The Mission of Mr. Eustace Greyne | Page 5

me to visit the public houses?"
"I wish you to see everything that has part or lot in African frailty. Go everywhere, see everything. Bring your notes to me, and I will select such fragments of the broken commandments as suit my purpose, which is, as always, the edifying of the human race. Only this time I mean to purge it as by fire."
"That corner house in Park Lane, next to the Duke of Ebury's, would suit us very well," said Mr. Greyne reflectively.
"We could sell our lease here at an advance," his wife rejoined. "You will not waste your journey, Eustace?"
"My love," returned Mr. Greyne with decision, "I will apply to Rook on arrival, and, if I find his man unsatisfactory, if I have any reason to suspect that I am not being shown everything--more especially in the Kasbah region, which, from the guide-books we bought to-day, is, I take it, the most abandoned portion of the city--I will seek another cicerone."
"Do so. And now to bed. You must sleep well to-night in preparation for the journey."
It was their invariable habit before retiring to drink each a tumbler of barley water, which was set out by the butler in Mrs. Greyne's study. After this nightcap Mrs. Greyne wrote up her anticipatory diary, while Mr. Greyne smoked a mild cigar, and then they went to bed. To-night, as usual, they repaired to the sanctum, and drank their barley water. Having done so, Mr. Greyne drew forth his cigar-case, while Mrs. Greyne went to her writing-table, and prepared to unlock the drawer in which her diary reposed, safe from all prying eyes.
The match was struck, the key was inserted in the lock, and turned. As the cigar end glowed the drawer was opened. Mr. Greyne heard a contralto cry. He turned from the arm-chair in which he was just about to seat himself.
"My love, is anything the matter?"
His wife was bending forward with both hands in the drawer, telling over its contents.
"My diary is not here!"
"Your diary!"
"It is gone."
"But"--he came over to her--"this is very serious. I presume, like all diaries, it is full of----" Instinctively he had been about to say "damning"; he remembered his dear one's irreproachable character and substituted "precious secrets."
"It is full of matter which must never be given to the world--my secret thoughts, my aspirations. The whole history of my soul is there."
"Heavens! It must be found."
They searched the writing-table. They searched the room. No diary.
"Could you have taken it to my room, and left it there?" asked Mr. Greyne.
They hastened thither, and looked--in vain. By this time the servants were gone to bed, and the two searchers were quite alone on the ground floor of their magnificent mansion. Mrs. Greyne began to look seriously perturbed. Her Roman features worked.
"This is appalling," she exclaimed. "Some thief, knowing it priceless, must have stolen the diary. It will be published in America. It will bring in thousands--but to others, not to us."
She began to wring her hands. It was near midnight.
"Think, my love, think!" cried Mr. Greyne. "Where could you have taken it? You had it last night?"
"Certainly. I remember writing in it that you would be sailing to Algiers on the Général Bertrand on Thursday of this week, and that on the night I should be feeling widowed here. The previous night I wrote that yesterday I should have to tell you of your mission. You know I always put down beforehand what I shall do, what I shall even think on each succeeding day. It is a practice that regulates the mind and conduct, that helps to uniformity."
"How true! Who can have taken it? Do you ever leave it about?"
"Never. Am I a madwoman?"
"My darling, compose yourself! We must search the house."
They proceeded to do so, and, on coming into the schoolroom, Mrs. Greyne, who was in front, uttered a sudden cry.
Upon the table of Mademoiselle Verbena lay the diary, open at the following entry:--
On Thursday next poor Eustace will be on board the Général Bertrand, sailing for Algiers. I shall be here thinking of myself, and of him in relation to myself. God help us both. Duty is sometimes stern. Mem. The corner house in Park Lane, next the Duke of Ebury's, has sixty years still to run; the lease, that is. Thursday--poor Eustace!
"What does this portend?" cried Mrs. Greyne.
"My darling, it passes my wit to imagine," replied her husband.

III
The parting of Mr. and Mrs. Greyne on the following morning was very affecting. It took place at Victoria Station, in the midst of a small crowd of admiring strangers, who had recognised the commanding presence of the great novelist, and had gathered round to observe her manifestations.
Mrs. Greyne was considerably shaken by the event of the previous night. Although, on the discovery of the diary, the