CHAPTER I

MISSING

SNOW-CAPPED Helvellyn's heights. Butterdale Manor looked out upon white-crested Fells across a dark purple lake. The house itself was shuttered up for the night. Justin Holme, in a thick overcoat, stepped out of a car, and made his way up to his front door. He had sent no word of his arrival in England. It was his fancy to take his family unaware.

The respectable maid who opened the door to him was a stranger to him, and he to her. She asked his name.

He gave a short laugh.

"You need not announce me. I'll announce myself."

He slipped out of his coat, gave directions about his luggage, then made his way across the hall to the drawing-room. The door was ajar, and he saw lights within.

Very softly he opened the door and stood silently looking upon the scene before him.

The light came from the big blazing log fire in the grate. Round it was gathered a little group. Anstice was seated in a low chair, clad in a powder-blue velvet gown. The firelight played on her sunny brown head, on her softly flushed cheeks, and dimples, and happy eyes. She was telling a story. Her clear, vibrating voice rang out with happy assurance:

"And so the Prince's troubles were over, his long journeys in search of happiness was a thing of the past. He had found his dear Princess, and never meant to leave her side again."

Ruffie's golden head was resting against her knee; he was sitting amongst his cushions at her feet. Josie and Georgie were sprawling upon the hearth-rug; their tense, eager faces were devouring every word that came from Anstice's mouth. It was a pretty, home-like picture, and Justin's restless eyes softened as he gazed.

Then he swung open the door and strode forward. There were shrieks from the children, and all was babel and confusion. Ruffie was in his arms, and the little girls, hanging on to him, were talking eagerly. No one noticed that there was no greeting between husband and wife. If for a moment Justin's tall head was bent in Anstice's direction, she so quickly moved aside that nothing was possible but a few words of welcome.

"Well, I have taken you all by surprise, have I not? I meant to have been back in time for Christmas, but I dare say you have got on very well without me. We were delayed by storms in the Pacific. Have I brought the parrot? I have, but at present he will only say one word, and that is not a polite one. You will have to teach him to talk properly. He is in the hall by this time; come along and see him."

Carrying Ruffie in his arms, Justin took the little girls into the hall. For the time he was completely absorbed in his children; but when they were summoned to bed by Brenda, he sank down into an easy chair by the drawing-room fire.

"They're rather strenuous, those small people, and I'm dead dog tired! We only got into Liverpool early this afternoon, and we had a rough tossing. All last night I never went to bed at all."

"You'll feel better after dinner," said Anstice cheerfully. She was moving about the room as she spoke, tidying up, and putting cushions into their right places.

"Come and sit down opposite me and let me look at you," said Justin rather abruptly.

Anstice dropped into a chair with her happy easy laugh.

"I think you'll find no change in me. How do you think the children look?"

"Oh, they're all right."

He was regarding her with a slow, direct gaze. Anstice felt her cheek flush, though she was angry with herself for showing any emotion.

"I heard from your Cousin Lucy about a month ago, wanting to know the length of my desertion. She had been up here for a day or two."

"Yes, on her way to some friends in Northumberland. It was just before the first snow came. I made her as comfortable as I could, and quite enjoyed her visit."

"Well, you show no signs of strain; she seemed to think it was all too much for you alone."

"I have been, and am, very happy. Of course difficulties have arisen. Cousin Lucy was here when Bob Falkland was taken ill, and I had to get some one to help about the sheep. Hal Cross has been working over at the farm, for poor Eliza almost collapsed. I knew you must be on your way home, so could not write. Bob has had double pneumonia and nearly died. But he is much better now."

"I could ill spare Bob. He is my right-hand man," said Justin with concern. Then he looked about the room. "I congratulate you on the changes you have made here," he said. "This was an unlovable room when I left it. I suppose I shall find the house much improved?"

"I hope you will."

Then a whimsical sparkle came into his eyes.

"We didn't do so badly for ourselves, did we? Your Cousin Lucy seems to think that I score most. What do you think?"

