Meantime the preparations for the theatricals went on rapidly. Mr. Robinson came down the next day, and found his amateur troupe duly drawn up for inspection. Not one of them, however, was word-perfect, in spite of their diligent study, singly or in couples, except Mdlle. Lamien and Mr. Tremain, to neither of whom did the text present any difficulties.

Much to Philip's surprise, Mdlle. Lamien proved but an indifferent actress; she recited her lines without a mistake, but that was all that could be said in praise of her. She was dull, apathetic, heavy, made no effort to throw life or emotion into her part, and was, indeed, so studiously indifferent, that Mr. Robinson took no trouble to either remonstrate with or contradict her, knowing her to be but a substitute, and feeling perfectly sure of the real impersonator, who had been trained untiringly by him, and had made her dÉbut as his favourite pupil.

Mdlle. Lamien made it so very apparent that she only appeared in obedience to Mrs. Newbold's request, that Philip found acting up to her not only laborious, but ridiculous, and consequently shirked his scenes with her as much as possible, though not without wondering at the strange contradictions of which her character seemed formed.

The days were drawing on now, and only three remained before that one which, as Dick Darling remarked, "they were to so appropriately celebrate—George's birthday, with George left very much out of it." Now that Philip knew Patricia was not expected until the very morning of the all-important day, he put away from him all thought of meeting her, and, with a suddenly developed gaiety, joined heart and soul in the frivolities of the hour.

The day before the great event, however, something happened which threatened to deprive the company of Henri's personation, and which for the moment, threw even the theatricals in the shade. A letter written by Mr. Tremain to his one intimate man friend best explains the situation:

"The Folly,
"April, 188—.

"Dear Mainwaring,

"Here I am with a strained wrist and a halo of heroism. The first is uncomfortable, the second undeserved. No doubt you will receive a garbled account of what has occurred, and a highly-coloured report of my 'heroic action and wonderful presence of mind'—the words are Miss James's, not mine. Well, then, to save your brain a shock, and your friendship a blow, I send off these somewhat unintelligible lines. I don't want you repeating the tale, with mock heroics, at the club and about town, and I know your fondness for a good story.

"Let me say then, as a premise, that whatever of bravery or heroism was displayed, at a somewhat critical moment in a commonplace incident, belongs solely to Mdlle. Lamien, Mimi's governess; and, by-the-bye, I don't know but that it is just at these commonplace times that one's nerve and resolution are most often put to the test.

"Here are the facts: Mrs. Newbold has a pair of new ponies, George's latest gift, and her last fad; she drove me up with them the day I arrived, and I didn't care for their style particularly, they pulled too hard, and had an obstinate trick of catching at the bit that might prove nasty. Esther's groom on these occasions is Tony, elected, presumably, because of the smallness of his stature. You have seen Tony, and therefore know that he is mostly hat.

"Very well, this morning being bright and cool, Mrs. Newbold decided to take little Marianne and Cissy Beverley for a drive; it was in vain both George and I pointed out to her that the ponies had not been exercised for the last two days, and would therefore be very fresh and too great a handful for her, she would not listen—her sex never will, you know, when advice runs against inclination—and woman-like, she must play with her latest toy.

"So off they started, the children tucked in beside Mrs. Newbold, and Tony perched up behind. The little brutes were fresh enough, but Esther had them well in hand, and drove off in true workmanlike style. They had their drive, along the upper road, and round by the Bay, and so through the town to Beverley's house. Here Mrs. Newbold got out, letting Marianne hold the reins, with Tony at the ponies' heads. She lifted Cissy down, and was just turning to give a word of caution, when a cat, followed by Beverley's setter pup, ran out from the kitchen garden and flew directly under the ponies' heads.

"Then came a sudden shying movement, the light carriage swayed dangerously, and then, with tossing heads, the little brutes broke loose from Tony's hold, took the bits between their teeth, and in a second were off on a dead run.

"You will admit it was not a pleasant situation for Esther. She has since told me that her first intimation of danger was the sight of her darling's bright sunny hair and frightened blue eyes being borne away in the rocking, swaying carriage, as it sped down the drive, drawn by horses wild and young.

