Trent was awakened next morning by the sound of carriage wheels in the drive below.He rang his bell at once.After a few moments'
delay it was answered by one of his two men-servants.
"Whose carriage is that in the drive?"he asked."It is a fly for Mr.Da Souza,sir.""What!has he gone?"Trent exclaimed.
"Yes,sir,he and Mrs.Da Souza and the young lady.""And Miss Montressor and her friend?""They shared the fly,sir.The luggage all went down in one of the carts."Trent laughed outright,half scornfully,half in amusement.
"Listen,Mason,"he said,as the sound of wheels died away."If any of those people come back again they are not to be admitted -do you hear?if they bring their luggage you are not to take it in.If they come themselves you are not to allow them to enter the house.You understand that?""Yes,sir.
"Very good!Now prepare my bath at once,and tell the cook,breakfast in half an hour.Let her know that I am hungry.
Breakfast for one,mind!Those fools who have just left will get a morning paper at the station and they may come back.Be on the look-out for them and let the other servants know.Better have the lodge gate locked.""Very good,sir."The man who had been lamenting the loss of an easy situation and possibly even a month's wages,hastened to spread more reassuring news in the lower regions.It was a practical joke of the governor's -very likely a ruse to get rid of guests who had certainly been behaving as though the Lodge was their permanent home.There was a chorus of thanksgiving.Groves,the butler,who read the money articles in the Standard every morning with solemn interest and who was suspected of investments,announced that from what he could make out the governor must have landed a tidy little lump yesterday.
Whereupon the cook set to work to prepare a breakfast worthy of the occasion.
Trent had awakened with a keen sense of anticipated pleasure.Anew and delightful interest had entered into his life.It is true that,at times,it needed all his strength of mind to keep his thoughts from wandering back into that unprofitable and most distasteful past -in the middle of the night even,he had woke up suddenly with an old man's cry in his ears -or was it the whispering of the night-wind in the tall elms?But he was not of an imaginative nature.He felt himself strong enough to set his heel wholly upon all those memories.If he had not erred on the side of generosity,he had at least played the game fairly.Monty,if he had lived,could only have been a disappointment and a humiliation.The picture was hers -of that he had no doubt!Even then he was not sure that Monty was her father.In any case she would never know.He recognised no obligation on his part to broach the subject.The man had done his best to cut himself altogether adrift from his former life.His reasons doubtless had been sufficient.It was not necessary to pry into them -it might even be unkindness.The picture,which no man save himself had ever seen,was the only possible link between the past and the present -between Scarlett Trent and his drunken old partner,starved and fever-stricken,making their desperate effort for wealth in unknown Africa,and the millionaire of to-day.The picture remained his dearest possession -but,save his own,no other eyes had ever beheld it.
He dressed with more care than usual,and much less satisfaction.
