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Great Secret

<h2 id="id01500" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXI</h2> <h5 id="id01501">"FOR YOU!"</h5> I found that a place had been allotted to me about half-way down the captain's table, on the right-hand side. My immediate neighbors were an Englishman, on his way to the States to buy some commodity in which he dealt, and a very old lady, quite deaf, in charge of a spinster daughter. Neither of them imposed upon me the necessity for conversation. I had, therefore, plenty of time to look around me, and take note of the people in whom I was interested. They were all seated together, at a small table in the far corner of the saloon. At the head of that table was a man whom I had not yet seen, but whom I at once knew to be Mr. de Valentin. He was tall, rather sallow, with a pointed, black beard, and he continually wore an eyeglass, set in a horn rim, with a narrow, black ribbon. On his right was the woman to whom Adèle had spoken upon the stairs. She wore a plain but elegant dinner-gown of some dark material. She was exquisitely coiffured, and obviously turned out by a perfectly trained maid. There were two girls at the table, whom I judged to be her daughters, and—Adèle. Adèle was seated so that I could see only her profile. I noticed, however, that she seemed to be eating little, and to be taking but a very small part in the conversation. Once or twice she leaned back in her chair, and looked round the saloon as though in search of some one. On the last of these occasions our eyes met, and she smiled slightly. Mrs. Van Reinberg, who was sitting opposite to her, leaned forward and asked some question. I judged that it concerned me, for immediately afterwards that lady herself raised her gold eyeglass, and favored me with a somewhat deliberate stare. Then she leaned forward again and made some remark to Adèle, the purport of which I could not guess. Dinner lasted a long time, but I was all the while interested. I was facing Adèle and her friends, so I could observe them all the time without being myself conspicuous. I was able to take note of the somewhat wearied graciousness of Mr. de Valentin, who seemed always to be struggling with a profound boredom; the almost feverish amiability of Mrs. Van Reinberg, and, in a lesser degree, her daughters; and the undoubted reserve with which Adèle seemed to protect herself from Mr. de Valentin's attentions. When at last they rose and left the saloon, I quickly followed their example. I put on an ulster, lit a cigar, and went up on deck. I found my chair on the sheltered side of the ship, and wrapping myself in a rug, prepared to spend a comfortable half-hour. But I had scarcely settled down before a little group of people came along the deck and halted close to me. A smooth-faced manservant, laden with a pile of magnificent rugs, struck a match and began to examine the labels on the chairs. Its flickering light was apparently sufficient for Adèle to recognize my features. "So you are going to join the fresh-air brigade, Mr. Courage," she remarked. "I think you are very wise. We found the music-room insufferable." "I can assure you that the smoke-room is worse, Miss Van Hoyt," I answered, struggling to my feet. "Can I find your chair for you?" "Thanks, the deck steward is bringing it," she answered. "Let me introduce you to my friends—Mrs. Van Reinberg—my stepmother, Miss Van Reinberg, Miss Sara Van Reinberg, Mr. de Valentin—Mr. Hardross Courage." I bowed collectively. Mr. de Valentin greeted me stiffly, Mrs. Van Reinberg and the Misses Van Reinberg, with a cordiality which somewhat surprised me. "I met your cousin, Sir Gilbert, in London, I think, Mr. Courage," she remarked. "He was kind enough to give us tea on the terrace at the House of Commons." I bowed. "Gilbert is rather fond of entertaining his friends there," I remarked. "It is the one form of frivolity which seems to appeal to him." "He was very kind," she continued. "He introduced a number of interesting people to us. The Duke of Westlingham is a relation of yours, is he not?" "My second cousin," I remarked. "Is this your first visit to America?" she asked. "I was once in Canada," I answered. "I have never been in the States." She smiled at me a little curiously. All the time I felt somehow that she was taking very careful note of my answers. "We say in my country, you know," she remarked, "that you Englishmen come to us for one of two things only—sport or a wife!" "I hope to get some of the former, at any rate," I answered. "As for the latter!" "Well?" "I have always thought of myself as a bachelor," I said; "but one's good fortune comes sometimes when one least expects it." I looked across at Adèle, and Mrs. Van Reinberg followed the direction of my eyes. She laughed shrilly, but she did not seem displeased. "If you Englishmen only made as good husbands as you do acquaintances," she said, "I should settle down in London with my girls and study matchmaking. I am afraid, though, that you have your drawbacks." "Tell me what they are," I begged, "and I will do my best to prove myself an exception." "You have too much spare time," she declared. "And you know what that leads to?" "Mr. Courage has not," Adèle interrupted. "He works really very hard indeed." "Works!" Mrs. Van Reinberg repeated incredulously. "At games!" Adèle declared. "He plays in cricket matches that last three days long. I saw him once at Lord's, and I can assure you that it looked like very hard work indeed." Mrs. Van Reinberg turned away with a laugh, and settled herself down into the little nest of rugs which her maid had prepared. "You young people can walk about, if you like," she said. "I am going to be comfortable. My cigarette case, Annette, and electric lamp. I shall read for half an