after that extraordinary conversation with allen's housekeeper, dora returned home more mystified than ever. like everyone else, mrs. tice hinted at secrets of the past likely to affect the future, yet refused any explanation of such hints. edermont and joad acted in the same unsatisfactory way, and allen, to avoid questioning, absented himself from her presence. it was all very tiresome, she thought, and perfectly inexplicable. only one fact stood out clearly in dora's mind, namely, that lady burville was responsible for all this confusion; therefore, she argued, lady burville must hold the clue to a possible disentanglement. this was logical.
had dora obeyed the impulse of her nature, she would have gone directly to the cause of these perplexities and have demanded an unravelment. she would have put her questions in the crudest form, thus:
"my guardian was moved by the sight of you, and he orders me to avoid you. your name formed the gist of conversation between my guardian and my lover, with the result that mr. edermont tells me i shall never marry allen. mrs. tice, who is ignorant of your inexplicable influence, asserts the same thing; and the creature joad hints that you knew allen's father. on the surface these matters appear to be disconnected and incoherent; but i feel certain that a word from you will render them explicable. you must say that word to me, since it is upon me that the trouble you have created has descended."
so dora thought, ranging the facts in such vague order as her ignorance permitted; but as she did not know lady burville, and had no plausible excuse for seeking her, she was forced to remain in ignorance for want of the explanation which she felt sure the woman could have supplied.
in her present dilemma, dora, with her usual good sense, recognised that there was nothing to be done but to remain quiescent, and wait. later on allen would return from london--indeed, mrs. tice expected him back that day--and then he would be forced to explain his conduct. that explanation might put the matter in a plain light, and do away with the fiats of mrs. tice and edermont regarding the impossibility of her marriage with allen. come what might, dora was resolved that she would not give up her lover and spoil her life. but, pending explanation and resultant adjustment of the situation, she held her peace, and waited. the future was--the future. dora knew no more than that.
for a week after that day of mysteries, life progressed as usual at the red house. joad came and went with his usual punctuality, and eyed dora in a furtive manner, with a distinct avoidance of explanation. edermont recovered his nerve to some extent, and moved in his accustomed petty orbit; and dora, lacking other interests, attended to her household duties. to a casual spectator, all things would seem to be going on as usual, the life would have appeared tranquil and dull; but this was but surface calm. beneath, dangerous elements were at work, which later on were destined to--but it is no use to recur to the hackneyed simile of a sleeping volcano.
all these seven days nothing was heard of lady burville or of allen. the former still continued to be a guest at hernwood hall, the latter still remained in london. not a line had been received from him by dora, and, hurt in her maidenly pride, she became offended by his continued silence. whatever extraneous circumstances had led to his behaviour, she had not caused the breach--for breach she considered it--between them. twice or thrice she had determined to go over to canterbury and question mrs. tice, but pride withheld her. she remained at the red house, waiting, waiting, and waiting. what else could she do?
mention has been made of the high wall which surrounded the mansion of mr. edermont. this had been built by himself, and contained only two entrances, one from the road--a tall gate with spikes on the top--the other, a little door far down the right side. the house itself, like these gates, was kept always bolted and barred, and mr. edermont confessed to a fear of robbers. but, bearing in mind his particular prayer in the litany, dora was certain in her own mind that a greater fear than this moved him to take such precautions.
when joad had retired to his cottage at nine o'clock, mr. edermont accompanied him personally to the gates, and saw that they were bolted and barred. afterwards he examined the side postern, and then retreated to the mansion, where he closed the iron-clamped shutters and locked every door throughout the house. the woman who cooked and cleaned, and did all the work, was locked up in the kitchen, with bedroom adjoining, like a prisoner; dora was barred in her own set of rooms, and mr. edermont shut himself up in equal isolation. ever since dora could remember, these precautions had been taken, and by night she felt as though she were in gaol. certainly burglars could not break in; but, on the other hand, none of the three inmates could get out unless permitted to do so by the caprice of mr. edermont. and on this point he had no caprice.
a week after his conversation with allen--the conversation which had terminated in so unexpected a manner--edermont sat in his study. this was a small oak-panelled room on the left side of the house, and was entered directly from the hall. it was plainly, even penuriously, furnished, containing little beyond a bureau of innumerable drawers and cupboards, a dingy sofa, and three chairs, the most comfortable of which was placed in front of the desk. on the walls were paintings dark with age, and an assortment of flint pistols, ancient swords, savage weapons from africa and the south seas, and portions of rusty armour. a window looked out directly on the lawn, but there were two doors, one of which led into the hall, the other, on the opposite side, into the faded and lonely drawing-room, which was never used. this latter apartment had three windows in the same position as that of the study, and also a glass-door with shutters at the side of the house. the view from this door was bounded by a hedge of untrimmed laurel-trees. so much for the scene. now for the drama.
to edermont, seated at his desk on this particular morning, entered joad, with a card held between a dingy finger and thumb. he advanced towards his friend with a malignant grin, and dropped the card on to the blotting-pad.
