Afterwards

Carried away by her trust in him Anstice turned to her impulsively.

"Mrs. Cheniston, I can't thank you enough for those words. God knows I would willingly, gladly die to shield you from any harm; and if help should not come in time, and I should lose my life, well, please believe two things--firstly, that since that dreadful night I have never--failed--in that way again; and secondly, that to die in your service"--so much he might surely say in this poignant hour--"would be a death which any man might envy me."

She did not reply in words; but her eyes answered for her and for a moment there was silence between them. Then, as though half afraid he might have angered her by his last impetuous speech, Anstice spoke abruptly in another tone.

"Odd, isn't it, how an action carried through in a moment may have such tremendous consequences? I mean if I had stayed my hand long ago in that Indian hut you and I would not be here now, faced with this rather--difficult--situation. It makes one realize that one should never act too hastily--without looking all round the subject, so to speak."

"Yes. And yet--sometimes--if one stopped to think of the consequences one would be afraid to act, and let the vital moment slip," she said rather dreamily. "Of course there is always the afterwards----"

"Do you know of what that reminds me?" He spoke quickly. "Once, long ago when I was a student, I picked up a book of old plays at a bookstall in the Charing Cross Road. And in one of the plays I came across this sentence: 'The deed itself may be the work of a moment; but there is always the long, long afterwards with which to reckon.'"

His voice died away; but she said nothing, though her eyes betokened her interest; and presently he resumed.

"Well, that sentence has haunted me pretty frequently of late--it has run through the years like the saying of some avenging angel. I have known what the reckoning with the afterwards may be--sometimes, indeed, I have feared that reckoning will never be paid."

"Dr. Anstice," she said quietly, "you are wrong. The reckoning is paid; the atonement is made; and I am quite sure that the future--for you--will be rid for ever of the haunting shadow of the past. And"--her cheeks blanched suddenly as a clamour arose in the courtyard outside--"I think the future is beginning--with trouble and danger--now."