CHAPTER XXV

THE GOD OF THE MACHINE

Lionel stared dumbly for a moment, not completely realizing what had

happened. Then he jumped up with a wry smile. "You must think me a poor

watcher," he said, inwardly cursing his sleepiness. "I was so busy

waiting and thinking of you that I suppose I must have--I imagine I

have--that is, I fell asleep. Did you come by train?"

"Yes," she said. It would be idle to say "in the well-remembered tones."

Her voice was identical with Winifred's: her appearance, gesture,

carriage--all were Winifred's; but the telepathy of love told Lionel the

myriad differences between the sisters, differences impalpable,

impossible to define or even hint at, but differences that were real, if

psychological. "I came by the four-thirty, and walked from the station."

"Then--good heavens! what time is it?"

"Six o'clock," she said with a smile. "How long have you been asleep?"

"It must be at least three hours," said Lionel in rueful amazement.

"Fancy wasting three hours of a day like this in sleep! But don't let us

waste any more. Tell me all about yourself, your plans, everything. You

are well?" he added anxiously, though the question was needless.

"Perfectly. And you?"

"Quite fit, thanks." And a silence fell between them. It seemed odd that

there should be a silence, for so much had happened since they last met.

Lionel had been living in a penny novelette, and her fate could not have

been much more fortunate. Yet now they seemed to have nothing to say

beyond the commonplaces of friendly acquaintanceship. It was Lionel who

broke the silence.

"You must let me say that...." He stopped. He could not honestly say he

was sorry for the death of Lukos, so he changed the form of his

statement: "--that I am sorry for your trouble. You know it already, but

I should like to tell it you.... I suppose it must be true?"

"Thank you," Beatrice replied evenly. "Yes, I expect it is true; but, as

I wrote to you, I am going to make sure."

"Is that wise?"

"Perhaps not, but I mean to go."

Lionel did not attempt to argue with her, to reason or persuade. The

finality of tone and his knowledge of the woman made him give up at once

any thought of such a useless effort. "But I go with her," he resolved,

"either as husband or servant. And if she won't take me, I'll go on my

own if I have to steal a ride under the train!"

"Did you call at the house?" he asked.

"I came straight across here, seeing you the moment I entered the gate.

Perhaps I had better see my sister before we begin to talk. Our

conversation may be long."

Lionel moved uneasily.

"I am sorry to say," he began, "that your sister feels anything but

well-disposed toward you. She resents your suspicion, and ... and...."

he stuck fast.

"Refuses to see me?" she suggested.

He nodded. "I have hopes of winning her over yet, but...."

"If she has said 'No' she will stick to it," said Beatrice, digging her

parasol into the lawn. "She can be a darling, but she can also be

pig-headed. What do you think of her?" she added quickly, turning upon

him.

"Charming," said Lionel. "Except for this unfortunate weakness. And

there is some excuse even for that."

"Do you consider her pretty?" It sounded an odd question, but oddities

were lost on him now.

"Yes; very pretty."

"As pretty as I?" asked Beatrice.

"Quite," he laughed, beginning to feel more at home, "but in a different

way. And I prefer your way," he added with sincerity.

"That is a little crude," she smiled. "I expected a more delicate

compliment from a man of your education. Please pay me one at once."

To be asked for a delicate compliment at a moment's notice must be much

the same as if the _Punch_ editor were asked for a joke instanter. You

can imagine Mr. Seaman being introduced with, "This is Mr.

Seaman--_Punch_, you know." "How charming! Please, Mr. Seaman, be good

enough to be funny," and the resulting _debacle_ of Mr. Seaman. Lionel

felt empty of all wit and ideas. He simply looked at her and shook his

head.

"I am sorry ... you have silenced me."

She smiled provokingly. "Try!"

He shook his head again with a sudden sadness. As he observed her,

devotedly absorbing every detail of her dress, her charming attitude,

her delicate color, the dainty foot in the lavender stocking and trim

black shoe pushed seductively forward, the glorious hair, and brilliance

of her eyes, the incarnation of youth and joy (and he excused her that,

remember, for the compulsion of her marriage), he groaningly realized

that his late logic would not hold. He loved her and wanted her: he knew

that he would not be mercenary in asking, but he felt he could not after

all. To think of asking for such a lovely creature, without a penny of

his own--he could not do it. He was wrong, he told himself, and felt

that his ideals were true, but it was impossible. His face grew grim as

he looked at her. The smile faded from her lips.

