Inspector Stoddart's Most Famous Cases. Annie Haynes

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СКАЧАТЬ thought St. Alphege's a dull, bare-looking edifice, and marvelled at her aunt's taste in churches, as they were marshalled into a narrow, straight-backed seat. The service strictly followed the lines Miss Lavinia had indicated. The organ was badly played, the choir sang out of tune, the parson had a dull voice and read with a lisp. Hilary was not surprised the congregation was small almost to vanishing point. In the lessons her attention wandered and she gave herself up to blissful day-dreams of a future to be spent with Basil Wilton.

      From it she was abruptly roused by the parson's voice when he had regained his reading desk after the second lesson.

      "I publish the banns of marriage between James Williams, widower, of the parish of Brentfell in the county of Durham, and Mary Sophia Freeman, spinster, of this parish. This is for the second time of asking. Also between Basil Godfrey Wilton, bachelor, and Iris Mary Houlton, spinster, both of this parish. This is for the third time of asking. If any of you know any just cause or impediment why these persons may not severally be joined in holy matrimony ye are now to declare it."

      The dull, old church seemed to rock with Hilary. For a moment everything went dark before her eyes, then she rallied her pride to her aid and rose, her head erect, with the rest of the congregation. But of the remainder of the service and of the laboured, stuttering sermon she heard nothing, though she looked as usual, save that her colour was a little higher.

      At last it was over and like an automaton she followed her aunt into the sunlight outside.

      Miss Lavinia hailed a passing taxi.

      "I see why you like St. Alphege's, Aunt Lavinia," Hilary said with a fine smile when they had settled themselves.

      Miss Priestley had the grace to look ashamed of herself.

      "Well, my dear child, I knew it was no use my talking. You would never believe a word I said against Wilton. So I thought you should be convinced by the evidence of your own ears."

      "How did you know?" Hilary asked.

      "A—a friend of mine who is a member of the St. Alphege's congregation told me. It—it was the fact that both the names had been mentioned in the papers of late and their proximity here that made them noticeable of course. Otherwise we might never have heard anything until the marriage had taken place."

      "That wouldn't have mattered," Hilary said quietly. "I think it would have been better to have been quite open with me, Aunt Lavinia."

      Miss Lavinia made no rejoinder. But Hilary was not minded to let the rest of the drive pass in silence. She talked away in a fashion that her aunt had not heard since Dr. Bastow's death. When they reached the hotel, however, Hilary sprang out with a feeling that an intolerable strain was over.

      As she turned to make some remark to her aunt, she collided with a man passing on the pavement.

      He raised his hat with a murmured apology, then paused with a sharp exclamation of surprise.

      "Miss Bastow!"

      Hilary's recognition was instantaneous, in spite of the alteration the past few weeks had made in the dark face of the man hesitating before her.

      "Dr. Morris!"

      "Yes," he said quietly.

      He did not attempt to shake hands, but his eyes wandered from the girl's face to Miss Lavinia's, then with a gesture that was very familiar to Hilary he snatched off his concealing glasses.

      Seen thus Hilary had often observed how beautiful his deep-set eyes were. Today they had something of the wistful, appealing expression of a dog's. His face was quite noticeably thinner than at the inquest, but the pallor of the lower part which had attracted attention then was wearing off now. Meeting his gaze momentarily Hilary forgot the horrible suspicion that had been thrown upon him and remembered only that he was one of her dead father's oldest and dearest friends. She stretched out her hand.

      "Dr. Morris, you look ill. I am so sorry!"

      "I have been feeling ill," the man responded. "But the touch of your hand, the sound of your voice will do more than anything to help me, Miss Hilary. They show me that you do not—cannot believe—"

      Miss Lavinia's first glance had been distinctly hostile, but something in his tone, in his words, touched her heart, which was soft enough in spite of her hard exterior. She, too, held out her hand.

      "You look as if country air was what you needed, Dr. Morris. You are shutting yourself up too much in smoky London, I expect. I have found the difference myself since we came up from Rose Cottage. But now, Hilary, we must not keep Fee waiting."

      Sanford Morris was quick to take the hint. The look of gratitude in his dark eyes was pathetic as he turned away.

      Miss Lavinia and Hilary went to the sitting-room in silence. At the door Hilary paused.

      "I will be back in a minute when I have taken my hat off, Aunt Lavinia. In the meantime perhaps it would be as well if you told Fee why you wanted me to go to church."

      She went on to her own room. Hardly knowing what she was doing, she closed and bolted the door, and then stood absolutely motionless staring straight in front of her. Certain words seemed to beat upon her brain like hammers.

      "Basil Godfrey Wilton, bachelor... Iris Mary Houlton, spinster... If any of you know just cause or impediment..."

      But of course it was not just cause or impediment that Basil Wilton had asked another girl to marry him, that he had betrayed her faith—he was free, quite free to marry Iris Houlton if he liked. And he was going to. He cared for Iris Houlton. He had forgotten her—Hilary. Or stay—had he forgotten? Or had Iris Houlton's money tempted him—who was it who had said that she was very rich? She had not been rich when Hilary knew her; she had been poor and sly—oh, very sly! Hilary had always felt that. Then, as she stood there, one little corner of the curtain of thick fog that seemed to have descended on her brain was lifted for a moment and she visualized the future. Always when she had pictured the long years ahead of her she had seen herself as Basil Wilton's wife, and the life had been enwrapped in a golden haze. Now, now she must put even the very thought of Basil from her—not only would he never belong to her but he would belong to another woman—body and soul. Standing there a sudden wave of passion surged over her. A couple of hours ago she would not have believed herself capable of the feelings that possessed her. Her brown eyes were wide open and the pupils were dilated until the whole eye looked black. Her lips were pressed tightly together, while her nostrils were quivering like those of a thoroughbred horse.

      There came a tap at the door. Her aunt's voice:

      "Hilary! Hilary!"

      She tried to answer, but for a time no words would come from her dry, parched lips. The knocking went on, the insistent calling, Miss Lavinia's voice growing alarmed as she received no reply. At last with a hoarse indrawing of her breath Hilary recovered her voice:

      "What is it, Aunt Lavinia? What do you want?"

      "Sir Felix is here," Miss Lavinia answered in a voice unusually shaken. "He wants to see you, to talk to you about Fee."

      Chapter XIII

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