"I think," said Anstice, rising, "that you had better get ready for dinner. You look as if you need it."

She left the room, and after she had gone, Justin drew a long breath.

"Malcolm is right. She's a beautiful creature. And I have been a selfish brute. She has done wonders for me and mine. I am in my soul grateful. I wonder if I shall have the courage to tell her so?"

Then he too made a move, and went up to his room. Brenda was there unpacking his things.

"It seems like old times to see you here," he said to her; "the house is getting shipshape at last, eh?"

"Oh, sir, it is a happy house now! I never could have believed anybody could have come and put us all to rights in such a lovely way as Mrs. Holme has. The little girls be changed entirely. And there's been no fear or force used—just love and persuasion."

Justin congratulated himself afresh upon the present state of things. He arrived down to dinner in the best of spirits. Anstice faced him from one end of the long table. She had changed her gown and was wearing a soft grey chiffon tea-gown with a bunch of violets on her shoulder. They talked pleasantly together, Anstice giving him all the local news, and he telling of his stormy voyage home.

"I really thought at one time, I should never see the shore," he said. "Would you have cared much, I wonder, if the ocean had claimed me?"

"Ruffie would," responded Anstice lightly; "he never forgets you in his prayers."

"But what would you have felt?" persisted Justin.

"Look here," said Anstice, dimpling, but though smiling, speaking firmly, "I must ask you to keep all personalities out of our talk. You are, as you know, almost a complete stranger to me, and I to you. We can be friendly without bringing in any personal touch. I have faithfully kept to my bargain. I expect you to keep to yours."

Justin's brows contracted, then he smiled.

"I will remember. But I am in my own house, and I don't want to be continually snubbed, and made to feel my place!"

"I have no intention of doing anything of that sort," said Anstice in a shocked voice. "I hope I shall never forget that you are the master of the Manor, and the father of your children."

"And your husband," murmured Justin, but he took care that his words did not reach her.

Justin went into his smoking-room after dinner, and did not join his wife in the drawing-room until she was about to retire for the night. He stood beside her silently for a moment, then suddenly put his hand on her shoulder.

"I have always from a boy found it difficult to express my thanks to anyone, but I would now thank you for all you have done in my absence. It must have cost you a good deal of time and strength and effort—may I say patience?—to have worked such changes amongst my belongings. And I am duly grateful."

His gravity and sincerity of tone touched Anstice.

"It has been happy work," she said. "I want no thanks. In a way I was only carrying out the conditions on which I came here, but I have enjoyed it all, and been far happier than I ever thought possible. Good night."

She held out her hand, and though for a moment Justin made a movement as if he were about to claim more from her, he restrained himself, and went forward to hold open the door for her.

The first few days of Justin's return were rather uncomfortable to Anstice. He seemed to be watching her every movement, regarding her with amused, critical eyes, listening to her talk with the children, to her orders to the servants, and giving her the impression that he was keenly observant of all her actions and words. It made her feel self-conscious at first, and then gradually, as they became more accustomed to be together, they lapsed into easy comradeship, and life seemed difficult no longer.

Justin found that a good deal of superintendence was necessary on his farm. Bob had not yet recovered his strength, and to Anstice's amazement one morning, she saw, from a window, her husband driving the plough across a seven-acre field. He came into breakfast amazingly hungry.

"Yes, it's rather different work to yachting, but I've learnt every branch of farming, and ploughing is interesting," he said to her. "I have had to put my hands to most things. Bob always told me, I would take the prize in any ploughing match. We must take advantage of this mild spell, but our winters aren't severe as a rule up here."

"I want to go over to see the Nixons, if I can," Anstice said, looking out of the window at a very grey lake and dark stormy skies. "Ellen is ill; I must see that she is being looked after properly. I hope some of the Watts at the inn are seeing to her."

"You don't walk over there?"

"Indeed I do. I shall start in an hour's time and take a bit of lunch with me in case I may be delayed. Don't wait lunch for me—I shall be back before dark."

"It's a pity you don't ride."

"But I can ride, only there is no horse, is there? I am too heavy for our poor little pony."

