Harry left London at the end of the month, paid a couple of visits in England, then went to Scotland for the remainder of August, and loitered there, since he was at the same two houses as Evie till September had reached its second decade of days, and then travelled south again with her. She was on her way straight to Santa Margarita to spend the remainder of the month of months with her mother, and Harry saw her off by the boat express from Victoria, she having sternly and absolutely refused to let him do anything so foolish as to travel to Dover with her.

"You would propose coming to Calais next," she said, "and Calais is but a step to Paris. I know you, Harry. And—and how I hate the journey, and how I should love it if you were with me!"

"Oh, let me come!" said he.

"Not even to Herne Hill," and the train slid out of the vaulted gloom of the station.

Geoffrey joined him late on the same day, and next afternoon they set off together down to Vail. Stock brokering, it appeared, was like pheasants,[Pg 210] quite impossible in September, and he was going to spend the remainder of the month with Harry, unless some unforeseen urgency called him back. This, he considered, was not in the least degree likely to happen, for the unforeseen so seldom occurs.

"The house is all upside down, Geoff," said Harry to him as they drove from the station; "and all the time which you do not employ in getting severe electric shocks over unprotected wires, you will probably spend in falling into hot and cold water alternately upstairs. The housemaids\' closets seem to me just now the only really important thing in England. I thought it better not to tell you all this before we started, for fear of your not coming."

"Oh, I can always go back," said Geoffrey. "Is Mr. Francis there?"

"Just now he is, but he is going away in a few days," said Harry. "In fact, he is only waiting till I come, to put the unprotected wires into my hands."

"Is he well?"

"Yes, extraordinarily well, and he asked after you in his last letter to me. Also he seems wonderfully happy at the thought of my marriage. So we are both pleased. Well, I\'m sure I don\'t wonder; it will be a sort of death blow to that tragedy twenty years old and more now, a sort of seal and attestation of the vileness of the suspicion. Besides, you know, it\'s pretty nice for any one to have Evie in the house always."

[Pg 211]

"Is he going to continue being with you, then?" asked Geoffrey.

"Certainly; as much as he will. Evie and I settled all that without any disagreement, thank you. He is also thinking of having a little ventre à terre, as somebody said, in town, a sort of little independence of his own. I am delighted that he will; six months ago he couldn\'t bear the thought of going about among people again, but now it is all changed: he will begin to live again, after all these years. Dear old fellow, what a good friend he has been to me! Fancy caring about people of twenty or so, when you are over seventy. What wonderful vitality!"

Whatever shadow of approaching cloud, so thought Geoffrey, might darken Lady Oxted\'s view of the future, it was clear that to Harry there could not have been a more serene horizon. Since that first afternoon down at Oxted he had not exchanged a further word with her or any one else on the subject, and by degrees that ghastly conversation had grown gradually fainter in his mind, and it was to him now more of the texture of a remembered nightmare than an actual experience. For several days afterward, it is true, it had remained very unpleasantly vivid to him; she had been so ingenious in her presentation of undeniable facts that at the time, and perhaps for a fortnight afterward, it had nearly seemed to him that Mr. Francis had been plotting with diabolical ingenuity against this match. If such were the case, his apparent delight at it assumed an aspect[Pg 212] infinitely grave and portentous; his smiles would have been creditable to a fiend. But as the sharper edge of memory grew dulled, these thoughts, which had never been quite sufficiently solid to be called sober suspicions, became gradually nebulous again. Two circumstances had been the foundation of Lady Oxted\'s theory, each separately capable of explanation, and in making a judgment so serious it was the acme of unfairness, so it seemed to him now, to put the two together and judge. Each must be weighed and considered on its separate merits, and if neither had weight alone, then neither had weight together. There had been darker insinuations to follow; at these Geoffrey now laughed, so baseless appeared their fabric. Dr. Armytage might or might not be a reputable man, but the idea of connecting his visit to Vail, when one remembered how long he had known Mr. Francis, with something sinister and unspoken with regard to Harry, was really a triumph for the diseased imagination which is one of the sequel? of influenza.

Oddly enough, as if by thought transference, Harry\'s next words bore some relation to this train of ideas which had been passing through Geoffrey\'s mind.

"Do you remember that evening when we went to find Dr. Godfrey, Geoff?" he said. "Well, I have so often thought about it since that I have determined to tell Uncle Francis about it, and ask him to explain it all."

[Pg 213]

This appeared an excellent plan to Geoffrey, for, little as he believed in the solidity of Lady Oxted\'s bubbles of imagination, it would still be a good thing to have them pricked.

"Do," he said. "Ask him some time when I am there. I should like to see his face when his little ruse is exposed. It might be a useful lesson. Personally, I never know how to look when my little ruses are discovered."

Harry laughed.

"There\'s an excellent explanation behind, you may be sure of that," he said.

Accordingly, at dinner that night, in a pause in the conversation, Harry suddenly asked:

"Seen Dr. Godfrey again, Uncle Francis?"

