I can't; I daren't!"
"But you can and dare. Do you suppose I am going to stand this sort of thing? You are the girl I am going to marry. Heather, what nonsense you are talking! Kiss me this minute!"
"Vernon, you know I daren't kiss you."
"And I know you dare and shall and will. Come, this minute – this very minute."
"Oh, Vernon! Oh, Vernon!"
Before I could prevent him his arms were round me and his lips were pressed to mine. The moment I felt the touch of those lips I ceased to struggle against his will and lay passive in his arms. My heart quieted down, and a great peace, added to a wonderful joy, filled me.
"Vernon, dear Vernon!"
"Say 'darling Vernon'; that's better than dear."
"Oh, well, if I must – darling Vernon!"
"Say 'your very own Vernon,' whom you will marry."
"Vernon, I can't. I will not tie you to me and to shame."
"Of course you won't, you poor darling; but suppose – now I think this is about the stage when the hero and heroine had best sit on the sofa, or the heroine may perhaps faint."
"Vernon, what are you talking about?"
"We are quite comfortable now," he said.
He drew me very close to him, and put his arm round my waist.
"You little angel!" he said, "you darling! When I marry you I marry honour, not shame. Yes – honour, not shame. I marry the bravest girl on earth and the daughter of the bravest gentleman in His Majesty's army."
"Vernon, what do you mean?"
"I will tell you. Now you stay quite quiet and listen. Are you aware of the fact – perhaps you are not – that that dear Lady Helen, that precious stepmother of yours, has a brother who was in the army?"
"Has she?" I asked. "I didn't know."
"Well, I happen to be aware of the fact. He was a good-for-nothing, if anyone was in all the world. His name was Gideon Dalrymple. Surely your father has sometimes spoken to you about Colonel Dalrymple?"
"Never," I said.
"Well, it doesn't greatly matter; you're not likely to hear a great deal about him in the future – he is the sort of person whose history people shut up; but before that time comes I – have some work to do in connection with that same excellent officer in His Majesty's army."
"Stop!" I said suddenly. I bent forward and looked into his eyes; my own were blazing with excitement, and my cheeks must have been full of colour.
"Vernon, I recall a time, it comes back to me. I went unexpectedly into a room where my father and stepmother were seated. I saw my darling father in a rage, one of the few rages I have seen him in since his marriage. I heard him say to her: 'Your brother will not enter this house!' Can he be the same man?"
"Beyond doubt he is. Well, now, I will tell you that when I first knew you I also knew, as did most people who were acquainted with your father, something of his story. I knew that he had gone through a time of terrible punishment; that he had been cashiered; that he was supposed to have committed a very heinous crime – in short, that he was the sort of person whom no upright soldier would speak to."
"Yes," I said, trembling very much; "that is what one would think, that is what I said in my letter. Only you understand, Vernon, that I am on his side – he and I bear the same shame."
"Little darling, not a bit of it. There's no shame for you to bear. But let me go on. You remember that day when I met you in Hyde Park?"
"The day?" I said.
"The day, Heather. You and I walked back to the house in Hanbury Square together. You were sent out of the room. I had a long talk with your stepmother and with your father – no matter now what was said. I was beside myself for a time, but I made up my mind then that whatever happened I'd woo you and win you and get you and keep you! Something else also haunted me, and that was the fact that your father, Major Grayson, was not in the least like the sort of man I had expected him to be. I have, Heather, I believe, the power of reading character, and if ever there was a man who had a perfectly beautiful, honourable expression, if ever there was a man who could not do the sort of thing which Major Grayson had been accused of doing, that man was your father. Before I left the house I was as certain of his innocence as I was of my own."
"You darling!" I said. I stooped and kissed his hand.
"Then I thought of you, and I said to myself: 'She's Major Grayson's worthy daughter,' and – I gave myself up to thinking out this thing. People can go to the British Museum, Heather, and can read the newspapers of any date, so I went there on the following morning and read up the whole of your father's trial. I read the evidence for and against him, and I discovered that there was a great deal of talk about a Gideon Dalrymple – the Honourable Gideon Dalrymple, as he was called. He was mixed up in the thing. I went farther into particulars, and discovered that this man was the brother of Lady Helen. I sat and thought over that fact for a long time. I took it home to my rooms with me and thought it over there; I thought it over and over and over, but I could not see daylight, only I was more and more certain that your father was innocent.
"Then I got your letter, and that letter was just enough to stir me up and to make me wild, to put me into a sort of frenzy. So at last I said to myself: 'There's nothing like bearding the lion in his den,' and one day, quite early in the morning, I called at the house in Hanbury Square. I asked to see Lady Helen Dalrymple, and as I stood at the door a boy came up with a telegram. The telegram was taken in, and I was also admitted, for I gave the sort of message that would cause a woman of her description to see me. She was in her boudoir, and she came forward in a frenzy of distraction and grief, and said: 'What do you want? Go away! I am in dreadful trouble; I won't see you – it's like your impertinence to come here!'
"'I won't keep you long,' I said. 'I want to get at once from you Colonel Gideon Dalrymple's private address, for I have something of the utmost importance to talk over with him.'
"'What?' she screamed. 'You can't see him – you can't possibly see him. He's very ill. I've just had a telegram from a nursing home where he is staying. I am on my way to see him myself. My poor, poor brother!'
"'Oh, then, if he is ill, of course he'll confess,' I said. 'I may as well go with you. He has got to confess, sooner or later, and the sooner he does it the better.'"
"Vernon! You said that to her?"
"Yes, Heather; I said all that."