"Would you ride if I got you one? Why haven't you used my mare? I did not know you could ride."

"Do you think now that Bob would have let me lay a finger on your darling Sheba?"

Anstice laughed at the very idea.

"No—I love walking, and enjoy the Fells at any time. I am only too glad of any excuse to get up amongst them. You will be busy with your ploughing. I shall be home for tea, perhaps long before."

Justin came in for a hurried lunch; he would not allow to himself how much he missed Anstice, and what a blank there was in the house when she was out of it. He went out to his ploughing again in the afternoon, but came in before dusk to inquire if Anstice were home. A thick mist and fine drizzling rain was already obscuring the Fells from view. He paced up and down the hall uneasily, then called to Brenda. The children were all making a great deal of noise in the nursery, so she did not come at once. He spoke to her very sharply.

"Why don't you come when you are called? Is your mistress accustomed to the Fells? Can she find her way about? She is not back yet, and there's a thick mist coming on. Is she out as late as this generally?"

"Maybe she's dropped in to Hockerdale. 'Tis on the way to the Nixons. She's always in by dusk. But 'tis a goodish step from Rutherswater."

An anxious look came into Brenda's face. Justin waited for twenty minutes longer, then he went off to the farm, saddled his mare and set off up into the Fells. He carried an electric torch with him and flashed it here and there in the hope of attracting attention. The mist grew thicker, until at last, even he found it difficult to follow the track. But he managed to find Hockerdale; there, the James' were sitting down to tea. The farmer sprang to his feet.

"The missus out on the Fells such an afternoon like this! May God save her! She'll never find her way. I met her this marnin' an' warned her not to kaap out an' about too lang."

"Have you a lantern, man? Come on with me. We must find her. I think I'll put up my mare here and go on foot. She's not good at finding her way in a mist."

Together they pushed on, shouting as they went, and then Frank James brought slight ease of mind to Justin by reminding him that Anstice had Hercules with her. Justin, after that, whistled a peculiar whistle of his, which Hercules would hear and answer if he were anywhere within reach. A fruitless hour passed, and then the two separated, going in different directions. Justin determined to reach Rutherswater, if he could. Anstice, he argued to himself, might still be taking refuge with the old Nixons. So he pushed on, missing his track continually, retracing his steps to find it again, and all the time shouting and whistling to Hercules.

At last, there was a thudding of feet, a big form sprang upon him with a low whimper of recognition. It was the mastiff. He heaved a deep sigh of relief. He was on the right track.

"All right, old fellow. Take me to her! Fetch her!"

Hercules understood; but as he was bounding away Justin gripped him by the collar.

"Not so fast, my man! I don't mean to lose you again if I can help it."

He took off a muffler he had round his throat, and slipped one end of it through the mastiff's collar. Then suffered himself to be led along at breakneck speed. But he believed in Hercules, and did not expect to be dashed over the edge of some crag.

After a quarter of an hour's hard walking, they came right off the path amongst rough blocks of granite. Here Justin stumbled again and again, but Hercules led steadily on, and then—was it fancy? He thought he heard a faint cry in the distance. They were descending now a steep, precipitous path. It was dangerous going. But they rounded a sharp corner and came upon a flat grassy plateau. And here, dimly through the moving mist, he saw, under the shadow of a sharp overhanging crag, a figure.

"Anstice!" he shouted.

And her voice, clear as a bell, answered him:

"I am here. This way!"

[Illustration: "He must have fallen down here from above." _Her Kingdom_ Book II, Chapter I.]

He had found her! Crouched down over another figure lying on the ground beside her.

"What are you doing? Are you hurt?"

"It is poor old Tommy Nixon."

She rose slowly to her feet.

He gripped her by the arm, but she shrank from his touch.

"Can you lift him up? Poor old man, he is seriously injured. He must have fallen down here from above. I'll tell you all about it afterwards, but how can we get him home? I haven't the least notion where we are. I heard his dog barking. Take care, don't step on him; he resents anyone touching his master. Is anyone with you?"