"They passed the gate safely, and started off down the Terrace at a full gallop. And now my part comes in. I was walking leisurely up from the post-office when, as I neared Snug Harbour, I saw the ponies dashing towards me; in a second I recognised them; in that second they were past me. I started after them, but with a feeling of hopelessness, for who could hope to come up with their flying feet? And though the road was broad and open for several miles, little Marianne—whose piteous white face caught my eye as she was borne by me—might at any moment loose her hold and be dashed out, or dragged in the trailing reins.

"I put on what speed I could, and as I reached a slight curve in the road, beyond which the ponies would be lost to sight, a woman flew through an open gate and threw herself directly in front of the frightened animals.

"Thus checked for a second, I saw her measure the distance with a glance, then jump and catch the bridle with one hand, flinging all her weight upon it and never letting go, though the little brutes dragged her several rods. To reach her side and add my strength to hers was but the work of a moment; the ponies, easily tired, submitted to my soothing voice and hand, while little Marianne, who throughout had behaved like a heroine, now covered herself with glory, by stepping deliberately out of the carriage and throwing her arms about the tall, dark figure beside her.

"I turned then to face my brave companion; it was, as I suspected, Mdlle. Lamien, who stood there, calm and unmoved, the heavy lace of her veil concealing whatever emotion her face might have revealed. It was she, and no other, who had risked her own life to save the child; and yet, Mainwaring, I declare to you solemnly and in all calmness, it was not of her I thought as we stood together side by side; it was not her personality that seemed so near me, nor her spirit that had carried out so brave a rescue. Laugh at me if you will, suggest hysteria and nerves; so be it, I accept the taunt, and repeat again, it was not Mdlle. Lamien who made captive my admiration and esteem—it was Patricia Hildreth. Explain it as best you can. I do but repeat, it was Patricia who dominated me then; Patricia who seemingly stood so close, I had but to put out my hand to touch her,—and yet—it was Mdlle. Lamien who replied coldly to my inquiries, and who walked swiftly away, leaving me with Marianne, and the now quiet horses.

"Strange to say, neither she nor the child have received any injuries, and I have escaped with a strained wrist—my left one—which will not incapacitate me for to-morrow; indeed, a Henri de Flavigneul with a sling will be a new departure, and ought to prove what Miss Darling would call 'very fetching.'

"By the way, you come down, I believe, for the play; did I tell you Patricia will also be here? I think in many ways this place grows dangerous, and I shall return to my own den, as soon as the theatricals are over.

"As ever, old friend, yours faithfully,
"Philip Tremain."

But if Mr. Tremain was inclined to treat thus lightly his share in Marianne's rescue, the others refused to look at it in so trivial a light. Esther, with tears in her eyes, took both his hands and thanked him with a tremulous smile.

"I shall never forget it, Philip, never," she said, and turned away to hide the falling drops.

George Newbold, proverbially a man of few words, wrung his friend's hand in the grip of a giant, and muttered an incoherent "Old fellow, can't thank you; it was splendidly done."

And then came Dick Darling, her laughing face sobered for a moment, and a look of true admiration in her eyes, as she said:

"Mr. Tremain, you are a brick; it was awfully tip-top of you! I tell you what; for downright bravery you 'take the cake!'"

But from no one did Philip receive such delicate and subtle flattery as from Miss James. That young lady fairly glowed with the magnitude of her admiration. She went about with raised eyelids and drooped lips, as though always contemplating, mentally, his past danger, and returning thanks for his deliverance. She was also always meeting him at odd times, and in out-of-the-way corners, and asking with solicitude after his "poor injured wrist," offering to bind it up for him, or write his letters, or read to him; which last, as Dick said, "was palpably absurd, since Mr. Tremain's eyes and brains were not injured, or out of working gear."

Philip, hating all fuss, and especially fuss in which he deserved so small a share, made the most of his strained wrist and kept in the smoking-room, or his own chamber, the rest of the day, and there nursed his rancour against Miss James for being a fool herself, and making him appear an equal one; and his resentment towards Mdlle. Lamien, who had passed him by almost without recognition, drawing the falling laces closer about her face, and not heeding the eager hand he put out to detain her, or the alert tone in which he asked after her health. She had paused just one brief instant, as though about to speak, and then, evidently changing her intention, drew herself up and passed down the stairs, not once looking back, or replying by a word to his courtesy.

