And in all
reverence I can say in this case that only He can tell. Lord Kingsmead
is very weak, and I greatly dislike the abnormal activity of his brain,
but--God is good. So let us hope."
Then the great man had gone.
By the 5.10 express Joyselle was coming. He had been out of town the day
before, and the delay had been maddening. But now he was coming, and
Brigit pinned her faith to the effects of his presence with savage
fanaticism.
"He _must_ help him," she repeated over and over again; "he loves him
so."
The darkness of the day was congenial to her; sunshine would have seemed
an insult. She reached the village, with its little straight street and
modern red-brick inn, and passing through it turned to the left towards
the station. It was only three, and Joyselle could not arrive for two
hours; yet she felt that she was going towards him.
A motor rushed past her, covering her with dust and causing her to
clench her hands in anger. "Beastly thing!" she said aloud.
Then out of the cloud of dust emerged--Joyselle, on foot, his
violin-case in his hand.
"You!"
"Yes. I--couldn't wait, so I cut an engagement and took the 1.45,
Brigit--how is he?"
He was flushed with the effort of rapid walking in a long coat and his
hat was on one side.
Pages:
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318