"Oh, you had courage. But what did you mean?"
"I knew quite well what I meant. I had gathered a few facts together from those papers, and I meant to put the screw on when I saw the victim. Was not I working for home, and love, and wife? Was I likely to hesitate? Was I not working for a good man's honour? What else is a soldier worth if he can't make the best of such a job as I had set myself?
"Well, the long and short of it was this, Heather. That woman got as meek as a mouse. I put the screw on her right away, and she was so frightened she hardly knew what to do; so terrified was she that in less than ten minutes I could do anything with her, and in a quarter of an hour she and I were going in her motor-car to the home where the Honourable Gideon was lying at the point of death, owing to a fresh attack of his old enemy, D.T. We both saw him together, and the moment I looked at his face I said to myself: 'You're the boy; you have got the ugly sort of face that would be capable of doing that sort of low-down, mean thing.'
"Afterwards I saw him alone; I put the screw on at once, but quite quietly. The doctor had said that he couldn't possibly recover, and I said that it would be much better for him to ease his conscience. So he did ease it, with a vengeance. He was in such a mortal funk at the thought of dying that he told me the whole thing. It was he who forged the cheque and took the money, and he and Lady Helen between them got your father to bear the brunt of the blame – in short, to act as the scapegoat. You see, your father was half mad about Lady Helen then, and she could do anything with him: he was badly in debt, too, and half off his head with trouble. Your father spent ten years in penal servitude, and all for the sake of a woman who was not worth her salt. It was arranged between them that he was to save her brother, and that she would marry him and take his part, and give him of her enormous wealth when he came out of prison. It was a nicely-arranged plan, and why he ever yielded to it is more than I can make out; but guilty – he was never guilty.
"When that precious Gideon had told his story, I got in proper witnesses and had it all written down, and he put his signature to it, and I had that signature witnessed. After that I did not bother much about him; he died in the night.
"I went to Lady Helen next day, and told her what was to be expected. I said: 'Your husband's honour has to be cleared.' She was in an awful funk, but I did not care. I never saw anyone in such a state; I don't know what she did not promise me. She said I might marry you, and welcome, and that she'd settle ten, or even twenty thousand pounds on you. As if either of us would touch a farthing of her money! But in the end your father himself came to the rescue, and said that if you knew he was innocent, and I knew he was innocent, he was accustomed to the opinion of the world, and he would be true to Lady Helen as long as he lived. It was quixotic of him – much too quixotic; but there, that's how things stand. Oh, of course, I forgot – your Aunt Penelope is to know, and we may be married as soon as ever we like – to-morrow by special licence, if we can't wait any longer, but anyhow as soon as possible. There, little Heather. Now, haven't I a right to kiss you? And what nonsense you did talk in your sweet little letter, your precious letter, which I will keep, all the same, until my dying day!"
Vernon put his arm round me, and I laid my head on his shoulder. My first sensation was one of absolute peace. Oh! my light and happy heart! Oh! my father – my hero once again!
CHAPTER XX
Certainly Vernon's story was the most amazing that any girl had ever listened to. Notwithstanding my great joy I could not take it all in at once. The first time of telling seemed to have little or no effect on me, except that it lightened my heart in a most curious manner of a load which was almost insupportable. I sprang suddenly to my feet.
"Will you come out with me?" I said. "Shall we go up on the Downs, and will you tell me there the whole story from beginning to end over again?"
He smiled and said, in his bright way:
"All right, little Heather."
I flew upstairs. Aunt Penelope was moving about in her room, but I would not go to her. I felt somehow that I could not meet her just yet, and she, dear old thing, must have guessed my feelings, for she did not attempt to trouble me. I put on my hat and jacket, snatched up my gloves, and ran downstairs. Vernon was waiting for me. How tall he was, and broad, and how splendidly he carried himself!
"Oh, Vernon," I said, looking into his face, "I am so proud that you are a soldier!"
He laughed.
"Thank you very much indeed, little Heather," he said.