There was a full-dress rehearsal called for that evening, and Philip, as he sat moodily in his own room, smoking his cigar, felt a half savage delight in the knowledge that Mdlle. Lamien must appear for it, and respond in a somewhat less chilling and uncomfortable manner to the requirements demanded by his rÔle.

A little before tea-time he heard voices in the corridor outside, which he recognised as Dick Darling's and Baby Leonard's.

"Only think; she has actually come," Miss Leonard was saying, "and a day before she promised!"

To which Dick briefly replied, "Who?"

"Why, Miss Hildreth, of course; who else are we all waiting for? Really, Dick, you grow very dense!"

"Oh, do I?" returned Miss Darling, unmoved. "And so Patricia has come at last? Patricia the beautiful, Patricia the inconstant, Patricia the slayer, Patricia the conqueror! Well, I agree with you, Baby, 'tis something to be sure of her, for Miss Patty is but kittle cattle at best!"

Here the two girls walked down the passage, their voices growing fainter and then sinking into silence. So Patricia was come. For a long time Mr. Tremain sat very still, not heeding his outward surroundings, immersed in retrospect; his cigar went out, the fire died on the hearth and fell into little heaps of white ashes, the day darkened, the hours drew on to evening, and the shadows came out of their hiding-places in the large room, creeping up from indistinct corners, and from behind the heavy furniture, shaking themselves free from the window draperies, and drawing nearer, nearer, until they wrapped him all about in their impalpable obscurity, and he became a part of them, as unreal and intangible as they.

Patty was come! Patty! And he must see her again, must look into her eyes, and touch her hand, and watch the smile come and go upon her lips, just as he had known it all, and loved it, ten years ago.

And now a strange thing occurred; at least it seemed strange at the time, and Philip could never quite shake off the indefinable feeling of the supernatural that then enveloped him, whenever in after years he recalled that evening.

His rooms were situated in what was known as the "bachelor wing" of the Folly, though not separated from the main corridor, as were the other apartments of that class. He knew that next to his chamber was what was called the Green Room, occupied by Miss James and Dick Darling, while on the other side was the dressing-room belonging to his suite, and used by his man-servant; the remaining rooms beyond were bachelor apartments, separated from the main part of the house by a heavy baize door, that cut off all sound. He also knew that the fair occupants of the Green Room were at that hour sipping tea and scandal in the library, and his man flirting with the maids in the hall. To all intents and purposes he was absolutely alone, as no sound of arriving guests could reach him, the greater spare rooms being situated in the west wing. Marianne and Mdlle. Lamien's apartments were in the main corridor, but a storey above. All this flashed across Mr. Tremain's mind in a second, though it has taken somewhat long to explain.

As he sat brooding in the chill dim shadows, conjuring up the ghosts of bygone years, and speculating moodily upon the fate that had marred his life, and the strange, inconsistent, unwilling homage he even yet bore for the woman who had played the part of a gay mocking Cassandra to him, and with a dreary pessimist philosophy accepted his destiny as inevitable, he became suddenly aware of a faint subtle perfume, that stole over his senses imperceptibly, which he recognised physically to be the odour of violets. And as this sweet scent swept over him, there came before him vividly, a sudden sharp remembrance of the past, while the words of the poet rose unconsciously to his lips:

He was no longer Philip the successful, resting in his easy-chair, the idol of the hour at the Folly; but he was Philip the ardent, and the impecunious; Philip in a badly made coat, heated and travel-stained, hurt and angry; standing in a room that was dainty in its luxury of flowers and half lights, with a vision of a drawing-room beyond, brilliantly lighted, softly coloured, and from whence came the echo of gay laughter, and bright voices.

And now from out that room came slowly, ah, how slowly, to his wildly beating heart, a tall slight figure, clad in softest silks and laces, with a breast-knot of violets; and as the vision advanced nearer and stood half within the shadow of the outer room, he could see the soft fair face, crowned with its dead-brown hair, and wearing a look half frightened, half pleading in the sweet eyes, and on the arched and trembling lips.