"What is it?" she said softly. "Is anything the matter, my ... friend?"

He was near the breaking-point, and had that moment continued he might

have told her all. But an interruption--a twentieth-century

interruption--saved him.

From the deeps of the air was heard a dull humming. The noise increased

every moment, and Beatrice looked perplexedly about her. "Do you hear

it," she asked, "that curious noise?... Like a gigantic bee...."

Lionel had heard a similar noise before and was not perplexed. "It must

be an aeroplane," he said reassuringly: "it sounds as if it were quite

close. Perhaps that clump of trees hides its approach."

His surmise proved correct, for in a brief space the machine soared into

view like some beautiful bird. "There it is!" they cried together,

standing like two delighted children watching a kindly rock from the

_Arabian Nights_. "Why! what is it going to do?" continued Beatrice,

speaking as if the monoplane were a living creature. "See! it has

changed its course ... it is circling round like a bird of prey."

"It looks as if he meant to land," said Lionel, "and was seeking for a

suitable place. Yes, by jove! he's found it. Now watch!"

The air-man had shut off his engine, for the buzzing ceased, and he came

down to earth, with a graceful swoop that enchanted Beatrice, on a bit

of level pasture two fields away. "Come on!" cried Beatrice excitedly.

"Let's go and have a look! I've never seen an aeroplane close to."

Lionel smiled at her enthusiasm, and they set off at a brisk pace.

Leaving the garden by the little wicket at the back, they crossed the

tiny stream, dignified by the name of Shere, and walked on, chatting

happily till they were close upon the air-man. They could see him

walking round his machine, examining it with a parent's care, pulling

here, patting there, testing the tension of a wire, inspecting the

engine. Suddenly Beatrice stopped short. "Bother!" she said impatiently.

"I've left my hanky in the garden. I wonder if you'd mind----"

"Of course," said Lionel, glad, you may be sure, of the lightest

service. "You go on and learn to fly. I'll join you in five minutes."

He left Beatrice and ran back to the garden. But in spite of the most

careful search he could not see any trace of the handkerchief. He

searched the lawn, the chairs, the drive, but no handkerchief was

visible. "She must have lost it in the train," he thought, "or dropped

it on the road. Well, that's soon remedied."

Going into the house, he rang the dining-room bell. It was answered by

Forbes. "Get me a clean handkerchief, please," said Lionel. To his utter

amazement Forbes said "Yes, sir," and prepared to leave the room.

"Hi!" said Lionel, and Forbes stopped, flushing a dull red. Lionel

pulled himself together with an effort. "Excuse me, Forbes," said he,

striving to speak calmly: "I understood you were dumb. Has the age of

miracles revived, or what?"

Forbes bowed discreetly.

"Our local doctor is a very clever surgeon, sir," he replied blandly. "I

think you said a handkerchief, sir?"

He disappeared....

"Cleverness, Forbes," said Lionel when the footman returned, "is not

confined to doctors. I congratulate you ... on the recovery of speech."

"Thank you, sir," said Forbes with a well-bred humility. "I find it a

great blessing, I own. It opens out a new world."

He held the door, and Lionel passed out, his brain sagging heavily. A

few minutes later he rejoined Beatrice, who had more surprises in store.

She was chatting merrily with the air-man as he came up.

"This is great luck!" she said cheerfully to the astonished Lionel.

"Here's an old friend of mine dropped from the skies--yes!

literally!--to pay a friendly call. Let me introduce you: Mr.

Mortimer--Mr. Ashford Billing, my late manager."

"Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Billing," said Lionel mechanically. "I've

heard your name before."

"And I yours, Mr. Mortimer," replied Billing with genuine heartiness.

"It's a real pleasure to meet a man who can write like you."

"I don't understand," said Lionel. "How can you know anything of my

work? It's not attracted much notice yet."

Billing laughed.

"Shall I tell him?" he asked, turning to the lady.

"Bags I!" said Beatrice, laughing: "that must be my royalty, or

commission, if you prefer it. First of all, let me explain his presence.

He called on me this afternoon and found that I was out----"

"_As_ usual," interrupted Billing.

"And learned where I had gone from my servant. Then, being in a

hurry----"

"Wanted to try to persuade her to sign a new contract," said the

irrepressible Billing, "but she won't. Perhaps you can make her realize,

Mr. Mortimer, that if she retires the stage will lose one of its

brightest jewels."