When we got out he drew my hand through his arm, and we went up to the beautiful Downs. We sat on the heather and he told me the story over again; I took it in much better this time. When it was quite finished I said:
"We sat on the heather and he told me the story over again.""And father – what is to become of father?""I'm afraid he'll have to go on living with Lady Helen," was Vernon's answer. But I shook my head."No," I said; "not at all. I have a better scheme than that. Lady Helen is very much frightened, isn't she, Vernon?""A 'blue funk' doesn't even describe her," replied Vernon."Well, then," I said, "I have a plan in my head. You and I will go up to London to-morrow." "I am quite agreeable, Heather – that is, if it causes you to hurry on our wedding day.""Oh, there's time enough for our wedding day," I said. "We mustn't be selfish, you know, Vernon.""Selfish? By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Little you know about selfishness when you accuse me of it.""Oh, Vernon," I said, "I'm just so happy I scarcely know what to do. But because I am so happy I don't want the one I love best in all the world after yourself to be out in the cold.""What do you mean by that, Heather dear?""Just what I say. I don't want to leave my own darling father absolutely miserable.""Jove! you're right there. But what can you do? You can't part a man from his lawful wife.""No more I can – that's quite true; but I do want to see him and – I must see Lady Helen, too. Vernon, you'll help me, won't you?""By all means," he answered. "But now, let us talk of ourselves. How soon do you think we can be married – in a fortnight? Surely a fortnight would be long enough for any reasonable girl.""I am by no means certain of that," I replied. "I will marry you, Vernon, as soon as ever I can put other matters right.""Oh, but I have a voice in this, for I mean to marry you without a moment's delay – that is, I mean that I will give you one fortnight and not an hour beyond. It is the fashion now to be married by banns. Well, we'll have our banns cried on Sunday next and on the following Sunday and the Sunday after, and we can be married on the Monday after that. That's about right, isn't it? That's as it ought to be.""Vernon, you are so – so impulsive.""Well, little girl, I'm made like that. When I want a thing I generally contrive to get it, and that as soon as possible. Jove! I did have work in getting you. If I hadn't thought and thought, and very nearly driven myself distracted, do you imagine for a single moment I'd have ferreted out that secret of Gideon Dalrymple's? So much thinking is exceedingly bad for a fellow, Heather, and the sooner you can set his heart at rest, the better for his general health.""All right," I replied. "I will marry you in a fortnight if father is happy and if Aunt Penelope is satisfied.""You needn't doubt her," said Vernon. "I put the question to her before you entered the drawing-room. When you were upstairs, putting on that pretty frock and tidying your hair, I had the brunt of the business settled with her. She likes sharp work; she told me so. When you appeared on the scene I was quite like an old family man pouring out the tea for her, and all the rest.""There never was anyone like you," I said, and I took his hand timidly in mine."Come – this is all nonsense! Kiss me, Heather.""No, no, Vernon – I – I can't.""Don't be a dear little goose. I must be paid for what I've done. Kiss me this instant.""It's your place – " I began."All right, if that's how you put it."He clasped his arms round me and drew me close to him and kissed me over and over and over again."There now," he said; "it's your turn.""But you have kissed me.""Of course, I have. I want you to kiss me. Now begin. Come, Heather, don't be shy."I did kiss him, and after I had kissed him once I kissed him again, and my dark eyes looked into his blue ones, and I seemed to see the steadfast, bright, honourable soul that dwelt within his breast, and I knew that I was the happiest of girls.We went slowly back from the Downs into the more shady part of the little town. We stopped at Aunt Penelope's house. A great deal had been happening in our absence. Buttons was flying about like a creature demented, the parrot was calling in a voice loud enough to deafen you: "Stop knocking at the door!" and Aunt Penelope was in her very best cap and in her softest and most stately black silk dress. She wore black silk dresses of the sort which are never seen now. It was thick; it would almost stand by itself; it had a ribby sort of texture, and in order to enrich the silk it was heavily trimmed with bands of black velvet and with a fringe of what they called black bugles. The effect was at once dull and extremely handsome. It suited Aunt Penelope to a nicety – that and her little cap with the real point lace and the soft mauve ribbons.When I appeared she just nodded to me and said something to Vernon, and he said: "Yes, certainly." I ran upstairs. Presently I heard a tap at my door. I went to open it; Aunt Penelope stood outside."May I come in, Heather?""Of course, darling auntie."I took her hand; I drew her into the room."Heather, I know – it's too wonderful. What a splendid fellow! Heather, I am glad.""Oh, auntie, my heart is bursting with happiness!""Heather, child, I'm a woman of few words, but if your mother were alive she'd be proud of this day. He has the very soul of honesty in his face; he is better looking than your poor dear father ever was, but he has the same sort of nature, so boyish, so impulsive, so brave. He's a dear – that's all that I can say about him.""And if you weren't a dear for your own sake, you'd be one for calling him one," was my somewhat incoherent answer."Well, now, that's enough sentiment, child; we must to business. How do you like my dress?""It's magnificent – and you have put it on in honour of me.""In honour of a captain in His Majesty's army. Child, I do so greatly respect army men.""Oh, yes, I see. Thank you, so do I. Indeed, it's a very handsome dress," I continued."I think so," she replied. "It was made fifteen years ago, at least. I only wear it on the very best occasions, otherwise it would have got greasy ages and ages before now. It's amazing how difficult it is to keep these really good silks from turning greasy; the grease seems to cling to them in some sort of fashion, and you can never get it out, try as you will.""It looks awfully nice – it really does, auntie.""I am proud to be wearing it for your sake and for his to-night.""And you have asked him to dinner?""Yes. I have come to speak of that. It is a real dinner; Jonas and I have concocted it between us. You are to know nothing about it; you are just to eat it when it comes on the table, and to be right-down thankful. Now that you are happy you must eat well, for nothing in some ways takes it out of one more than