Mr. Marx's Secret Read online

  CHAPTER II. MR. FRANCIS.

  I was alone with my father in the kitchen, and he was looking as I hadnever seen him look before. It was late in the afternoon--as near as Ican remember, about six weeks after the news had reached us of Mr.Ravenor's wonderful adventures. He had just come in for tea, flushed withtoil and labouring in the hot sun. But as he stood on the flags beforeme, reading a letter which had been sent up from the village, the glowseemed to die out from his face and his strong, rough hands trembled.

  "It's a lie!" I heard him mutter to himself, in a hoarse whisper--"awicked lie!"

  Then he sank back in one of the high-backed chairs and I watched him,frightened.

  "Philip, lad," he said to me, speaking slowly, and yet with a certaineagerness in his tone, "has your mother had any visitors lately whilst I'a' been out on the farm?"

  I shook my head.

  "No one, except Mr. Francis," I added doubtfully.

  He groaned and hid his face for a moment.

  "How often has he been here?" he asked, after a while. "When did he comefirst? Dost remember?"

  "Yes," I answered promptly, "It was on the day Tom Foulds fell from theoat-stack and broke his leg. There was another gentleman with him then. Isaw them looking in at the orchard gate, so I asked them if they wantedanything, and the strange gentleman said that he was thirsty and wouldlike some milk, so I took him into the dairy; and I think that mothermust have known him before, for she seemed so surprised to see him.

  "He gave me half a crown, too," I went on, "to run away and watch for afriend of his. But the friend never came, although I waited ever so long.He's been often since; but I don't like him and----"

  I broke off in sudden dismay. Had not my mother forbidden my mentioningthese visits to anyone? What had I done? I began to cry silently.

  My father rose from his chair and leaned against the oaken chimney-piece,with his back turned towards me.

  "It's he, sure enough!" he gasped. "Heaven forgive her! But him--him----"

  His voice seemed choked with passion and he did not finish his sentence.I knew that I had done wrong, and a vague apprehension of threateningevil stole swiftly upon me. But I sat still and waited.

  It was long before my father turned round and spoke again. When he did soI scarcely knew him, for there were deep lines across his forehead, andall the healthy, sunburnt tan seemed to have gone from his face. Helooked ten years older and I trembled when he spoke.

  "Listen, Philip, lad!" he said gravely. "Your mother thinks I be gonestraight away to Farmer Woods to see about the colt, don't she?"

  I nodded silently. We had not expected him home again until late in theevening.

  "Now, look you here, Philip," he continued. "She's gone to bed wi' aheadache, you say? Very well. Just you promise me that you won't go nearher."

  I promised readily enough. Then he bade me get my tea and he sank backagain into his chair. Once I asked him timidly if he were not going tohave some, but he took no notice. When I had finished he led me softlyupstairs and locked me in my room. Never to this day have I forgottenthat dull look of hopeless agony in his face as he turned away and leftme.