"Oh, keep that for the publicity agent!" she begged. "I've told you I

mean to retire, and that's final. I want to tell the _news_. Well, Mr.

Mortimer, the impetuous man couldn't wait, so he went down to Brooklands

and flew here----"

"Quicker than the train," smiled Billing. "American hustle and all

that----"

"And now he tells me--as a casual item of information--that he's going

to produce your play."

"_What!_" said Lionel.

"Yes--yes--yes! Isn't it splendid? Now, Ashford, you can tell the rest."

"Guess there isn't much left to tell," said Billing, still smiling.

"Well, sir, Miss Blair told me about your play a month ago now. My

reader reported favorably on it, and I read it myself. I think it will

go, Mr. Mortimer, if I'm any judge; and when you get back to London we

can fix up the contract. I hope it will mean something hot for both of

us."

Lionel turned, incapable of speech, to Beatrice. He thanked her with his

eyes, but more than thanks lay in them, and Billing noticed the mutual

look with an inward groan. There was silence for a moment. Then Billing

squared his shoulders, and in a matter-of-fact voice said, "Well, I

calculate I must be getting home."

Beatrice protested. There was not the least hurry. There was no sense in

this flying over to see them and only staying for ten minutes. He must

stop and have dinner: why not sleep?...

"You forget I don't know your sister," he replied with a peculiar smile.

Beatrice blushed. Lionel did not notice the blush. He was too busy

thinking of the new vistas that opened before him even to hear what they

were saying. He despised the flying man, for did not he, Lionel, tread

upon the air?

"I'll arrange that somehow," said Beatrice quickly. "Ashford, you really

must stop. I want to talk to you."

"Excuse me," he said with a queer smile that was not of joy, "but I

guess I know better than that." His voice sank. "My dear, I wish you

luck!"

"Oh, Ashford, dear!" she whispered, "I'm so sorry ... I'm so sorry...."

"That's all right," he said more cheerfully. "Now, I'm really going,

never to worry you again. Hello! what's this?"

His exclamation of surprise caused them to turn and look toward The

Quiet House.

From the wicket-gate had issued the figure of a man running. He wore no

hat, and though apparently elderly, was progressing at a very fair rate

of speed. But he had not run more than twenty yards before another man

came bursting from the gate.

"Why, it's the prisoner!" gasped Lionel, "and good heavens!--yes!" He

turned swiftly to Beatrice. "It's the churchwarden! What on earth is he

doing here?"

"So it is," replied Beatrice without emotion. He wondered at her

self-control. "They seem to be in a hurry."

Robert was evidently in a very great hurry, but Tony had the advantage

in years and sprightliness. He caught his quarry in a very short space,

and seized him by the shoulder. Then the pair of them stopped, Robert

obviously unwilling, and began to talk with much gesticulation on both

sides. The onlookers of course could hear nothing of what was said, but

from the pantomime Tony appeared to be expostulating, advising,

entreating. Mr. Hedderwick seemed to be in a condition of irate panic.

As a matter of fact, Tony was remonstrating with his comrade-in-arms for

his cowardice, and urging him, for the sake of himself and the sex, to

make a stand for the rights of man. "If you give in now, after your many

heroisms with me," said Tony warmly, "I shall be ashamed of my pupil and

disown him. Come! though you _have_ run, it's not too late for a

recovery."

"You don't know my wife!" panted Robert.

"I do--I've spoken to her for three minutes, and I can guess what she's

like. I know something about women, and I feel sure that if you stand up

to her now you'll be boss in your house for good. If not, she will. It's

now or never."

"You--you're not joking, Mr. Wild?" said Robert piteously.

"I'm really serious. Now, come along with me and talk to these people.

We'll let your wife catch us here. An audience ought to give you

courage. Mind!" he added, holding Robert by the arm as they began to

walk toward the aeroplane, "there must be no weakening, however terrible

she may appear. Be a man, and you'll triumph!"

It was all very well to urge him to be a man, but Mr. Hedderwick had

been through a very tense six hours. When he escaped from the vicarage

he rushed straight for The Happy Heart. There he instructed Mr. Glew in

a sentence of some five hundred words, without so much as a comma

intervening, that he meant to retire to his room at once, that he was to

be denied to all callers, that casual inquirers were to be told that he

had gone to the station, that on no account must any one be allowed to

come up-stairs, and that information was to be given when the coast was

clear. "I'll explainitalllaterglewwhenihavetimebutrememberthatit's

afiverinyourpocketifIcomethroughto-daysafe," he babbled, dashing furiously

up-stairs. "Right, sir," responded Glew, a creature to whom the word

"fiver" was all that was necessary by way of present explanation.