happiness. You have been looking sadly worn out, child, and now you have got to eat and drink and get your pretty, youthful roses back again. Oh, Heather, Vernon agrees with me about the world; he hates fashionable people. He told me, dear boy, that for a short time he was engaged to one of them. I never met anybody so confiding.""I know all about his engagement," I said. "I saw her once, too; she was very handsome.""Ah, yes; I have no doubt – a society doll. Well, he hasn't chosen badly, when he's elected that your little face and your brown eyes and your warm heart shall accompany him through life. You'd best smarten yourself up a bit for dinner, Heather; I don't want your old aunt to take the shine out of you, my love – and, remember, this dress is uncommonly handsome.""Yes, auntie, I know. I shouldn't be surprised if you did take the shine out of me; but I don't think I shall greatly mind."So I put on a pretty white dress, for a few of my dresses had been sent from London, doubtless by my dear father's orders, and ran downstairs. Bless that boy Buttons – he had effected marvels! The tiny dining room was gay with flowers, the very best old dinner service had been got out for the occasion, the best silver had been polished up, and I, who was accustomed to doing pretty nearly half the work of the house, wasn't allowed to put my hand to anything. I really felt annoyed. I did not like to be at Hill View without attending to its household economy.Vernon came in from his rooms at the little hotel, looking spick and span, as he always did. We three sat down to dinner, and certainly that dinner was a triumph. I have often puzzled myself to wonder how Aunt Penelope contrived to manage it. First of all there was soup, the best soup I had ever tasted, and then there was fish, trout which had been alive a couple of hours before, and then there was pigeon pie and peas and potatoes, and afterwards strawberries and cream. There was also a bottle of very old port wine, which Aunt Penelope fingered with a trembling hand."I have had it in the house since long before your mother was married," she said to me. "Vernon, my boy, you will find it worthy of even your refined tastes."Vernon immediately begged to be allowed to draw the cork; he said that such precious old wine as that required most tender handling. Aunt Penelope and I had a little glass each, and Vernon had one or two, and afterwards he told Aunt Penelope something of our plans and how he and I were going to London on the morrow to see my father and Lady Helen.Aunt Penelope nodded her head several times."I have only one improvement to make on that plan," she said."Oh, but what improvement can you make, auntie?" was my reply."I can and I will," she said, with emphasis. "I am quite well now, as well as ever. Now what I mean to do is this; I mean to go with you two good young people. I will never be in your way, never for a moment, but I will guard you from the malicious tongue of Mrs. Grundy. She's a nasty old body, and I don't want her to get at you. There's a quiet little hotel in Bloomsbury where Heather and I can have rooms, and where we can stay, and I make not the slightest doubt that I can help Heather very considerably in her dealings with Lady Helen Dalrymple.""Oh, you can, you can," I said; "it will be quite splendid!"So the plan was carried out. Jonas was informed that very evening that Miss Penelope and I were going to leave Hill View early on the morrow."We shall probably be back in a few days," said Aunt Penelope. "In the meantime, Jonas, you must attend to the house cleaning; give it a thorough turn-out. Wash every scrap of paint, Jonas; be sure you wash the backs of the shutters, don't leave a single place with a scrap of dirt in it; remember, I'll find it out if it exists – be certain of that.""Yes, mum; thank you, mum," said Jonas. "I'll be sure to do what you wish, mum.""And Jonas, you understand the garden. You can get the grass into order and remove all the weeds. We may be having a smart time down here by and by, there's no saying, there's no saying at all, but at least remember that you haven't a minute to lose. You are a good boy, Jonas, and you'll work as hard when I am away as though I were at home.""Yes, mum; of course, mum," said Jonas. "Me and the parrot," he added."Stop knocking at the door!" shouted the parrot."There! if that bird isn't enough to split one's head," said Aunt Penelope.She went upstairs. Vernon had already gone back to the hotel. Buttons gave me a feeling glance."Stay below for a minute, missy. Is it true? Is there nuptials in this 'ere thing?""Yes, Jonas.""I thought as much. Didn't I twig it when I heard his steps and saw the starty sort of way you got into? I'm a smart boy, I am. Missy, you'll have me at the wedding, won't you?""I promise you, Jonas, you shall certainly come," I answered rashly.The next day we went up to London. We had no special adventure on our journey to town. We went first-class. I remembered my journey down, and how interesting I had thought the third-class passengers, but now we travelled back in state. Vernon said it would be less tiring for Aunt Penelope. When we got to Paddington we drove to the little hotel that Aunt Penelope knew about; it was a quiet little place at one corner of a small square in Bloomsbury. It was very old-fashioned and not much frequented of late. The proprietor, however, knew Aunt Penelope quite well. Had he not entertained her and my mother also in the long-ago days when they were young? Aunt Penelope was anxious to secure the same rooms, and, strange as it may seem, she managed to get them. The landlord was very pleased indeed to show them to her, and she told me afterwards that the sight of them brought a prickly sensation into the back of her eyes, and made her feel inclined to cry. The rooms were quiet and clean, and that was the main thing. Vernon did not think much of them, but they pleased Aunt Penelope, and that, of course, was the most important matter of all.Having arranged about the rooms, Vernon now suggested that we should engage a taxi-cab and drive straight to Hanbury Square, but here Aunt Penelope put down her foot."What sort of cab did you say, my dear boy?""A taxi-cab, auntie." He called her "auntie" from the very moment we were properly engaged."I don't like new sorts of cabs," replied my aunt. "I want what in my young days used to be called a 'growler.' I hate hansoms; I wouldn't dare go in one of them."In vain poor Vernon pleaded for the light and swift motion of the cab which was driven by petrol. The old lady held up her hands with horror."Not for worlds would I go in a motor-cab," she said. "Vernon, I have admired you and stood up for you, but I shall do so no longer if you even mention such a thing to me again."So in the end we three had to drive to my stepmother's in a four-wheeled cab. Aunt Penelope said