"No, I have had no occasion to send for him, I am thankful to say," he answered. "I have been wonderfully well these last two months."

"Geoff and I went to see him one night at 32 Wimpole Street," continued Harry. "Oh, we were not going to consult him. But we just went to his house."

It would have been hard to say whether a pause followed this speech. In any case it was but a moment before Mr. Francis broke out into his hearty, cheerful laugh.

"And I\'ll be bound you didn\'t go in!" he cried. "Dear Godfrey, he would have been delighted to see you, though. Ah, Harry! what a good thing you and I are friends! We are always finding each other out. So you actually went to 32 Wimpole Street, and found not Dr. Godfrey on[Pg 214] the plate, but Dr. Armytage. How did you get his address, you rascal?"

"Your \'Where is it?\' was lying on your table the last night I was here, when I worked at the electric-light estimates. I turned to G."

"Simple," said Mr. Francis. "Everything is simple when you know all about it. And my explanation is simple too. I didn\'t want you to go to Armytage, and fuss yourself about me, so, when you asked me for his name, I told you, if you remember, his Christian name—Godfrey—and I am afraid I gave you the wrong address. He is a dear fellow, a dear good fellow, but the sort of man who warns you against tetanus, if you cut yourself shaving. He would certainly have alarmed you, how unnecessarily look at me now and judge. He knows too much; I am always telling him so. He knows how many things may go wrong, and he bears them all in mind. Yes, my dear boy, I deceived you purposely. Do you acquit me? I throw myself on your mercy, but I beg you to bear in mind how kindly were my intentions."

"Without a stain on your character," said Harry.

Coffee was brought in at this moment, Templeton as usual bearing the case of the Luck, which had been the centrepiece at dinner.

"Ah! they are going to put the Luck to bed," said Harry. "I drink to the Luck. Get up, Geoff."

Geoffrey rose in obedience to the toastmaster,[Pg 215] and, looking across at Mr. Francis, saw that his hand trembled a little. His genial smile was there, but it seemed to Geoffrey, in that momentary glance he had of him over the flowers, that it was a smile rather of habit than happiness. His glass was full, and a few drops were spilled as he raised it to his mouth. The thing, trivial as it was, struck him with a curious sense of double consciousness: it seemed to him that this was a repetition of some previous experience, exact in every particular. But it passed off immediately, and the vague, rather uncomfortable impression it made on him sank below the surface of his mind. It was already dim as soon as it was made.

"So we are together again, we three," said Mr. Francis, when he had drunk to the Luck, and carefully watched its stowage in its case. "It is like those jolly times we had last Christmas, when this dear fellow came of age. What a chapter of little misfortunes he had too! When he was not slipping on the steps, he was falling into the fire; when he was not falling into the fire, he was catching a severe chill!"

"Not my fault," said Harry. "It was all the Luck!"

"Dear boy, you are always jesting about the Luck! Do be careful, Harry; if you do not take care, some day you will find that you have fancied yourself into believing it. Six, eight months have passed since then; what have you suffered since at the hands of fire and frost and rain?"

"Ah! don\'t you see?" cried Harry. "The[Pg 216] curse came first; then the Luck itself. I met Evie. Is not that stupendous? Perhaps the curse will wake up again, and I shall sprain my ankle worse than before, and burn my hand more seriously, before—before the middle of November. I don\'t care; it\'s cheap, and I wonder they can turn out happiness at such a trifling cost. I suspect there\'s no sweating commission at the place where the old scoundrel who made the Luck has gone!"

Mr. Francis looked really pained.

"Come, come, Harry," he said gravely. "Let us go, boys. They will be wanting to clear away."

This implication of rebuke nettled Harry. He was a little excited, a little intoxicated with his joy of life, a little headstrong with youth and health, and he did not quite relish being pulled up like this, even though only before Geoffrey. But he did not reply, and with a scarcely perceptible shrug of his shoulders followed Mr. Francis out. Shortly after, his uncle got out his flute, and melodies of Corelli and Baptiste tinkled merrily under the portraits of the race.

Next day uncle and nephew had estate business to occupy them; "their work," Mr. Francis gaily declared, \'twould, like topmost Jargarus, take the morning, and Geoffrey was given a dog and a keeper and a gun to amuse himself till lunch time. He wanted nothing better, and soon after breakfast he was off and away for all he could find in wood and hedgerow. The stubbles only[Pg 217] and the small brown bird were dedicated for to-morrow.

Mr. Francis and Harry worked on till one, but on the striking of that hour the latter revolted.

"I can\'t go on any more," he said. "I simply can\'t. Come out till lunch, Uncle Francis; it is only an hour."

Mr. Francis smiled and shook his head.

"Not to-day, dear boy," he replied; "there is this packet of letters I have to get through before the post. But do you get out, Harry, and sweep the cobwebs away."

Harry stood up, stretching himself after the long session.

"Cobwebs—what cobwebs?" he asked.