hour." She dismissed us all. Adèle and I moved away as though by common consent. Mr. de Valentin followed with the two other girls, though I had noticed that his first impulse had been to take possession of Adèle. She avoided the others skilfully, however, and we strolled off to the farther end of the ship. "Your stepmother," I remarked, "seems to be a very amiable person!" "She can be anything she likes," Adèle answered—"upon occasions." We turned on to the weather side of the ship, which was almost deserted. Adèle glanced behind. Mr. de Valentin and the two girls were still within a few feet of us. "Do you mind walking on the lower deck?" she asked. "I want to talk to you, and I am sure that we shall be disturbed here." "With pleasure!" I answered quickly. "I, too, have something to say to you." We descended in silence to the promenade deck. Here we had the place almost to ourselves. Adèle did not beat about the bush. "Mr. Courage," she said, "tell me what you thought when you saw me on this steamer!" She looked me full in the face. Her beautiful eyes were full of anxiety. There was about her manner a nervousness which I had never before noticed. Her cheeks were paler, and with these indications of emotion, something of the mystery which had seemed to me always to cling to her personality had departed. She was more natural—more lovable. "I thought," I answered, "that it was part of the game!—that you were here to watch me. Isn't that the natural conclusion?" "Mr. Courage," she said, "please look at me." I faced her at once. Her eyes were fixed upon mine. "I am not here to watch you," she said quietly. "I came because I have decided to go back to my home in America, and live there quietly for a time. Whatever share I had in the events which led to Leslie Guest's death, these things do not interest me any more. I have finished." "I congratulate you," I answered. "I cannot tell you anything about those events, or my connection with them," she went on, "but I want you to believe that I have no longer any association with those who planned them. I am not here to spy upon you. I am not in communication with any one to whom your actions are of any interest. Will you believe this?" I hesitated for a moment. Her eyes held mine. It was not possible for me to disbelieve her. "I am glad to hear this," I said seriously. "You do not doubt me?" "I cannot," I answered. She drew a little sigh of relief. "And now," she said, "about yourself. Be as frank with me as I have been with you. Are you really the legatee of Guest's secret?" "You know that he told me certain things—before he died," I answered slowly. "Yes! But what are you going to do with the knowledge? Are you going to be wise and let fate take its course, or are you going to meddle in affairs which you know nothing about? Don't do it, Mr. Courage!" she exclaimed, with a sudden catch in her voice. "Leslie Guest was a diplomatist and a schemer all his life, and you know the penalty he paid. You have not the training or the disposition for this sort of thing. You would be foredoomed to failure. Don't do it!" I turned and looked at her. She was so much in earnest that her whole expression was transformed. The mysterious smile which was so often upon her lips, half supercilious, half mocking, was gone, and with it something of that elusiveness which had so often puzzled me! Her eyes met mine frankly and pleadingly, her fingers were upon my arm, and she was swaying a little towards me with the motion of the boat, so that I was tempted almost beyond measure to take her into my arms, and, with my lips upon hers, promise whatever she would have had me promise. It was only a moment of madness. The memory of other things came back to me. "It is very good of you," I said slowly, "to warn me. I know that I am not made of the stuff that Guest was. It is possible that I may—" "It is true, then," she interrupted breathlessly, "you are really meaning to go with his schemes?" "You take too much for granted," I answered. "Oh! don't let us misunderstand one another," she begged. "Tell me why you are on your way to America! Tell me why you are on this steamer, of all others." "I am going to shoot—out West," I said, "and I want to know something of your wonderful country-people!" She let her fingers slip from my arm. "You will tell me no more than that," she murmured. "I have nothing more to tell you," I answered. Once more she leaned towards me. The wind was blowing around us, she came closer as though seeking for the shelter of my body. I could smell the crushed violets, which she was still wearing at her bosom; her eyes were soft and bright, her lips were slightly parted. I took her into my arms—she clung to me for a moment—one long, delicious moment. "I have given it all up," she whispered, "for you! If I had told the truth, if I had told them that you knew, it would have meant death! You must forget, you must swear to forget." I held her tightly. "Dear Adèle," I whispered, "you are a woman who understands. Life and death come to all of us, but a coward could never deserve your love—you could never stoop to care for a man who thought of his life before his honor." "You are pledged!" she cried. "I must do what I can," I answered. She staggered away from me. "God help us both!" she murmured. I would have caught her to me again, but a dark figure was coming slowly down the deck. A little, yapping bark came from the deck at her feet. Nagaski was leaping up at his mistress. She stooped and picked him up. He showed me his teeth and snarled. "You really must make friends with Nagaski, Mr. Courage," she remarked, turning away. "Come, we must go back to the others! My stepmother will think that I am lost." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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