that it was quite a handsome conveyance, and not the least like the "growlers" she used to remember in the days when she and her sister were young. We got to the great and beautiful house about noon. We walked up the steps and Vernon rang the bell."Perhaps they'll be out," I could not help whispering in his ear."No, I think not," he replied. "I sent a telegram this morning which I imagine will keep them at home. Now, you'll keep up your courage, won't you, darling?""You needn't be afraid," I replied.He gave my hand a squeeze, and the door was flung open. The automaton who opened it could not help becoming flesh and blood when he saw my face. A queer flicker went over his countenance; he coloured, faintly smiled, then, remembering himself, became a wooden man once again."Is Lady Helen in?" I ventured to say."Yes, Miss Dalrymple. I'll inquire of her ladyship if she can see you, and – " he glanced at Vernon, he looked with downright suspicion at Aunt Penelope."It is all right," I said. "We can go into the little sitting-room at the left of the hall. Will you please say that I have called, and that Miss Despard and Captain Carbury are with me? Say that we wish to see her ladyship.""And as soon as possible," snapped Aunt Penelope. "Have the goodness further to inform Lady Helen that we are in a considerable hurry, and would be glad if she would make it convenient not to keep us waiting long.""Certainly, madam," replied the man. He disappeared, and we waited in the little room towards the left of the hall."Aunt Penelope, you are brave," I could not help saying."I come of a brave stock," said the old lady. "Did not my father die when little more than a boy in the battle of Inkerman, and my grandfather at Waterloo? Yes, I had need to be brave."CHAPTER XXIWhile Aunt Penelope talked my heart beat very hard. From time to time I could not help glancing at Vernon. Was he guessing my thoughts – was he understanding?He stood with his back to us, looking out of the window. Once or twice he whistled a little, he whistled a bar of a popular melody; then he thrust his hands into his pockets, turned swiftly round, took up a newspaper, flung himself into a chair, and pretended to read. I might have felt vexed with him, I might even have accused him of want of sympathy, if I had not suddenly noticed that he was holding the paper upside down – he was not reading at all. He was in reality as excited and troubled as I was myself. My heart warmed to him with a great glow when I observed this. I felt what good, what splendid friends we would be in the future, how like nobody else in all the world he was, and what a lucky, very lucky, girl I was to have won him. But no – even at the risk of losing my own happiness I would not leave my father to the mercies of Lady Helen. Unless that matter could be put right, I would not marry my darling Vernon. The thought brought a great soreness into my heart, and I felt the tears pricking my eyes from behind, and I was glad when our time of suspense was over, for the same flunkey who had opened the door for us now appeared, standing on the threshold of the little room where we had taken refuge, and said: "Lady Helen's compliments, and she will be pleased to give you an audience, Miss Dalrymple.""I am coming, too. Does her ladyship know?" inquired Aunt Penelope."She said Miss Dalrymple," replied the man."Nonsense!" said Aunt Penelope. "We'll all come, my good man. Will you have the kindness to show the way? Now march, please; although you're wearing such a smart livery, you're not nearly such a good servant as my boy Jonas."The man's name was Robert, and he was one of the most superior servants of the house, and I really felt annoyed with Aunt Penelope for attacking him in this fashion. He got very red, but then his eyes met mine, and something in my eyes must have begged of him to be patient, for he certainly was patient, and then, without another word, he went before us, and we three followed, and a minute or two later we were in Lady Helen's presence.I was at once relieved and surprised to find that my father was not there. It happened to be a very hot day; it was now July, and London was suffering from a spell of intensely hot weather. Lady Helen's sitting-room looked very cool and inviting. There were soft, bluey-green blinds draped across the windows – the effect was a sort of bluey-grey mist, at once refreshing and becoming. There were quantities of flowers in the room, so much so that Aunt Penelope began to sniff at once. She sniffed audibly, and said in a loud aside to Vernon: "No wonder the poor woman looks ill; such a strong smell of flowers is bad for anyone."Lady Helen herself was in a most wonderful make-up that morning. She had a very elegant figure, notwithstanding her years. She was dressed in the extreme height of the prevailing mode, and looked – that is, until the full light of day shone upon her – like a woman who was between forty and fifty, at most. She must have been wearing a completely new arrangement on her head; I cannot call it her own hair, for I happened to know that it was only hers in the sense that she had honestly paid for it. It was of a pale golden shade; when last I saw her she was wearing chestnut curls. This coiffure was arranged in the most becoming manner on the top of her head, and fell in soft little ringlets round her ears and about her neck. Her dress was of the "coat and skirt" style, cut in tailor fashion, and extremely smart. On the back of her golden head she wore an enormous black crinoline hat, trimmed with great ostrich tips; altogether her appearance was too wonderful for Aunt Penelope to bear long with patience. She was standing up as we entered the room, and now she came quickly towards us."How do you do, Heather?" she said to me. "I am quite willing to see you again, but this lady and this gentleman!""You know me very well, Lady Helen," said Vernon. "I am that Captain Carbury who stood by your brother's death-bed – who hold his written confession, and who is about to marry Heather Grayson.""All nonsense, all nonsense!" said Lady Helen."But I thought – " I began.Lady Helen looked at Aunt Penelope."It does not matter what you think, Heather; you are only a child. May I be informed who this lady is – the lady who has dared to come into my presence uninvited?""My name, madam, is Miss Despard, and I am real own aunt to Heather Grayson. Heather Grayson's mother, the first wife of Major Grayson, happened to be my sister. I presume therefore, madam, that I have a right over this young girl, more particularly as she lived with me, and I trained her, and educated her from the time she was eight years old until she was eighteen.""Ah, yes," said Lady Helen in a soft voice; "that dreadful time, those ten terrible years!""We all know the story of those years; you are, of course, aware of that," said Captain Carbury at that