"No. He sails the day after to-morrow. He couldn't get a berth before."

"Then"--very softly and with a quiet radiance in her eyes--"then I will write to him to-morrow--after I've written to Roger."

Nan fell silent, gazing absently into the fire. There was a deep sense of thankfulness in her heart that she would be able to heal the hurt she had done Peter before he went East to face the bitter and difficult thing which awaited his doing. A strange sense of comfort stole over her. When she had written her letter to Roger, retracting the promise she had given him, she would be free--free to belong wholly to the man she loved.

Though they might never be together, though their love must remain for ever unconsummated, still in her loneliness she would know herself utterly and entirely his.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

THE GATES OF FATE

The fishing party returned to Mallow the following morning. They were in high spirits, full of stories and cracking jokes about each other's prowess or otherwise--especially the "otherwise," although, both men united in praising Penelope's exploits as a fisherwoman.

"Beginner's luck, of course!" chaffed Barry. "It was your first serious attempt at fishing, wasn't it, Penny?"

"Yes. But it's not going to be my last!" she retorted. "And I'll take a bet with you as to who catches the most trout next time."

The advent of three people who were in complete ignorance of the happenings of the last few days went far to restore the atmosphere to normal. Amid the bustle of their arrival and the gay chatter which accompanied it, it would have been impossible for Kitty, at least, not to throw aside for the moment the anxieties which beset her and join in the general fun and laughter.

But Nan, although she played up pluckily, so that no suspicions were aroused in the minds of the returned wanderers, was still burdened by the knowledge of what yet remained for her to do, and when the jolly clamour had abated a trifle she escaped upstairs to write her letter to Roger. It was a difficult letter to write because, though nothing he could say or do would alter her determination, she realised that in his own way he loved her and she wanted to hurt him as little as possible.

"I know you will think I am being both dishonourable and disloyal," she wrote, after she had first stated her decision quite clearly and simply. "But to me it seems I am doing the only thing possible in loyalty to the man I love. And in a way it is loyal to you, too, Roger, because--as you have known from the beginning--I could never give you all that a man has a right to expect from the women he marries. One can't 'share out' love in bits. I've learned, now, that love means all or nothing, and as I cannot give you all, it must be nothing. And of this you may be sure--perhaps it may make you feel that I have behaved less badly to you--I am not breaking off our engagement in order to marry someone else. I shall never marry anyone, now."

Nan read it through, then slipped it into an envelope and sealed it.

When she had directed it to "Roger Trenby, Esq.," she leaned back in her chair, feeling curiously tired, but conscious of a sense of peace and tranquillity that had been absent from her since the day on which she had promised to marry Roger. . . . And the next day, by the shattered Lovers' Bridge, Peter had carried her in his arms across the stream and kissed her hair. She had known then, known very surely, that love had come to her--Peter loved her, and his slightest touch meant happiness so poignantly sweet as to be almost unbearable. Only the knowledge had come too late.

But now--now she was free! Though she would never know the supreme joy of mating with the man she loved, she had at least escaped the prison which the wrong man's love can make for a woman. Just as no other man than Peter would ever hold her heart, so henceforth no kiss but his would ever touch her lips. But for Peter the burden would be heavier.

It would be different--harder. Could she not guess how infinitely harder? And there was nothing in the world which might avail to lighten that burden. Only, perhaps, later on, it might comfort him to know that, though in this world they could never come together, the woman he loved was his completely, that she had surrendered nothing of herself to any other man.

She picked up her letter to Roger and made her way downstairs, intending to drop it herself into the post-box at the gates of Mallow.

Once it had left her hands for the close guardianship of that scarlet tablet streaked against the roadside wall she would feel more at ease.

As she turned the last bend of the stairs she came upon an agitated little group of people cl.u.s.tering round Sandy McBain, who had apparently only recently arrived. Her hand tightened on the banister.

Why had everyone collected in the hall? Even one or two scared-looking servants were discernible in the background, and on every face sat a strange, unusual gravity. Nan felt as though someone had suddenly slipped a band round her heart and were drawing it tighter and tighter.

n.o.body seemed to notice her as with reluctant, dragging footsteps she descended the remainder of the staircase. Then Ralph caught sight of her and exclaimed: "Here's Nan!" and her name ran through the group in a shocked murmur of repet.i.tion, followed by a quick, hushed silence.

"What is it?" she asked apprehensively.

Several voices answered, but only the words "Roger" and "accident" came to her clearly out of the blur of sound.

"What is it?" she repeated. "What has happened?"

"There's been an accident," began Barry awkwardly. "Lady Gertrude--"

"Is she killed?"--in shocked tones.

"No, no. But she had another attack this morning--heart, or temper--and as the doctor was out when they 'phoned for him, she sent Roger rushing off post-haste in the car to find him and bring him along. And"--he hesitated a little--"I'm afraid he's had rather a bad smash-up."

Nan's face went very white, and half-unconsciously her grip tautened round the letter she was holding, crushing it together.

"Do you mean--in the car?" she asked in a queer, stiff voice.

"Yes." It was Sandy who answered her, "He'd just swerved to avoid driving over a dog and the next minute a kiddy ran out from the other side of the road, right in his path, and he swerved again, so sharply that the car ran up the side of the hedge and overturned.

"And Roger?"

Sandy's face twisted and he looked away.

"He was--underneath the car," he said at last, reluctantly.

Nan took a step forward and laid a hand on his arm. She had read the meaning of that quick contraction of his face.

"You were there!" She spoke more as though stating a fact than asking a question. "You saw it!"

"Yes," he acknowledged. "We got him out from under the car and carried him home on a hurdle. Then I found the doctor, and he's with him now."

"I'd better go right across and see if I can help," said Nan impulsively.

"No need. Isobel will be back this afternoon--I've wired her. And they've already 'phoned for a couple of trained nurses. Besides, Lady Gertrude's malady vanished the minute she heard Roger was injured. I think"--with a brief smile--"her illness was mostly due to the fact that Isobel was away, so of course she wanted to keep Roger by her side all the time. Lady G. must always have a 'retinue' in attendance, you know!"

A general smile acknowledged the truth of Sandy's diagnosis, but it was quickly smothered. The suddenness and gravity of the accident which had befallen Roger had shocked them all.

"What does the doctor say?" asked Penelope.

"He hasn't said anything very definite yet," replied Sandy. "He's afraid there's some injury to the spine, so he's wired for a Plymouth consultant. When he comes, they'll make a thorough examination."

"Ah!" Nan drew in her breath sharply.

"I suppose we shall hear to-night?" said Kitty. "The Plymouth man will get here early this afternoon."

"I'll come over and let you know the report," answered Sandy. "I'm going back to Trenby now, to see if I can do any errands or odd jobs for them. A man's a useful thing to have about the place at a time like this."

Kitty nodded soberly.

"Quite right, Sandy. And if there's anything we can any of us do to help, 'phone down at once."

A minute later Sandy was speeding back to the Hall as fast as the "stink-pot" could take him.

"It's pretty ghastly," said Kitty, as she and Nan turned away together.

"Poor old Roger!"

"Yes," replied Nan mechanically. "Poor Roger."