IT

CHAPTER XXXIX

T was the evening of the third day. There was no change in Majendie.

Dr. Gardner had been sent for. He had come and gone. He had confirmed the Scarby doctor's opinion, with a private leaning to the side of hope. Hannay, who had waited to hear his verdict, was going back to Scale early the next morning. Mrs. Majendie had been in her husband's room all day, and he had seen little of her.

He was sitting alone by the fire after dinner, trying to read a paper, when she came in. Her approach was so gentle that he was unaware of it till she stood beside him. He started to his feet, mumbling an apology for his bewilderment. He pulled up an armchair to the fire for her, wandered uneasily about the room for a minute or two, and would have left it, had she not called him back to her.

"Don't go, Mr. Hannay. I want to speak to you." He turned, with an air of frustrated evasion, and remained, a supremely uncomfortable presence.

"Have you time?" she asked.

"Plenty. All my time is at your disposal."

"You have been very kind

"My dear Mrs. Majendie

"I want you to be kinder still. I want you to tell me the truth."

"The truth" Hannay tried to tighten his loose face into an expression of judicial reserve.

"Yes, the truth.

from me."

There's no kindness in keeping things

"My dear Mrs. Majendie, I'm keeping nothing from you, I assure you. The doctors have told me no more than they have told you."

"I know. It's not that."

"What is it that's troubling you?"

"Did you see Walter before he came here?" "Yes."

"Did you see him on Friday night?"

"Yes."

"Was he perfectly well then?"

"Er-yes-he was well. Quite well."

Anne turned her sorrowful eyes upon him.

"No. There was something wrong. What was it?" "If there was he didn't tell me."

"No. He wouldn't. Why did you hesitate just now?" "Did I hesitate?"

"When I asked you if he was well."

"I thought you meant did I notice any signs of his illness coming on. I didn't. But of course, as you know, he was very much shaken by-by your little girl's death." "You noticed that while I was away?"

"Y-es. But I certainly noticed it more on the night you were speaking of."

"You would have said, then, that he must have received a severe shock?"

"Certainly certainly I would."

Hannay responded quite cheerfully in his immense relief.

It was what they were all trying for, to make poor Mrs. Majendie believe that her husband's illness was to be attributed solely to the shock of the child's death.

"Do you think that shock could have had anything to do with his illness?"

"Of course I do. At least, I should say it was indirectly responsible for it."

She put her hand up to hide her face. He saw that in some way incomprehensible to him, so far from shielding her, he had struck a blow.

"Dr. Gardner told you that much," said he. He felt easier, somehow, in halving the responsibility with Gardner.

"Yes. He told me that. But he had not seen him since October. You saw him on Friday, the day I came home."

Hannay was confirmed in his suspicion that on Friday there had been a scene. He now saw that Mrs. Majendie was tortured by the remembrance of her part in it.

"Oh well," he said consolingly. "He hadn't been himself for a long time before that."

"I know. I know. That only makes it worse."

She wept slowly, silently, then stopped suddenly and held herself in a restraint that was ten times more pitiful to see. Hannay was unspeakably distressed.

"Perhaps," said he, "if you could tell me what's on your mind, I might be able to relieve you."

She shook her head.

"Come," he said kindly, "what is it, really? What do you imagine makes it worse?"

"I said something to him that I didn't mean."

"Of course you did," said Hannay, smiling cheerfully. "We all say things to each other that we don't mean. That wouldn't hurt him."

"But it did. I told him he was responsible for Peggy's

death. I didn't know what I was saying. I let him think

he killed her."

"He wouldn't think it."

"He did. There was nothing else he could think. If he dies I shall have killed him."

"You will have done nothing of the sort. He wouldn't think twice about what a woman said in her anger or her grief. He wouldn't believe it. He's got too much sense. You can put that idea out of your head for ever."

"I cannot put it out. I had to tell you-lest you should think-"

"Lest I should think-what?"

"That it was something else that caused his illness." "But, my dear lady-it was something else. I haven't a doubt about it."

"I know what you mean," she said quickly. "He had been drinking-poor dear.'

"How do you know that?"

"The doctor asked me.

He asked me if he had been

in the habit of taking too much."

Hannay heaved a deep sigh of discomfort and disappointment.

"It's no good," said she, "trying to keep things from me. And there's another thing that I must know."

"You're distressing yourself most needlessly. There is nothing more to know."

"I know that woman was here. I do not know whether he came here to meet her."

"Ah well-that I can assure you he did not." "Still-he must have met her. She was here."

"How do you know that she was here?"

"You saw her yourself, coming out of the hotel. You

were horrified, and you pulled me back so that I shouldn't see her."

"There's nothing in that, nothing whatever."

"If you'd seen your own face, Mr. Hannay, you would have said there was everything in it."

"My face, dear Mrs. Majendie, does not prove that they met. Or that there was any reason why they shouldn't meet. It only proves my fear lest Lady Cayley should stop and speak to you. A thing she wouldn't be very likely to do if they had met—as you suppose." "There is nothing that woman wouldn't do."

"She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't do that." "I don't know."

"No. You don't know. So you're bound to give her the benefit of the doubt. I advise you to do it. For your own peace of mind's sake. And for your husband's

sake."

"It was for his sake that I asked you for the truth. Because"

"You wanted me to clear him?"

"Yes. Or to tell me if there is anything I should forgive."

"I can assure you he didn't come here to see Sarah Cayley. As to forgiveness-you haven't got to forgive him that; and if you only understood, you'd find that there was precious little you ever had to forgive."

"If I only understood. You think I don't understand, even yet?"

"I'm sure you don't. You never did."

"I would give everything if I could understand now.” "Yes, if you could. But can you?"

"I've tried very hard. I've prayed to God to make me understand."