“Certainly no one will interfere with you,” said Vennie at last. “We shall all be so glad to think that the child is in such good hands.
“The only difficulty I can see,” she paused a moment, while the grey eyes of Mr. Quincunx opened wide and an expression of something like defiance passed over his face, “is that it’ll be difficult for you to know what to do with her while you are away in Yeoborough. You could hardly leave her alone in this out-of-the-way place, and I’m afraid our Nevilton National School wouldn’t suit her at all.”
Mr. Quincunx freed his hand and stroked his beard. His fingers were quivering, and Vennie noticed a certain curious twitching in the muscles of his face.
“I shan’t go to Yeoborough any more,” he cried. “None of you need think it!
“That affair is over and done with. I shan’t stay here, any more, either, to be bullied by the Romers and made a fool of by all these idiots. I shall go away. I shall go — far away — to London — to Liverpool, — to — to Norwich, — like the Man in the Moon!”
This final inspiration brought a flicker of his old goblin-humour to the corners of his mouth.
Lacrima looked at Vennie with an imperceptible lifting of her eyebrows, and then sighed deeply.
The latter clasped the arms of her high-backed chair with firm hands.
“I think it is essential that you should know where you are going, Mr. Quincunx. I mean for the child’s sake. You surely don’t wish to drag her aimlessly about these great cities while you look for work?
“Besides, — you won’t be angry will you, if I speak plainly? — what work, exactly, have you in your mind to do? It isn’t, I’m afraid, always easy—”
Mr. Quincunx interrupted her with an outburst of unexpected fury.
“That’s what I knew you’d say!” he cried in a loud voice. “That’s what she says.” He indicated Lacrima. “But you both say it, only because you don’t, want me to have the pleasure of adopting Dolores!
“But I shall adopt her, — in spite of you all. Yes, in spite of you all! Nothing shall stop me adopting her!”
Once more the little Italian nestled close against him, and took possession of his trembling hand.
Vennie perceived an expression of despairing hopelessness pass like an icy mist over Lacrima’s face.
The profile of the Nevilton nun assumed those lines of commanding obstinacy which had reminded Valentia a few hours ago of the mediæval baron. She rose to her feet.
“Listen to me, Mr. Quincunx,” she said sternly. “You are right; you are quite right, to wish to save this child. No one shall stop you saving her. No one shall stop you adopting her. But there are other people whose happiness depends upon what you do, besides this child.”
She paused, and glanced from Mr. Quincunx to Lacrima, and from Lacrima to Mr. Quincunx. Then a look of indescribable domination and power passed into her face. She might have been St. Catharine herself, magnetizing the whole papal court into obedience to her will.
“Oh you foolish people!” she cried, “you foolish people! Can’t you see where God is leading you? Can’t you see where His Spirit has brought you?”
She turned upon Mr. Quincunx with shining eyes, while Lacrima, white as a phantom and with drooping mouth, watched her in amazement.
“It’s not only this child He’s helped you to save,” she went on. “It’s not only this child! Are you blind to what He means? Don’t you understand the cruelty that is being done to your friend? Don’t you understand?”
She stretched out her arm and touched Mr. Quincunx’s shoulder.
“You must do more than give this little one a father,” she murmured in a low tone, “you must give her a mother. How can she be happy without a mother?
“Come,” she went on, in a voice vibrating with magnetic authority, “there’s no other way. You and Lacrima must join hands. You must join hands at once, and defy everyone. Our little wanderer must have both father and mother! That is what God intends.”
There was a long and strange silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock.
Then Mr. Quincunx slowly rose, allowed the child to sink down into his empty chair, and crossed over to Lacrima’s side. Very solemnly, and as if registering a sacred vow, he took his friend’s head between his hands and kissed her on the forehead. Then, searching for her hand and holding it tightly in his own, he turned towards Vennie, while Lacrima herself, pressing her face against his shabby coat, broke into convulsive crying.
“I’ll take your advice,” he said gravely. “I’ll take it without question. There are more difficulties in the way than you know, but I’ll do, — we’ll do, — just what you tell us. I can’t think—” he hesitated for a moment, while a curious smile flickered across his face, “how on earth I’m going to manage. I can’t think how we’re going to get away from here. But I’ll take your advice and we’ll do exactly as you say.
“We’ll do what she says, won’t we, Lacrima?”
Lacrima’s only answer was to conceal her face still more completely in his dusty coat, but her crying became quieter and presently ceased altogether.
At that moment there came a sharp knock a the door.
The countenance of Mr. Quincunx changed. He dropped his friend’s hand, and moved into the centre of the room.
“That must be the circus-people,” he whispered. “They’ve come for Dolores. You’ll support me won’t you?” He looked imploringly at Vennie. “You’ll tell them they can’t have her — that I refuse to give her up — that I’m going to adopt her?”
He went out and opened the door.
It was not the circus-men he found waiting on his threshold. Nor was it the police. It was only one of the under-gardeners from Nevilton House. The youth explained that Mr. Homer had sent him to fetch Lacrima.
“They be goin’ to lunch early, mistress says, and the young lady ’ave to come right along ’ome wi’ I.”
Vennie intervened at this moment between her agitated host and the intruder.
“I’ll bring Miss Traffio home,” she said sternly, “when she’s ready to come. You may go back and tell Mrs. Romer that she’s with me, — with Miss Seldom.”
The youth touched his hat, and slouched off, without further protest.
Vennie, returning into the kitchen, found Mr. Quincunx standing thoughtfully by the mantel-piece, stroking his beard, and the two Italians engaged in an excited conversation in their own tongue.
The descendant of the lords of Nevilton meditated for a moment with drooping head, her hands characteristically clasped behind her back. When she lifted up her chin and began to speak, there was the same concentrated light in her eyes and the same imperative tone in her voice.
“The thing for us to do,” she said, speaking hurriedly but firmly, “is to go — all four of us — straight away from here! I’m not going to leave you until things are settled. I’m going to get you all clean out of this, — clean away!”
She paused and looked at Lacrima. “Where’s Mr. Dangelis?” she asked.
Lacrima explained how the artist had written to Gladys that he was staying until the following day at the Gloucester Hotel in Weymouth.
Vennie’s face became radiant when she heard this. “Ah!” she cried, “God is indeed fighting for us! It’s Dangelis that I must see, and see at once. Where better could we all go, — at any rate for tonight — than to Weymouth? We’ll think later what must be done next. Dangelis will help us. I’m perfectly certain he’ll help us.
“Oh yes, we’ll go to Weymouth at once, — before there’s any risk of the Romers stopping us! We’ll walk to Yeoborough — that’ll give us time to think out our plans — and take the train from there.