Although it was mid-day before I reached the Castle, the gate to the park had not been opened, the drive was deserted and even the great door to the house itself was closed.

And when, in answer to my ringing, one of the maids came after a certain delay, wearing neither apron nor cap, I found the hall empty and no sign of life in the house, except a shrill chorus of laughter which came from the servants’ quarters.

“What’s the meaning of this?” I asked, but before the girl could reply, Price who had come down to take my wraps said: 

“I’ll tell your ladyship presently.”

As we were going upstairs she told me that the entire house-party had that morning gone off on a cruise in Mr. Eastcliff’s yacht, that they would be away several days, and that Madame had left a letter for me which was supposed to explain everything.

I found it on the mantelpiece in my boudoir under an open telegram which had been stuck into the edge of the bevelled glass.  The telegram, which was addressed to me, was from Martin.

     "Expect to arrive to-morrow evening.  Staying until Wednesday
     afternoon.  If not convenient wire Principal’s House, King George’s
     College."

“To-morrow’?”

“That means to-day,” said Price.  “The telegram came yesterday.  Madame opened it and she told me to say ­”

“Let me read her letter first,” I said.

The letter ran as follows: 

     "My Dearest Mary,

     “You will be astonished to find the house empty and all your
     racketty guests gone.  Let me explain, and if you are angry about
     what has happened you must lay all the blame on me.

“Well, you see, my dear, it was arranged nearly a month ago that before we left your delightful house we should make a little cruise round your charming island.  But we had not expected that this would come off so soon, when suddenly and unexpectedly that silly Mr. Eastcliff, who has no more brains than a spring chicken, remembered that he had promised to visit a friend who has taken a shoot in Skye.  Result ­we had to make the cruise immediately or not at all, and yet behold! our hostess was away on an urgent call of sickness, and what in the world were we to do without her?

“Everybody was in a quandary ­that wise Mr. Vivian saying it would be ‘jolly bad form by Jove’ to go without you, while Mr. Eastcliffs ‘deelightfully vicked’ little Camilla declared it would be ‘vilaynous,’ and your husband vowed that his Margaret Mary could not possibly be left behind.

“It was then that a certain friend of yours took the liberty of remembering that you did not like the sea, and that even if you had been here and had consented to go with us it would have been only out of the sweetness of your heart, which I’ve always known to be the tenderest and most unselfish in the world.

“This seemed to satisfy the whole house and everybody was at ease, when lo! down on us like a thunderbolt came the telegram from Mr. Conrad.  Thinking it might require to be repeated, I took the liberty of opening it, and then we were in a plight, I assure you.

“What on earth was he to think of our leaving the house when he was on the point of arriving?  And, above all, how were we to support the disappointment of missing him ­some of us, the women especially, and myself in particular, being just crazy to see him again?

“This nearly broke down our plans altogether, but once more I came to the rescue by remembering that Mr. Conrad was not coming to see us but you, and that the very kindest thing we could do for a serious person of his kind would be to take our racketty presence out of the way.

“That contented everybody except my mother, who ­would you believe it? ­had gotten some prudish notions into her head about the impropriety of leaving you alone, and declared her intention of staying behind to keep you in countenance!  We soon laughed her out of that, though, and now, to relieve you of her company, we are carrying her away with us ­which will be lots of fun, for she’s as fond of water as a cat and will fancy she is seasick all the time.

“Good-bye, dearest!  We’re just off.  I envy you.  You happy, happy girl!  I am sure you will have such a good time.  What a man!  As natural as nature!  I see, by the insular paper that your islanders adore him.

     “Hope you found your father better.  Another wonderful man!  Such an
     original type, too!  Good-bye, my dearest dear_, ALMA.

     “P.S.  Have missed you so much, darling!  Castle Raa wasn’t the same
     place without you ­I assure you it wasn’t.”

While I was turning this letter over in my hand, wondering what the beautiful fiend had meant by it, my maid, who was standing by, was visibly burning with a desire to know its contents and give me the benefit of her own interpretation.

I told her in general what Alma had said and she burst into little screams of indignation.

“Well, the huzzy!  The wicked huzzy!  That’s all she is, my lady, begging your pardon, and there’s no other name for her.  Arranged a month ago, indeed!  It was never thought of until last night after Mr. Conrad’s telegram came.”

“Then what does it mean?”

