Chapter 11: The Man on the Fence

Her first feeling, when she knew herself in truth to be alone, was of thankfulness so intense as almost to amount to pain. He knew! As he himself had said, thank goodness! Her relief at the knowledge that her burden was shared, in however slight a degree, was greater than she could have imagined possible. And of all people in the world--by him! Now he understood, and understanding had, in one sense, drawn him closer to her; if in another it had thrust him farther off. Again, to use his own words, he was at least her friend. And, among all persons, he was the one whom-- for every possible reason--she would rather have chosen as a friend. In his hands she knew she would be safe. Whatever he could do, he would do, and more. That ogre who, in a few hours, would again be issuing from the prison gates, would not have her so wholly at his mercy as she had feared. Now, and henceforward, there would be someone else with whom he would have to reckon. One in whom, she was convinced, he would find much more than his match.

Again as he had said--thank goodness!

For some minutes she remained just as he had left her, standing looking after him, where he had vanished among the trees. After a while the restraint which she had placed upon herself throughout that trying interview, began to slacken. The girl that was in her came to the front--nature had its way. All at once she threw herself face downward on the cushioned turf in her own particular nook, and burst into a flood of tears. It was to enable her to do that, perhaps, that she had so wished to be alone. For once in a way, it was a comfort to cry; they were more than half of them tears of happiness. On the grass she lay, in the moonlight, and sobbed out, as it were, her thanks for the promise of help which had so suddenly come to her.

Until all at once she became aware, amidst the tumult of her sobbing, of a disturbing sound. She did not at first move or alter her position. She only tried to calm herself and listen. What was it which had struck upon her consciousness? Footsteps? Yes, approaching footsteps.

Had he played her false, and, despite his promise, kept watch on her? And was he now returning, to intrude upon her privacy? How dare he! The fountain of her tears was all at once dried up; instead, she went hot all over. The steps were drawing nearer. The person who was responsible was climbing the fence, within, it seemed, half a dozen feet of her. She started up in a rage, to find that the intruder was not Hugh Morice.

Seated on the top rail of the fence, on which he appeared to have perched himself, to enable him to observe her more at his ease, was quite a different-looking sort of person, a much more unprepossessing one than Hugh Morice. His coat and trousers were of shepherd’s plaid; the open jacket revealing a light blue waistcoat, ornamented with bright brass buttons. For necktie he wore a narrow scarlet ribbon. His brown billycock hat was a little on one side of his head; his face was clean shaven, and between his lips he had an unlighted cigarette. In age he might have been anything between thirty and fifty.

His appearance was so entirely unexpected, and, in truth, so almost incredible, that she stared at him as she might have stared at some frightful apparition. And, indeed, no apparition could have seemed more frightful to her; for the man on the fence was Robert Champion.

For the space of at least a minute neither spoke. It was as if both parties were at a loss for words. At last the man found his tongue.

“Well, Vi, this is a little surprise for both of us.”

So far she had been kneeling on the turf, as if the sight of him had paralysed her limbs and prevented her from ascending higher. Now, with a sudden jerky movement, she stood up straight.

“You!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, my dear--me. Taken you a little by surprise, haven’t I? You don’t seem to have made many preparations for my reception, though of course it’s always possible that you’ve got the fatted calf waiting for me indoors.”