CHAPTER VII.

_BROKEN ICE._

ONCE more Gabrielle Harvey had come to her brother's house.

Somebody besides Harvey was more than glad to see again that fair young face. Campion had lived upon recollections of it month after month. Time had deepened rather than lessened the impression made on him. He could have no manner of doubt now about the state of his own feelings towards her, and indeed nobody else could have any doubt about them either. But Gabrielle's state of mind towards him remained still an unknown quantity in calculations as to future events.

She had come earlier this year than last, and a late frost held London in its grip. Two days after her arrival, the brother and sister sallied forth to watch the crowds of skaters in the park. A low grey sky contrasted with the white ground, but despite the greyness, people were full of merriment—much more gay, Gabrielle thought, than when performing the stately carriage circuit on balmier afternoons.

Her own face, sparkling with enjoyment, won a good deal of attention. She was rather shy of skating in so large a concourse, though quite capable of it. Looking on was perhaps the more amusing to her unaccustomed eyes.

As she clung to her brother's arm, chatting, she presently noted three little boys in well-patched knickerbockers sliding in a retired corner, while a tall girl stood watching them—a girl of any age, Gabrielle thought, she had so young and yet so old a face. It was a pretty outline of feature, seen sideways from Gabrielle's position, with long lashes drooping over sorrowful grey eyes, and a patient curve of the full lips. The girl's dress was very plain, yet neatly and gracefully worn. She had no furs like Gabrielle; only an old cloth jacket, and a knotted silk scarf, and a small brown bonnet of unknown age.

"But what a sweet look!" Gabrielle burst out softly, as the finale of her cogitations.

"That young lady? Yes, I know her—the daughter of Mr. Detroit's manager." Gabrielle noticed an unusual interest in Harvey's tone. "Marson is an excellent fellow—I have the greatest esteem for him."

"She is too young to look so very serious. I should like to see her smile."

"Poor girl! I am afraid there is cause enough. Small means and large family. The mother incurably ill, and the father just broken down."

"Ted! And you can tell me so quietly! Why isn't something done? Why don't you help them?"

"How?"

"I don't know. Give them what they need."

"My dear child, it is not so easy. One gentleman can't walk in upon another, and present him with a cheque for two or three hundred pounds—even if he had it to spare. Marson is a thorough gentleman by birth and breeding—well connected, I believe."

"She is very lady-like—one can see that at a glance. And such pretty eyes—if only they were not so sad. Why don't you speak to her?"

"We are mere acquaintances. I have spoken to Miss Marson twice or three times. If she would glance this way—"

"She won't. I believe she doesn't choose. Or perhaps she has forgotten who you are. You must get me to know the Marsons—do, Ted."

As she spoke, Campion stood before her. He and she had met the day before, but for a few minutes only.

Campion had dragged since through interminable hours of alternate hope and despair. Hope struggled uppermost, as he met her sunny glance.

For the moment she lost sight of the Marsons and their troubles.

"Don't you skate, Miss Harvey?"

"Yes, in the country—but not here. I'm not used to such a crowd; and it is such fun seeing all the people. Don't let us keep you off the ice."

Campion had not the least desire to skate that day, and he said so. Gabrielle was kind enough to seem unconscious of the skates dangling from his left hand.

"By-the-by, have you heard the news?" he inquired suddenly of Harvey.

"No. What news?"

"Mr. Detroit's death."

"No!"

"Quite sudden, this morning. Nobody expected it so soon. I heard by accident."

The sad-faced girl, watching her little brothers, happened at this moment to be within earshot. She turned sharply, with a blank and startled look, as if to listen.

"I had no idea—I wish I had called again," Harvey said in a troubled manner. "Poor old man!"

"You have been so busy," Gabrielle observed.

She drew his attention to Ella Marson's scared face, and his hat was immediately lifted. But Ella Marson did not seem to notice the gesture, or to recognise him. Her wide-open grey eyes were gazing into vacancy, as if in piteous appeal against some threatened ill. Gabrielle's own eyes grew moist.

"How unhappy she looks!—So terribly distressed. What can it mean?" whispered Gabrielle.

And Campion asked, "Who is that?"

"Marson's daughter. I am afraid Mr. Detroit's death may be a serious matter to the Marsons. If the business passes into fresh hands, a younger man is likely to be preferred in Marson's place."

Harvey spoke low.

"He is very dependable. It is not impossible that he may be kept on," said Campion.

A shriek arose—shrill, sudden, and echoed by many voices.

While Ella Matson had been absorbed in attention to what was said, and then had been lost in her own thoughts, one of her little brothers, Jemmie, had taken the opportunity to slide past a certain warning-post, which told of danger beyond.

For three seconds he enjoyed the forbidden delight. Then the ice yielded beneath him, and with a piercing cry, he went down out of sight.