"James may be round about!" He sent a loud halloa out amongst the Fells. Echoes resounded from the rocky crags, and a faint shout that was not his came to them.

Then Justin flashed his torch to and fro. There was an answering gleam in the mist, and in ten minutes' time, the farmer had joined them. Just before he came up, Justin spoke almost roughly:

"Why the deuce didn't you come home and send some one out to this poor fellow? I've been hunting for you for hours."

"And I have been waiting for hours," was the quiet reply. "I could not leave him; he begged me not to do so. He was in terrible suffering. Now he's unconscious, but I was able to give him some brandy, and he is living still. Listen to his breathing!"

She was bending over him again. Her whole soul was with the poor old man. She seemed indifferent to herself or to Justin. Then James came up. But it was Justin who slipped out of his heavy coat, and lifting the old man into it, used it as a stretcher, James taking one end of it, and he the other.

"How far are we from his house?"

"A goodish way," said James. "We had best carry him to th' house and let my wife tend to him."

"Yes," assented Anstice at once. "His sister is too ill to nurse him. She wants a nurse herself. We will go to Hockerdale."

They started. Victory, the sheep-dog, after a little growling at Hercules, followed the procession. Anstice seemed to have difficulty in keeping up with them. More than once Justin stopped, and then said in softened tone:

"You seem tired. Take hold of my arm."

"Oh no, you want all your strength to carry him over this rough ground. Look! The mist is rolling away, and the moon's coming out! Thank God!"

It was indeed rolling away like great clouds from their feet. It seemed a long time before they reached Hockerdale, but they were there at last, and Mrs. James rose to the occasion. The old man was put in her best bed in the big spare room. A fire was lighted and hot bottles applied to his feet. A farm lad was sent off for the nearest doctor.

Justin stayed up in the bedroom helping, as Mrs. James said afterwards, "in all the world like a sick nurse, turnin' 'im so deft like, and knowin' how to get some hot drink down his throat!"

And when Justin was assured that he was as comfortable as possible, he came down to the farm kitchen. There he found Anstice in a half-fainting condition. She was sitting in the big chair by the fire, her soaked clothes steaming from the heat; round one arm she had a blood-soaked bandage, and to his horror, Justin saw that she had seriously hurt herself.

"Oh, these women!" he ejaculated.

He called sharply to James, who had gone out to his cows in the farm, for Mrs. James was still caring for old Nixon.

"Get me a basin of warm water," he said. "My wife wants seeing to now."

He forced her to swallow a little brandy, and then she slowly opened her eyes. For an instant she looked at him vaguely.

"I am sorry," she murmured. "I had a tumble in finding Tommy, and cut my arm. It bled a good bit, and makes me feel queer. I bandaged it as tight as I could."

She closed her eyes again, whilst Justin set to work, and his touch was as gentle as any woman's. He undid the bandage, bathed the wounded arm, which was badly cut above the elbow, bandaged it up with fresh linen again, and settled her back into the chair, arranging the cushions behind her to his satisfaction and also to hers. She smiled at him; she had winced when he had touched her arm, but otherwise had borne the bandaging silently.

"Who taught you 'first aid'?" she asked.

"I taught myself," he said a little shortly; "have had plenty of experience on my boat. You ought to have your wet clothes off."

"Oh no, I must get home. They have really dried on me. I can't stay here, you know. One disabled person is quite enough."

"You'll stay here till I come back. I'll ride off and get a car. This is a time when I regret not owning one. Ah! Here is Mrs. James. She'll see to you."

He explained matters. Mrs. James soon had Anstice's wet clothes off her and gave her some of her own to wear, whilst she set about drying hers. Justin went off, and the farmer went upstairs to sit by old Nixon.

"I can't think," said Anstice in a quavering voice, "why I feel so shaky. I suppose I must have lost more blood than I thought. I felt my arm dripping as I walked. I nearly collapsed on the way."

"You look awful, ma'am. Don't ye talk; the doctor will be here and he'd best look at your arm."