moment.Lady Helen gave him a quick glance."Yes," she said suddenly. "You observe my dress. I am in mourning for my dear one."Her voice trembled for a minute. I looked at her and saw that she was really sorry for the man who was dead."He is in his grave," she continued, "poor, dear Gideon! We did what we could for him, your father and I. Now our one desire is to let his poor bones rest in peace.""Perhaps it is, madam," said Vernon just then, "but there are other people who have a say in the matter. Now, Heather, it is time for you to speak."I looked at Lady Helen and took my courage in my hands."Stepmother – ""Oh! You acknowledge that I am your stepmother? Well, what have you to say for yourself? You have been a nice stepdaughter to me!""I could not help it," I said. "I never intended to be nasty to you.""Well, I don't wish to complain. But who gave you all the good things you enjoyed, your dress, your home, your fun, your pleasure, your good time all round? Answer me that question – who gave you those things?""You did.""Ah! I'm glad you acknowledge it.""Of course I acknowledge it.""And do you think you have behaved well to me in return? Because I did the very best possible for you and because a needy, poor man, almost a pauper, for he has practically no private means, came and demanded your hand, and your father and I considered it an improper and unsuitable request, you took the bit between your teeth, and, without a word, without a hint, ran away. Never shall I forget our return from Brighton and the agony that your poor father, whom you profess to love, was in. You ran away. Why did you run away?""Because I couldn't do what you wanted.""And you did even worse," continued Lady Helen, "for I have discovered everything. You had the audacity, the impropriety – you, a young girl – to go to Lord Hawtrey's, and to try to interview him. Oh, yes; I have heard that story, and I know what it means; and a nice meaning it has for you, miss – a very nice meaning, indeed!""You broke my heart and went away to the country and took father with you," I said. "I could think of no one else. I went to him because I knew he was a gentleman, and would act as such.""Suppose we come to the matter in hand," interrupted Vernon, who was getting impatient at all this dallying."Yes, that's right, Vernon; that's right. Keep her to the point," exclaimed Aunt Penelope.I looked back at them both. Aunt Penelope's bright eyes were like little pin points in her head; they were fixed on Lady Helen's got-up face. She had really never before, in the whole course of her life, met such a woman. She was studying her from every point of view."I have come here, stepmother," I said, "to tell you that I – I – know all the story with regard to my – my darling father. Vernon has told me, and Vernon and I have made up our minds to marry, and father has given his consent, and we mean to be married, if all comes right, in about – ""Best say a week, Heather," interrupted Vernon."In about a fortnight from now," I continued."Well, if you must put it off so long," he remarked, leaning back in his chair."But the question I have come here to-day to ask is this," I continued. "What is to become of my father?""The more proper thing for you to say, Heather Dalrymple, is this: What is to become of the man who has had the good fortune to marry Lady Helen Dalrymple?""But I don't think it a good fortune at all," I said. "Oh, Lady Helen, I must speak the truth; I can't beat about the bush any longer. My dear, my darling father is not a bit happy, not a bit! He did what he did – oh! it was so noble of him! – to – save your brother – I know the whole story. Oh, he was a hero! But must all his life be sacrificed because he is a hero? Your brother is in his grave; give my own dad back his freedom; let him come and live with Vernon and me!""Upon my word, I never heard of such a request in all my life!""But you will do it," I said. "There need be no scandal; you can go abroad or anywhere you like, and I am sure father will visit you sometimes, and no one need think anything about that, and – and you know you're not really fond of father, because if you were you would not make him so terribly unhappy. Oh, do let him come and live with us!""You take my breath away! You are the most audacious, dreadful girl I ever came across. What do you take me for?""Lady Helen, I know you have a heart somewhere."She looked at me. The rims round her eyes were blackened, her eyebrows were artificially darkened, her face was powdered – could I get at any soul behind that much bedecked exterior? Bedecked, do I call it? Disfigured is the word I ought to use."Lady Helen," I said suddenly, "give my father his happiness! Don't, oh, don't be cruel to him any longer, I beg of you, I beseech of you!""Child, don't make a fool of yourself." Lady Helen rose."Listen, you good people," she said. "This little Heather Dalrymple, my stepdaughter, would never have thought of such an absurd and ridiculous scheme but for you; you, Miss Despard, and you, Captain Carbury, thought this thing out. You wanted to drag me before the world as a woman separated from her husband; you thought to disgrace me before the eyes of the world, and you imagined that I would obey the whim of a child. I know better. Heather, I distinctly and once for all refuse your request.""Then, madam, it is my turn to say something," cried Vernon."You must say it pretty quickly, sir, for my motor-car will be round in a few minutes.""I fear your car must wait. You have an important matter to listen to. It is this. You love your brother, and we all, even the most hardened of us, have a feeling of respect towards the dead. But I can at least assure you that there is such a thing as even greater respect for the living who have been wronged, and the entire story of Major Grayson's conduct shall be published before the world unless you agree to what this young lady proposes. He will come out very much a hero, I fancy; but your conduct in the matter will not be quite so gratifying to you and your friends.""I echo every single word that Captain Carbury says!" exclaimed Aunt Penelope. "I am very outspoken, and from first to last I have always detested everything I have heard about you, Lady Helen; and now that I see you I hate you more than ever. It would give me sincere pleasure to drag your crime into the light. What right had you to work on the feelings of the most tender-hearted of men in order to save your brother from the shame and the punishment his sin deserved? My poor noble brother-in-law volunteered to take your wicked brother's place. Why, Lady Helen, it was a Christ-like deed! The least he can get for the rest of his days, poor fellow, is peace and happiness. Oh, yes, you can refuse, but the moment you do so the whole of this affair shall be placed in the hands of my solicitors, for I am determined that my