Robert's bedroom door slammed and was locked behind him long before the

"Right, sir" had died away.

The visit of Mrs. Hedderwick and the vicar's wife made matters fairly

clear to the landlord; but, true to his salt and interest, he persisted

in the tale that Robert had gone to the station. His story was

disbelieved. This was not to be wondered at, considering the paucity of

his inventive powers and imagination; for Glew did not adduce a particle

of corroborative detail to support his statement. The ladies simply

declined to give him credence, and demanded to be shown Mr. "Bangs'"

bedroom. Foiled in this amiable purpose, the determined pair announced

their intentions of waiting in the parlor till the victim appeared. The

landlord's renewed protests and offers of affidavits had no weight with

them, and they sat down with an awful dignity.

At two o'clock Mrs. Peters' weariness conquered her curiosity, and she

went home, offering unbounded sympathy and a bed for the night. The

sympathy was accepted, the bed declined, Mrs. Hedderwick declaring she

would remain at the inn, if necessary sitting up in a chair till

morning.

Glew had no wish for this, and cast about him for means of getting rid

of the undesired guest. At six o'clock he sent his hopeful son

up-stairs, himself keeping guard over the parlor from the bar opposite.

Young Glew found Robert desperate: he had not thought his wife capable

of such obstinacy.

"Dad says," began the interested youngster, "that he'll go in and talk

to the lady--keep her occupied like--if you'd care to risk it and slip

out."

"I will!" said Robert on the instant. Anything was better than this

terrible suspense. "Let me see ... there's a train in half an hour or

so ... I'll go to the station. No! I won't! Wait a minute!"

He changed his resolve, partly from quixotic, partly from selfish

reasons. He did not like to leave Tony to an unknown, unguessed-at fate;

and he also felt very strongly that he would like that judicious

schemer's advice on his next steps. He resolved to risk all and boldly

apply for admittance to The Quiet House. If matters there were really

serious ... well, at all events they could not be much more serious to

him than the present _impasse_. "I'll do it!" he declared with a sudden

resolution. "Boy! when you get your father alone, tell him I've gone up

to The Quiet House. I'll write to him from there. Now go down and ask

him to talk to my--to the lady. Beg him to stand in the doorway and fill

it up. I'll creep quietly past in ten minutes' time."

The boy obeyed, and after ten palpitating minutes Robert stole

cautiously down-stairs. True to his promise, the landlord's bulky figure

blocked the parlor door, his voice raised in mournful reiteration and

appeal. Robert reached the fifth step from the bottom without making

the slightest noise. But the stair-rod of the fifth step had worked

loose: the carpet slipped, and he tumbled down with considerable uproar.

Luckily he was unhurt by the fall; but the landlord's sharp turn of the

head and expression of dismayed surprise, coupled with the din, roused

Mrs. Hedderwick's suspicion. "What is that?" she demanded querulously,

trying to push past the landlord. At the terrific tones Robert jumped up

and took to his heels.

His wife had common sense and did not attempt to follow, knowing she

could not hope to catch the fugitive. She knew, too, that Glew was

incorruptible. But as the landlord walked out to block the passage and

observe the escape with a sympathetic eye, she turned to Master Glew and

said decisively, "Here is half-a-crown if you can tell me where he has

gone."

"Quiet House," said the guileless lad without hesitation, and pocketed

the coin. Mrs. Hedderwick left the inn at once.

After inquiry from a passer-by she reached her destination, a quarter

of an hour behind the peccant Hedderwick. She walked up the drive, and

beheld the unsuspecting Robert pouring out his grief to Tony. They were

sitting in the hammock-chairs.

Robert gave a cry and fled once more. Tony courteously waited and

implored Mrs. Hedderwick to sit down and rest. "There is a

misunderstanding," he said urbanely; "it shall be my pleasure to set it

right." Filled with shame of his sex, determined to vindicate Robert's

manhood and obtain for him a peaceful mastership, he ran after him,

catching him outside the grounds as has already been described.