"Those in your curly head."

"There are no such cobwebs. O Uncle Francis, as we are talking of cobwebs, I want to get that summerhouse on the knoll put in order—the one close to the ice house, I mean. Have you the keys? By the way, which is which?"

Mr. Francis was writing, and, as Harry spoke, though he did not look up, his pen ceased travelling.

"Yes, a very good idea," he said, after a moment. "The keys are in the cabinet there; two of the same, the same key fits both. Indeed"—and his pen began slowly moving again—"indeed, you will find plenty of cobwebs there. The summerhouse is the one on the left as you ascend the knoll going from the house. Don\'t go plunging into the ice house by mistake. They are both[Pg 218] shuttered on the inside; it would be a good thing if you were to open all the windows, and let them get a good blow out. Shall I—oh, no! I must stick to my work."

Harry found the keys, and as he turned to leave the room—

"The one on the left is the summerhouse?" he asked again.

"Yes, the one on the left," said Mr. Francis, again fully absorbed in his writing.

Harry, key in hand, went out whistling and hatless. The morning was a page out of heaven, and as he strolled slowly up the steep, grassy bank, where the two outhouses stood, with the scents and sounds of life and summer vivid in eye and nostril, he felt that his useful occupation of the hours since breakfast had been a terrible waste, when he might have been going quietly and alert with Geoffrey through cover and up hedgerow, to the tapping of sticks and the nosing of the spaniels. However, he had been through the farm accounts with minute care; there would be no call for such another morning till the closing of the next quarter.

The two buildings toward which he went were exactly alike, of a hybrid kiosk sort of appearance, fantastic and ridiculous, yet vaguely pleasing. Each was octagonal, with three blank sides, four windows, and a door. Still whistling and full of pleasant thoughts, he fitted the key into the lock of the one to the left hand, and turning it, walked in. The interior was dark, for, as Mr.[Pg 219] Francis had told him, all the windows were shuttered inside, and coming out of the bright sunlight, for a moment or two he saw nothing. For the same reason, no doubt, it struck him as being very cold.

He had taken three or four rather shuffling steps across the paved floor when suddenly he stopped. Somehow, though he saw nothing, his ear instinctively, hardly consciously, warned him that the sound of his steps was not normal. There should have been—the whole feeling was not reasoned, but purely automatic and instinctive—no echo to them in so circumscribed a building, but an echo there was, faint, hollow, and remote, but audible. At this his whistling stopped, his steps also, and drawing a loose match from his trousers pocket he struck a match. Less than another pace in front of him was a black space, on which the match cast no illumination; it remained black.

Harry felt a little beady dew break out on his forehead and on the short down of his upper lip, but his nerves did not tell him that he was afraid. He waited exactly where he was, till the match had burned more bravely, and then he chucked it forward over the blackness. It went through it, and for two or three seconds no sound whatever came to him. Then he heard a little expiring hiss.

Still not conscious of fright, he went back, with the light of another match, for the door had swung shut behind him, and in another moment[Pg 220] was out again, with the sweet, soft sunshine round him and the firm grass beneath his feet. He looked round; yes, he had gone to the left-hand building, the one his uncle had told him was the summerhouse. He had nearly, also, not come out again.

At this sobering reflection a belated spasm of fear, for he had felt none at the moment of danger, seized him, but laying violent hold of himself he marched up to the other door, unlocked it, and throwing it open, waited on the threshold till his eyes had got accustomed to the darkness. Then seeing a couple of wicker tables and some garden chairs peer through the gloom, he went in turn to each window, unshuttered it, and threw it open.

At this moment the iron gate leading into the woods close behind clanged suddenly, and with a jump that testified to his jangled nerves he looked out. It was Geoffrey, gun on shoulder, coming back to the house. Harry leaned out of the window.

"Come in here, Geoff," he said.

Geoffrey looked round.

"Halloo; have you been opening the old summerhouse?" he asked.

"Yes," said Harry, very deliberately, "I\'ve been opening the old summerhouse."

Geoffrey handed his gun to the keeper, who was close behind him, and vaulted in through one of the open windows.

"Rare good morning we\'ve had," he said.[Pg 221] "You should have come, Harry. Why, you look queer! What\'s the matter?"

Harry had sat down in one of the garden chairs, and was leaning back, feeling suddenly faint.

"I\'ve had the devil of a fright," he said. "I went gaily marching into the ice house by mistake, and only just stopped on the lip of the ice tank or the well—I don\'t know which it was. Either would probably have done."

"Lord! how can you be such an ass?" cried Geoffrey. "You knew that one of the two was an ice house, and yet you go whistling along out of the sunshine into pit-mirk, and never reflect that the chances are exactly even that next moment you will be in Kingdom Come."

"Give me a cigarette, and don\'t jaw," said Harry, and he smoked a minute or two without speaking.

"Say nothing about this to my uncle," he said at length. "I believe it would frighten him to death. I asked him just before I came out which was the summerhou............