"here is something likely to startle you, julian," said he with his usual familiarity. "mr. augustus pallant, on behalf of laura burville, is waiting to see you."
the miserable edermont turned pale, and began to whimper.
"oh, lambert, do you think he means to do me harm?"
"if he does, it is on behalf of your dear laura," replied joad quietly; "you had better pluck up your courage, julian, and see him."
"it might be dangerous, lambert. oh dear, terribly dangerous!"
"it will be more dangerous if you don't see the man."
"why so? after twenty years laura can do nothing."
"i am not so sure of that, julian. she might tell dora who she is."
the mere suggestion struck a blow at the timid heart of edermont.
"i'll see him! i'll see him!" he cried, getting nervously on his feet. "admit him, lambert, and bring him here. but"--he buttonholed his friend--"remain within hearing, lambert. he might do me an injury. i am not strong, you know."
"you are a contemptible little coward!" snarled joad, shaking him off. "i'll look after you. there is too much to lose for me to risk your death."
edermont threw up his hands with a cry.
"not that word, lambert; there can be no danger after twenty years. 'from battle and murder, and from sudden death, good lord, deliver us.'"
as was his custom, joad sneered at this prayer, which edermont had offered up daily for the last twenty years, and went out of the house. in a few minutes he returned with a tall, red-haired man, whom he introduced silently into the study. after the introduction he closed the door, and went across to his favourite seat under the cedar to await events. the first which occurred was the coming of dora.
she had seen the introduction of the stranger from her window, and, wondering what the visit might portend--for visitors were rare at the red house--she waited a reasonable time, then sought joad on the lawn. he looked up at her graceful figure with admiration in his eyes--a look which dora resented. it had occurred to her on more than one occasion that, notwithstanding his age and physical defects, this creature, as she termed him, had presumed to fall in love with her. however, as at present he limited his mistaken passion to looks, she merely frowned at his amorous glances, and asked her question.
"why has mr. pallant called?" she demanded.
"how do you know that is his name?" asked joad, without altering his position.
"dr. scott described him to me," she said curtly. "why has he called?"
"julian can answer that question better than i can," answered joad, with a chuckle at baffling her curiosity, and returned to his reading.
dora, who knew that he revenged himself thus for the frown she had bestowed on him, strove to assuage his childish petulance.
"i think you might be civil, mr. joad," said she in an offended tone. "i have no friend but you."
"what about allen scott?"
"there is no question of friendship there," said dora stiffly. "allen scott is my affianced husband."
"ho, ho! your affianced husband!" jeered silenus, grinning. "well, miss dora, while dr. scott holds that position, i am no friend to you."
"why not?" asked dora, nettled by the hinted menace in his tone.
"it's too long to explain; it's too early yet for plain speaking. but look you here, miss dora: a man is as old as he feels, not as he looks. i feel twenty-two--and at twenty-two"--he leant forward with a sly smile--"one falls in love."
"you are talking nonsense!" retorted miss carew, drawing back; "and your conversation is not to the point. i ask you why mr. pallant called to see my guardian."
"and i answer as i answered before," replied joad, rendered sullen by the rebuff, "that you had better ask julian. as i am not your friend, you can't ask me to tell you my secrets."
"i don't want to know your secrets, but those of mr. edermont."
"then, speak to the right person," said joad rudely. "i am not julian."
after which speech he began reading again, utterly oblivious of the presence of the girl he admired. dora made no reply, but went back to the house. at the door she was met by her guardian in a state of wild excitement. he ran out, shouting and holding out his hands. behind him appeared the tall and well-dressed form of mr. pallant.
"dora! lambert!" shouted edermont wildly. "congratulate me! my nightmare is at an end! i am free! i am safe!"
then he ran over to joad, and talked to him with much gesticulation.
thinking her guardian had suddenly gone out of his mind, dora turned to mr. pallant for an explanation. he stared at her with undisguised admiration, and she resented it, as she had done that of joad, with a frown.
"what is the matter with mr. edermont?" she asked abruptly.
"why," said mr. pallant in a slow and sleepy voice, "i have brought him some good news."
"what good news?"
"i think mr. edermont will inform you himself," said pallant.
and at that moment edermont, still overwhelmed with joy, came running back.
"i am safe--safe!" he shouted; "and after twenty years of dread. no more of the litany, no more of the--o god!"
his joy was too much for him, and he rolled over on the ground in a dead faint, at the very feet of dora and pallant.
