"An' I clane forgot that Mr. Darby sent two notes,"--Phil produced a letter---"to be givin' immaydiate; but when I seen the horses go----" Phil wept afresh.
For one moment Gheena had looked at the car which the chauffeur was winding up, then she opened the letter.
"Don't worry, little girl, I've bought the lot. They're here for you to hunt to-morrow, and at any time."
"God save us! couldn't he lave you alone?" said Phil, as Gheena leant against a manger, sobbing openly again.
Darby, always her friend, kind, crippled Darby--Darby, whose eyes followed her. If--if----
The housemaid's bicycle was at the kitchen door. Gheena looked at it.
Voices sounded across the yard. A cart was coming in.
"An' God help us! I niver got the pison the Masther sent for, an' he will ate the face off me now. Prussian acid he wanted, an' I declare I forgot it. Sure I can tell him they're stockin' none of thim German affairs now."
Gheena looked at her red cur. In a moment she was on the bicycle, which was far too short for her, and with her knees stuck up in unpleasant publicity, was tearing down the avenue.
"Light in her head to be makin' afther them now," said Phil bitterly. "An' it all the Masther's fault."
The opal glow faded to a silver dusk with little mist wraiths in the hollows, and light glint of damp on the budding leaves. Darby was alone in his library before a glowing peat fire, his dogs at his feet, when they got up growling quite politely as the door was flung open and Gheena came in.
She was white, rings showed round her eyes, her breath coming short.
"It was the length of Maria's legs which made me so tired," she said. "Don't stare, Darby. Oh, Darby!"
She came across, holding out cold trembling hands.
Darby rang the bell sharply, ordering strong coffee.
"I came, Darby"--she knelt down, the glow of the fire-light turning her hair to bronze--"I came, because you've always helped me, to know if you'd--marry me, Darby?"
He held the cold hands more closely, he hid the bitter pain which leapt into his eyes. She had come to offer herself to the man who had loved her so long, simply that she might be free.
"It would be a poor thing to do," he said slowly; "there is something more than freedom and paying out Dearest George in matrimony, Gheena, something more."