"I am thinking of poor Ellen Nixon. She is so bad, Mrs. James. One of the Watts girls has promised to sit up with her to-night. How can we get her a nurse? She must have one. It's severe bronchitis, she can hardly breathe. She's so bad that I doubt if she will notice her brother's absence, but of course she'll have to be told. Can you send her a message early in the morning to say where he is?"

"Don't you worry, ma'am; we'll do that the first thing."

"Ellen thought her brother had been detained in Penrith, but Watts at the inn told me he had left Penrith at twelve o'clock in the morning, and ought to have been back before he was. He said he was afraid he was having a business collecting his sheep. That was how—when I heard the insistent barking of his dog, that I knew something was wrong."

"I wouldn't talk if I were you," advised Mrs. James, noting the feverish flush coming into Anstice's cheeks. "Just you try and have a wink or two of sleep, afore the Squire coom back."

Anstice subsided. The doctor arrived before her husband. He was a long time with old Nixon. He had broken two ribs and dislocated his left wrist, otherwise he was sound. Then he examined Anstice, and had to put four stitches into her gashed arm.

"It's a nasty cut," he said, "but I'll give the Squire a certificate for bandaging. I'll look up at the Manor to-morrow and see how you are."

He met Justin as he was going out at the gate.

"Take good care of your wife, Squire; she's very weak from loss of blood. Keep her in bed till I see her again. I expect she has taken a chill; she has a temperature. Have you got a closed car?"

"Yes."

"She'll be better off at home, so I suppose she must be moved. Otherwise, she'd be wise to stay where she is. I've told her I'll look in to-morrow."

Justin went in. Anstice struggled to her feet when she saw him.

"I am ready. In my own clothes again! Mrs. James has been wonderful."

But she staggered as she spoke, and Justin put his arm round her, and when they got outside, he lifted her right up in his arms and deposited her in the car, as he might have done a child.

"Well," she murmured, "I never realized you were so strong."

He smiled. Nothing could have been more protective and tender than his care of her during that drive home. They spoke but little. Once Anstice tried to explain her long absence, but he stopped her.

"You can tell me later. I only regret one thing, that you did not tell me at once how hurt your arm was."

"You could have done nothing. Poor old Nixon was the injured one. He had to be carried." Then she leant her head back and closed her eyes.

When they reached home, she went straight to bed, but her husband came to the door of her room the last thing at night.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

She tried to speak lightly.

"A little top-heavy and giddy, but I shall be all right in the morning."

"Brenda had better sleep in your room."

"Oh no, indeed, I do not want her."

He went down the passage and called to Brenda. "Your mistress ought not to be left to-night. She's very feverish. Take your mattress in and sleep on the floor, or there's a couch there—you can sleep on that, if you take your bedding in. Keep up the fire, and give her some milk in the night if she wants anything. That can't hurt her."

Brenda meekly obeyed. When Anstice remonstrated, she said it was the master's orders.

It was a week before Anstice left her bed. She had taken a violent chill, and had a good deal of fever with it. She was also weakened by exposure and by the loss of blood, and when sitting up in a cushioned chair, looked the shadow of her former self.

Justin was extraordinarily concerned about her, and the children were miserable.

"Nothing goes right when Steppie is away from us," said Georgie to her father in a miserable voice. She had been having rather a severe fight with Josie out on the terrace, and her father had come upon the scene and scolded them well.

"Josie tries to boss, and I won't be bossed," said Georgie, gulping down a sob.

"She's been opening the door of the aviary and letting out the birds into the drawing-room, Dad. And we can't find 'Cluckatoo,' the love bird! Steppie made us promise we'd never let the birds out!"

"And you're a tell-tale and I hate you!"

Georgie was aiming a kick at her sister, when her father took hold of her by the shoulder and marched her upstairs to a room at the end of the passage which had always been called by the children the "Bogy Hole." It was small and dark with one tiny window rather high up, and had originally been known as the still room. He pushed her in and locked the door upon her, telling Brenda to leave her there for a good hour. And then he went off to the farm, feeling irritated with every one.