brother-in-law and my niece's father shall no longer be considered unworthy to be a true soldier of our late Queen.""You can leave me," said Lady Helen. "Go at once, all three of you; don't attempt to stay another moment in my presence. You drive me mad! Go – go – go! Oh, I shall have hysterics! I – Heather, ring the bell; my maid must come to me; I feel the attack coming on. Oh, you awful people! Heather, you can stay if you like; you don't mean to be cruel, I know you don't. I who have suffered so sorely – I who am broken-hearted! But leave me, you two others; leave me at once – at once!""Not until my niece goes with me do I stir one step out of this room," said Aunt Penelope."Well, Heather child, if you must go you must. Oh, try to turn their wicked, cruel hearts! but I – yes I – ""What do you mean to do?" said Vernon. "You haven't told us that yet.""Nothing, I tell you – nothing. You can't be so cruel – so monstrous!""Miss Despard's address is 90a, Torrington Square, W.C.," said Vernon, in his calmest voice; "that address will find her and Heather and me any time between now and noon to-morrow. If at noon to-morrow we have not heard from you, we shall be forced to draw our own conclusions – namely, that you have refused to consider Heather's most natural petition, that she should be allowed to make her father happy. It will then be our duty to put the matter absolutely into the hands of Messrs. Fenchurch and Grace, Miss Despard's solicitors."Lady Helen sank back again in her chair, her eyes shone with feverish hate."Leave me, you terrible people!" she said. "Go, all of you!"We went.CHAPTER XXIIWe said very little to each other that night at the comfortable little hotel. I think we were all very tired. Aunt Penelope went early to bed, Vernon and I stayed downstairs and talked about our future. We talked languidly, however; our thoughts were not even with our own happy future at that moment. I was thinking all the time of my father, and I know well that Vernon was thinking of him also. Aunt Penelope went to bed between nine and ten o'clock; it was between ten and eleven when the door of the private sitting-room was flung open and a servant announced: "Major Grayson," and my dear father came in. His face was flushed, and his eyes looked feverishly bright. He came up to us both with his hands extended."My dear, good, kind children," he said; then he paused for a minute until the waiter had shut the door. Then he took me into his arms and kissed me half a dozen times, and then he wrung Vernon's hand and said, "My dear boy – my good boy!" Afterwards we all got a little calmer and sat down, I sinking close to father's side and Vernon standing opposite to us."Come, now," said father, after a minute's pause, "you must give it all up, you know. Yes, Vernon, my boy, you must give it up, and so must that dear Pen, and so must my little Heather. I am but fulfilling a promise made long years ago. You none of you understand. I'll pull along somehow, in some kind of fashion, but I won't drag that poor woman's name into the dust. You see, my children, she doesn't know what it means, but I do. I have plenty of strength in me – the great strength of innocence, which supported me all through my terrible period of imprisonment, and also the strength which is but seldom given to a woman. Anyhow, she is not to suffer; I put down my foot. She has told me all; I found her in a terrible state; I had to send a doctor to her. She is in bed now; he was obliged to give her a soothing draught. Children, both of you, I shall live in your happiness, and my own does not matter. I can't desert Helen Dalrymple, and, what's more, I won't!""Oh, Daddy!" I said. "Oh, Daddy!"I laid my head on his shoulder and began to sob."I can't live without you," I whispered, and I pressed my lips to his rough cheek and kissed him. He put his arm round me very firmly."You will live and be very happy, little girl. And now, look here; I could not leave our house in Hanbury Square until Helen was asleep, then I thought I'd come round and have a talk with you. When she wakens she must be told that you are not going to do anything. She will drop you out of her life, Heather, and so much the better – yes, so much the better. I can get a promise out of her that I shall come and see you now and again, and when I do come I can assure you, my two dear young people, I shall be as jolly as a sand-boy; you won't have anything to complain of on that score. But while I'm here I'll just hold to the bargain I made long years ago.""Oh, father, father!" I said. "Why did you make it? Why did you do it? Why did you sacrifice yourself for her and for that man?""Hush, child! You can't read all a man's motives. At that time I – I really cared for Lady Helen. Not, perhaps, Heather, as I loved your mother, but I was fond of her, undoubtedly; and if this trouble had never come I should probably have married her. She loved me too. I'll tell you one or two things I left out the other day. I had proposed to her long before that fearful scandal came to our ears in connection with her brother. She had refused me. I had begged and prayed her to be my wife, but she had firmly refused. Then I got into debt; I always was an extravagant slap-dash sort of person. I was very unhappy, and I brought you back to England – you remember that time, don't you, little woman?""Oh, yes," I said, trying to bring my thoughts back to the distant past."She wanted me to do so. She thought it very bad to have a child as old as you in India. I settled with your aunt to keep you. My debts haunted me and although Lady Helen refused to marry me, she lent me money to pay my debts. I went back to India, and then the thunderclap came. Lady Helen's brother would undoubtedly have been arrested if I had not thrown myself into the breach. I thought out a plan very quickly; I liked Helen and I pitied her, and I did not think my own life worth saving. I went to Helen and told her that I could put the officers of justice off the scent and get the crime fastened on myself, and I would do so on condition that she married me when I came out of prison. She agreed, and there we are. Now, my dear Heather, as that's the story, I could not go back from my bargain now.""It was a very bad bargain for you," I could not help saying. I trembled very much, and the tears rolled down my cheeks."But we must keep our bargains, whether they are good or bad, Heather," whispered my father to me. "That is the law of life: as we sow we shall reap. And I am not altogether unhappy, not since this good fellow has found out the truth and I am cleared in his eyes, and in the eyes of you, my child, and in my sister-in-law's eyes. Nothing else greatly matters. Heather, you are in the morning of your days, I am in the evening of life. When we come to the evening of life nothing concerns us, except so to live that we may