Mrs. Hedderwick, however, was not content to wait. She did not run--no!

no! perish so undignified a thought: but she proceeded very swiftly

indeed in the wake of Tony. "A smooth-spoken hypocrite!" she thought

ungratefully, remembering Mrs. Peter's description of Robert's

accomplice during their mutual vigil. "If I only get a chance I'll give

him a piece of my mind, too!" She ran--I apologize: she proceeded very

swiftly--through the garden, and presently saw Tony disappear in the

distance through a wicket-gate. At a convenient interval of time she

followed. In front of her, a field ahead, she saw Tony and her husband

standing still, their arms waving furiously. In a moment they began to

walk on again, toward a little group which she now observed for the

first time. Mrs. Hedderwick slackened her pace, not because her desire

of vengeance was cooling, but because she did not wish to appear in a

panting state. She saw the two men come to the group, and some

handshaking followed. "The wretch!" she thought. "Some of his wicked

friends, I suppose!" A few moments later she joined them. They looked at

her with interest, and she returned the gaze unflinchingly--an iron

woman. Beatrice came forward. "Mrs. Hedderwick, I think we have met

before."

It must be admitted that Mrs. Hedderwick behaved well. There was every

excuse for a scene, and no possible excuse (unless one know his dull

life) for Robert. Mrs. Hedderwick merely looked coldly at Beatrice and

said, "We have, but I prefer not to remember it." Then she turned to her

husband, "Come, Robert!"

Mr. Hedderwick was pale, but determined. Tony's reassuring and

stimulating words, together with a short breathing-space, had put

courage into him. Besides, during the last minute he had conceived an

idea. So, though he trembled internally, his voice was calm enough as he

replied, "Alicia, I am not coming just yet."

Tony took Beatrice by the arm. "This isn't our scene," he whispered. She

obeyed the hint; and she, Lionel, Tony and Billing retired a few yards

to the aeroplane, out of ear-shot. "Is it fair to leave him?" asked

Beatrice; "he looked very frightened, poor little man!"

"Yes--yes!" said Tony decidedly; "he must do this on his own--sink or

swim. I think he'll be all right, now that I've stiffened him. Let him

alone."

Mrs. Hedderwick appreciated the withdrawal, but it did not soften her

mood. "What do you mean, Robert?" she said coldly. "You are my husband,

though you did desert me cruelly. You must come."

"I come on conditions," said Robert stoutly, though his knees were

quaking. "I mean to be master of the house in future--to do exactly what

I like and when I like--to go to Brighton, if I choose----"

"Don't be absurd," said Mrs. Hedderwick.

"I mean what I say," he reiterated. "I'm--I'm still very fond of you,

Alicia, but I must be master----"

"Don't be absurd," said Mrs. Hedderwick, still unmoved. "You will come

home with me to-night."

She advanced and took his arm in a wifely grasp. Robert, feeling the

chains imminent, resolved to play his last card. It was his sole

remaining hope of freedom. Bruskly he freed his arm. Then with

incredible agility he ran to the aeroplane and scrambled into the

pilot's seat. "Now, then!" he said grimly; "you admit that _I_ am to be

head, and I'll come down. Otherwise I'll start this infernal machine. I

don't much care what happens."

"Robert!" screamed his wife, shaken out of her composure. "Oh, Robert!

come down!"

"Not till you promise!" he said, fumbling at unaccustomed levers. "Here,

sir! how do you start it?"

"You fool!" shouted Billing, alarmed, as chance directed Robert to the

object of his search. "Stand clear!" he screamed, fearing the propeller

would start and hit the bystanders. He pulled Beatrice aside, and Tony

did the same for Mrs. Hedderwick. "Stop it, you fool! No!--the other

lever! The machine will be up in a minute."

"Promise!" screamed Robert, like one possessed. He was playing for life

now, and was past caring.

"I--I promise!" wailed Mrs. Hedderwick, as the propeller began to move,

and then at last Robert obeyed the frantic instructions of Billing and

stopped the engine. He descended with all the honors of war.

"You will excuse us," he said with a pale smile, taking Mrs. Hedderwick

by the arm. "We are stopping at The Happy Heart to-night. Perhaps,

to-morrow...."

He retired at the right moment, his wife beneath his manly protecting

arm. "There! there!" he whispered soothingly as they walked off; "it's

all right now, my love! You mustn't be frightened."

"Oh, Robert!" said Mrs. Hedderwick. "How could you--how _could_ you do

it! I--I didn't know you had it in you!"

Robert expanded a hero's chest.

"My dear, love is proverbially blind."