A Damsel in Distress

The glare of a pocket-torch smote upon him.

"I brought it to see my way back with," said Maud in a curious,

small voice. "It's very dark across the fields. I didn't light it

before, because I was afraid somebody might see."

She came towards him, holding the torch over her head. The beam

showed her face, troubled and sympathetic, and at the sight all

George's resentment left him. There were mysteries here beyond his

unravelling, but of one thing he was certain: this girl was not to

blame. She was a thoroughbred, as straight as a wand. She was pure

gold.

"I came here to tell you everything," she said. She placed the

torch on the wagon-wheel so that its ray fell in a pool of light on

the ground between them. "I'll do it now. Only--only it isn't so

easy now. Mr. Bevan, there's a man--there's a man that father and

Reggie Byng mistook--they thought . . . You see, they knew it was

you that I was with that day in the cab, and so they naturally

thought, when you came down here, that you were the man I had gone

to meet that day--the man I--I--"

"The man you love."

"Yes," said Maud in a small voice; and there was silence again.

George could feel nothing but sympathy. It mastered other emotion

in him, even the grey despair that had come her words. He could

feel all that she was feeling.

"Tell me all about it," he said.

"I met him in Wales last year." Maud's voice was a whisper. "The

family found out, and I was hurried back here, and have been here

ever since. That day when I met you I had managed to slip away from

home. I had found out that he was in London, and I was going to

meet him. Then I saw Percy, and got into your cab. It's all been a

horrible mistake. I'm sorry."

"I see," said George thoughtfully. "I see."

His heart ached like a living wound. She had told so little, and

he could guess so much. This unknown man who had triumphed seemed

to sneer scornfully at him from the shadows.

"I'm sorry," said Maud again.

"You mustn't feel like that. How can I help you? That's the point.

What is it you want me to do?"

"But I can't ask you now."

"Of course you can. Why not?"

"Why--oh, I couldn't!"

George managed to laugh. It was a laugh that did not sound

convincing even to himself, but it served.

"That's morbid," he said. "Be sensible. You need help, and I may be

able to give it. Surely a man isn't barred for ever from doing you

a service just because he happens to love you? Suppose you were

drowning and Mr. Plummer was the only swimmer within call, wouldn't

you let him rescue you?"