fear God and do His commandments, and so fulfil the duty of man. That's about all, child. I am more grateful to you than I can say, and more than grateful to you, Carbury. Give poor dear Pen my love when she wakes, and tell her that it is quite all right – yes, quite all right. I am in the evening of life, and I will do my duty worthily to the very end."As father said the last words he got up. He took me in his arms and kissed me; there was a solemnity about his kiss, and his dear, bright blue eyes looked softer than I had seen them for a long time."Heather, you're the image of your mother," he said abruptly. "And she – bless her memory! – she was the one woman in all the world for me."Then he wrung Vernon's hand and went away. We could not detain him. I sat up for a little longer with Vernon, and then I went upstairs to bed. Vernon was staying in an hotel not far away.All that long night I lay awake, not for one minute could I slumber. My past seemed to come before my eyes, it seemed to torture me. I felt somehow as though I were passing into a region of great darkness, as though I were going – I, myself – through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. What right – oh, what right had I to be happy when my father, my darling father, was thought so cruelly of by the world! I felt I could not bear it. I got up, I paced the floor, I drank cold water, I went to bed again, I tried every dodge for coaxing sleep to come to me, but sleep would not obey my mandate. At last morning broke, and with the first blush of dawn I got up. I was downstairs and in the breakfast-room when Vernon appeared. He brought in some beautiful roses; he laid them on my plate."Have you told Aunt Penelope yet?" he asked."No," I replied. "I have not seen her since last night."Just at that moment my dear auntie entered the room."Well, children," she said, "I hope you have slept well. I have. I have got a great accession of strength and am determined to go right through with this matter. We'll wait here, as promised, until twelve o'clock, then we'll go straight to my solicitors, and, hey, presto! the thing is done. That fine madam will be down on her knees to us before the day is over. I know the sort – horrible, painted wretch!""You will have some breakfast before you do anything else, won't you?" said Vernon.He took the head of the breakfast table. Really nothing could ever discompose Captain Carbury. He poured out tea and coffee for us both. Aunt Penelope ate her breakfast with appetite; then she desired me to sit by the window and watch."We have given her till twelve o'clock, but the woman may send round long before then, that's what I am expecting."I looked at Vernon. The waiter had removed the breakfast things; we had the room to ourselves. Vernon went and shut the door, then he came up to Aunt Penelope and took her hand."Twelve o'clock won't make any difference, my dear friend," he said."Why, what on earth do you mean, Vernon?" was her remark. "You surely are not backing out of it!""Heather and I can have nothing to do with it.""You and Heather? what nonsense you talk! I don't believe I am hearing you aright.""Yes, you are. Major Grayson was here last night; he came after you had gone to bed. He doesn't wish it done; he says he will abide by his bargain. He is as brave a soldier as I have ever come across, and for my part I don't see why he should be deprived of his laurel wreath.""Oh, what are you talking about!" said Aunt Penelope. "His laurel wreath! Why, you know as well as I do that he's cashiered from the army. And you call that a glory, or whatever else you consider a laurel wreath!""In the eyes of God he is a hero, and he doesn't much mind what man says. Now, I'll tell you everything. You've got to listen – you can't go against a noble spirit like his."Aunt Penelope fidgeted and trembled. A great spot of pink colour came on one of her cheeks, leaving the other pale."Well, have your say," she murmured. "Have your say, I'm sure I don't care."But when Vernon had done speaking, there was my dear old auntie crying as though her heart would break. I was about to comfort her, or at least to try to do so, when there came a hasty knock at the door. A servant appeared with a telegram on a salver. Vernon tore it open, it was addressed to him, and had been brought across from his hotel. His face turned pale."There is no answer," he said to the man, who withdrew. Then he put his hand on my shoulder, and with his other hand he drew Aunt Penelope to her feet."I have something to tell you both," he said. "We are sent for; we have to go to Hanbury Square. There has been a very bad accident. I cannot quite understand this telegram, but he is hurt. His motor came into collision with another last night, and he was thrown out and hurt rather badly on his head. It may not be a great deal; it may be – everything. We are to go at once."Now I knew why I had lain awake all that long night, why I had felt instinctively that there was a dark cloud coming up and up and enveloping my sky. I did not say a word. There are times when one cannot shed tears, tears are so inadequate. I ran upstairs and put on my hat and jacket, and Aunt Penelope stumbled after me and got into her outdoor things, and Vernon had a carriage at the door, and in a few minutes we were off.A few minutes later we found ourselves in Hanbury Square. There were two doctors' carriages at the door, but they moved away to make room for us. We entered. The servants looked distracted, the solemn sort of order which always prevailed in that great house was lacking on that special morning. An elderly man, with a fine head and a shock of snow-white hair, was coming down the stairs. He turned in the hall and looked at us three, and especially he looked at me."Am I right or wrong," he said, "but do you happen to be the young lady my patient is calling out for?""Father," I said. "My father; you are speaking of my father?""I am speaking of Major Dalrymple.""He is my father.""And his name is Grayson," snapped Aunt Penelope.The doctor took no notice of her, but he put his hand on mine."You've got to be very brave, my dear," he said. "I'm glad you have come. He is ill, you know; in fact, rather bad; in fact, very bad. Come softly, I'll take you up to his room."I followed the doctor. We went up to the first floor. The doctor turned the handle of a door. There was a spacious room; within it looked like a hospital ward. Most of the furniture had been removed, the floor was covered with white linen, stretched very tightly over the thick carpet. A narrow bedstead had been drawn out into the centre of the room, the curtains had been removed. There was a table covered with white cloths, on which bottles had been placed. There were two trained nurses moving softly about the room.A man lay stretched on his back in the centre of the bed. I went quickly up to him.