Ward brought her a cup of coffee, and stood by with satisfaction while she drank it. In his eyes there was a mixture of depression and joy. The parish house was gone, and this girl before him was to marry another man. But they would build another parish house, and who knew—
He drove her up the hill in his small car. At the top of a rise he stopped the car and looked back. The night's devastation showed clearly, a black wound in the smiling heart of the valley.
Elinor watched him.
"It means a great deal to you, doesn't it?"
"It's rather a facer— Of course we will build again, but there are things that could not be replaced. That isn't what troubles me. The fact is, I am afraid I'm responsible.
"I was there last night, alone. I have a bad habit, when I have a mental problem to worry out, of walking up and down a room and lighting one cigarette after another. I am reckless with matches."
Then perhaps, after all, Walter had not done it!
The car climbed slowly. Ward kept his eyes straight ahead. Elinor cast little shy glances at his profile.
"You said you had something to worry out?"
He drew a long breath.
"I have had an offer to go to New York to a big church. It's rather a wonderful opportunity."
Elinor made no sign except to clutch her hands as they lay ungloved in her lap.
"Then you will he leaving us?"
"No," he said. "I shall not be leaving you."
"You like it here?"
"Very much." He turned and looked down at her. It was unwise. He realized that at once. So frail she looked, so softly, tenderly feminine! And because he knew that, after the night, he had not yet got control over himself, the merest hand-clasp as she got out of the machine was all he dared. But at the top of the steps Elinor turned.
"You will never know just how sorry I am," she said, and went through her garden to the house.
From that Friday morning until the evening of the following day Elinor went quite alone.
Hour after hour she spent pacing the terrace, looking down into the valley. On Friday night, unable to sleep, she threw a negligee over her shoulders and went quietly down to her garden. The village slept quietly, but there was a light in Ward's small window near the church. She remained on the terrace until the light was extinguished.
At dinner that Saturday Boroday's empty place cast a gloom over the the meal. Walter Huff came a little late. Under the ease of his greeting there was a touch of uneasiness as he met Elinor's eyes. When the servants left the room, Talbot leaned forward to Walter.
"Now tell us about it," he said.
Huff was frankly triumphant, but he still avoided Elinor's eyes.
"It's working out exactly as I knew it would," he explained. "Having once had a parish house they cannot do without it. The vestry carried only about a third through insurance. And there's another point in our favour—the rector's away. He's got rheumatism. They are going to take up an additional purse to send him to Baden-Baden."
"When?"
"Tomorrow morning. And tomorrow being Sunday, the assistant rector, Elinor's friend, will have it in charge until Monday morning."
"I shall warn him," said Elinor suddenly.
There was silence for a moment. Talbot smiled, Lethbridge looked astounded. Huff, bending forward with his arms out before him on the table, confronted Elinor squarely.
"That's it, is it?" he said.
"I asked you not to do—what you have done. The children used it all the time. They played basketball there. Besides, my wish should mean something to you."
Huff shrugged his shoulders.
"If I had burned a tenement full of people—"
"A man was nearly killed. He was on the ridge pole of the church, and they turned the full strength of the water on him. I saw it. I—almost fainted."
"You saw it."
"I was there." said Elinor quietly.
Huff rose angrily.
"You were there! And who was it who almost fell off the roof? Your parson, I suppose."
Talbot silenced the boy. it was Lethbridge who took up the argument. He understood her position and sympathized, he said. The fire was a mistake. But now that it was done— He spoke of Boroday's critical condition, of their safety that depended on his, and finding her attitude to his unyielding, took refuge in her father's memory.
"If anything comes out, it will all come out," he reminded her. "It seems to me, Elinor, that you owe it to your father not to interfere. This isn't a new plan. Four or five years ago when the parish house was first built we talked it over here. And it isn't as though we mean to hurt this fellow Ward. It will be three to one; he'll make no resistance."