“I can tell your ladyship what it means, if you’ll promise not to fly out at me again.  It means that Madame wants to stand in your shoes, and wouldn’t mind going through the divorce court to do so.  And seeing that you can’t be tempted to divorce your husband because you are a Catholic, she thinks your husband, who isn’t, might be tempted to divorce you.  So she’s setting a trap for you, and she expects you to fall into it while she’s away, and if you do. . . .”

“Impossible!”

“Oh, trust me, your ladyship.  I haven’t been keeping my ears closed while your ladyship has been away, and if that chatterbox of a maid of hers hadn’t been such a fool I suppose she would have been left behind to watch.  But there’s somebody else in the house who thinks she has a grievance against you, and if listening at keyholes will do anything . . .  Hush!”

Price stopped suddenly with her finger to her lip, and then going on tiptoe to the door she opened it with a jerk, when the little housekeeper was to be seen rising to an upright position while pretending that she had slipped.

“I only came to ask if her ladyship had lunched?” she said.

I answered that I had not, and then told her (so as to give her no further excuse for hanging about me) that in future she was to take her orders from Price ­an announcement which caused my maid to stand several inches taller in her shoes, and sent the housekeeper hopping downstairs with her beak in the air like an injured cockatoo.

All the afternoon I was in a state of the utmost agitation, sometimes wondering what Martin would think of the bad manners of my husband, who after inviting him had gone away just as he was about to arrive; sometimes asking myself, with a quiver of shame, if he would imagine that this was a scheme of my own contriving; but oftenest remembering my resolution of renunciation and thinking of the much fiercer fight that was before me now that I had to receive and part with him alone.

More than once I had half a mind to telegraph to Martin putting him off, and though I told myself that to do so would not be renunciation but merely flight from temptation, I always knew at the bottom of my heart that I really wanted him to come.

Nevertheless I vowed to my very soul that I should be strong ­strong in every word and look ­and if Alma was daring me I should defy her, and she would see that I should neither yield nor run away.

Thus I entrenched myself at last in a sort of bright strong faith in my power to resist temptation.  But I must leave it to those who know better than I the way to read a woman’s heart to say how it came to pass that towards five o’clock, when I heard the sound of wheels and going on to my balcony saw a jaunting-car at the front entrance, and then opening my door heard Martin’s great voice in the hall, I flew downstairs ­literally flew ­in my eagerness to welcome him.

There he was in his brown Harris tweeds and soft slouch hat with such an atmosphere of health and sweep of winds about him as almost took away my breath.

“Helloa!” he cried, and I am sure his eyes brightened at the sight of me for they were like the sea when the sun shines on it.

“You’re better, aren’t you?” he said.  “No need to ask that, though ­the colour in your face is wonderful.”

In spite of my resolution, and the attempt I made to show him only a kind of glad seriousness, I could not help it if I blushed.  Also I could not help it if, while going upstairs and telling him what had happened to the house-party, I said he was doomed to the disappointment of having nobody except myself for company, and then, woman-like, waited eagerly for what he would say.

“So they’re all gone except yourself, are they?” he said.

“I’m afraid they are,” I answered.

“Well, if it had been the other way about, and you had gone and they had stayed, by the stars of God, I should have been disappointed.  But things being as they are, we’ll muddle through, shan’t we?”

Not all the vows in the world could prevent me from finding that answer delightful, and when, on entering my boudoir, he said: 

“Sorry to miss Madame though.  I wanted a word with that lady before I went down to the Antarctic,” I could not resist the mischievous impulse to show him Alma’s letter.

While he read it his bright face darkened (for all the world like a jeweller’s window when the shutter comes down on it), and when he had finished it he said once more: 

“I hate that woman!  She’s like a snake.  I’d like to put my foot on it.”

And then ­

“She may run away as much as she likes, but I will yet, you go bail, I will.”

He was covered with dust and wanted to wash, so I rang for a maid, who told me that Mr. and Mrs. Eastcliff’s rooms had been prepared for Mr. Conrad.  This announcement (though I tried to seem unmoved) overwhelmed me with confusion, seeing that the rooms in question almost communicated with my own.  But Martin only laughed and said: 

“Stunning!  We’ll live in this wing of the house and leave the rest of the old barracks to the cats, should we?”

I was tingling with joy, but all the same I knew that a grim battle was before me.