Slowly, slowly the figure drew nearer to him; now it was but a few paces off, he could almost touch it with his hand, he could see the violets rise and fall with the lace upon her bosom; their scent came to him strong, and sweet, and pungent. He sprang from his chair, and held out his hands.

"Patty!" he cried, "Patty, have you come to find me, my little Patty?"

But even as he spoke the vision faded; there came one clear loud whisper, calling his name, "Philip! Philip!" and then, even as he looked, the shining lights were gone, the gaily echoed voices silent, the figure grew indistinct and unreal, and then vanished, and Philip found himself standing in the middle of the room, gazing on vacancy, with only the sad perfume of violets left on the air.

He sank back into his chair, bewildered, exhausted, and as he did so, a strain of saddest music reached his ears, and a voice that was almost a monotone, and yet that struck an answering chord of misery in his heart, said, rather than sang, some words that ran in this wise:

The voice ceased, and Mr. Tremain, his composure gone, his heart beating wildly, cried out again, this time with a ring of deepest passion:

"Patricia! Patty, have you come back to me?"

But it was not Patty's sweet voice he knew so well, that made answer, it was a far higher, lighter treble that cried out, as the door was flung open impetuously:

"Oh, Mr. Tremain, how very dull and mopy of you! All alone, in the dark, and no fire!" And Mrs. Esther swept in, trailing her plush tea-gown after her, followed by Perkins with a lamp, and Long with a silver tray set with a tea equipage.

"Dear me!" continued Mrs. Newbold, coming nearer, and blinking her eyes in affected short-sightedness, "how very dismal you look, and how very cold you feel! Here, Perkins, make up the fire directly. I have come to give you your tea, Philip, I am sure you need it, for you look as white as a ghost, and as dazed as a clairvoyant! Put the tray here, Long," drawing up a small table, "there, that will do; now tell your master to come to Mr. Tremain's sitting-room, immediately." Then as the two servants withdrew, she added with a comical little grimace, "now for ten minutes, until George can join us, my reputation is at stake! Isn't it awful? and I who have known you since my days of short frocks and pig-tails!" Then with a light laugh, "I knew you would be dull, Philip, I always think it's very trying work posing for a hero, and you know we all insist upon your personating that most uncomfortable character, whether you like it or not, so if I were you I'd get all the glory out of it that's possible! Now then, here's a cup of tea for you," and she jumped up, carrying it over to him, where he sat, half hidden in his arm-chair.

The newly kindled fire flashed up as she came to him, and shining full upon him, revealed the whiteness of his face, and the look of introspection in his eyes.

"Are you not well, Philip?" she asked; and then before he could reply, "Why, what a delicious odour of violets! You dear thing, have you got some for me?"

But Mr. Tremain made no answer; he put out his hand and took the cup from her, saying as he did so: "Then you, too, perceive it, Esther; it is the odour of violets, is it not, and yet I have none for you."

"Of course it's violets," replied Mrs. Newbold, positively, "and of course you are hiding them from me. Ah, well, I don't mind, I dare say you are keeping them for some one," and she smiled a little fine smile of superiority and knowledge.

After a moment's pause Mr. Tremain asked another question, and in spite of his attempted carelessness, his voice had a ring of anxiety.

"Esther, who—who was singing, just now, when you came in, or a moment before?"

"Singing?" queried Mrs. Newbold. "Oh, no one; they are all far too busy discussing this evening's rehearsal; though, stay a moment—yes, I remember now, I did hear some one grinding out a melancholy ditty, as I came down the corridor. Of course, it was Mdlle. Lamien."

"Mdlle. Lamien?" echoed Philip.

"Yes," replied Esther, "she has a little, tiny room in this very wing, where she keeps a piano and some books; you might hear her here, it's just possible."

But Mr. Tremain was not heeding her. Once again he was overwhelmed and confused as the strange spell of this woman's personality crept over him. He could have sworn the voice was Patricia's, just as the face of his vision had been Patricia's! Was he always to be haunted by this strange dual resemblance—which was no resemblance—between the Patricia of his youth, and this incomprehensible, mysterious stranger?

If the voice was the voice of Mdlle. Lamien, why should it affect him so strongly, or why should it seem but the fitting adjunct to the face of his vision, since that vision wore the semblance of Patricia?