Helen Vardons Confession | Page 9

wait for no man."
He moved away toward the door, but before he reached it he paused
and then came back and stood beside my chair.
"You need'nt sit up for me," he said. "I may possibly be rather late. So
I'd better say 'good-night' now.'" He took my head in his hands, and,
looking earnestly into my eyes, murmured: "Dear little Jim; best and
most loyal of apprentices." Then he kissed me very tenderly and passed
his hands over my hair.
"Good-night, sweetheart," said he. "Don't sit up reading, but go to bed
early like a sensible girlie--if you will pardon my thopping into
Weggish poetry without notice."
He turned away and walked quickly to the door, where he stood for a
moment to wave his hand. I heard him go to the study, and sat stiffly in
my chair listening. In a few moments he came out and stepped quietly

across the hail; there was a brief pause, and then the outer door closed.
He was gone.
At the sound of the closing door, I sprang to my feet with all my terrors
revived. Whither had he gone? It was unusual for him to leave his
home at night. What was it that had taken him abroad on this night of
all others? And what was it that he wanted to buy? And wanted so
urgently that he could not wait until the morrow? And why had he
wished me "good-night" with such tender earnestness? A foolish
question, this, for he was a loving father, and never sought to veil his
affection. But to-night I was unstrung; haunted by nameless fears that
gave a dreadful significance to every passing incident. And as the chill
of mortal terror crept round my heart, the resolution that had been
growing--growing, came to its final completion.
It had to be. Horrible, loathsome as, even then, I felt it to be, it was the
only alternative to that other nameless and unthinkable. The sacrifice
must be made by us both for both our sakes--if it were not too late
already.
Too late? Even as the dreadful thought smote like a hammer on my
heart, I ran from the room and sped up the stairs on the wings of terror.
With trembling fingers I took my hat and cloak from the wardrobe and
hurried down stairs, putting them on as I went. At the dining-room door
I called out a hasty message to the maid, and then, snatching up my
gloves from the hall table, I opened the door and ran out into darkness.
Chapter III
The Covenant
As I sped swiftly along the quiet roads on the outskirts of the town the
confusion and sense of helplessness began to subside under the
influence of action and a definite purpose; by degrees my thoughts
clarified, and I found myself shaping out, with surprising deliberation
and judgment, the course that I intended to pursue. Mr. Otway's house
was about a mile distant from ours, somewhat farther out of town,

though on a frequented road; a short distance and quickly covered by
my flying feet. Yet, short as it was, and traversed with a phantom of
terror in close pursuit, it gave me time to collect my faculties, so that,
when I opened the gate and walked up the little drive, I had already to a
large extent recovered my self-possession, though I was still trembling
with the fear of what might be happening else where at this very
moment.
The door was opened by a small frail-looking woman of about fifty,
who did not look quite like an ordinary servant, and whose appearance
instantly impressed me disagreeably. She stood with her face slightly
averted, looking at me out of the corners of her eyes, and holding the
door open as she asked, with a slight Scotch accent:
"Who would you be wanting?"
"I wish to see Mr. Otway, if he is at home?" I replied.
"If ye'll come in and give me your name, I'll tell him," said she; and
with this she showed me into a small room that opened out of the hall,
where, when I had told her my name, she left me. In less than a minute
Mr. Otway entered, and having carefully closed the door, shook hands
gravely and offered me a chair.
"This is quite an unexpected pleasure, Miss Vardon," said he. "Oddly
enough, I was just thinking about you. I called on your father only this
afternoon."
"I know," said I. "It was about that that I came to see you."
"Your father, then," said Mr. Otway, "has mentioned to you the subject
of our not entirely pleasant inter view?
"No, he has not," I replied. "Nothing has passed between us on the
subject, and he is not aware that