CHAPTER XV

THE CHANGED MAN

I

Exactly a week passed, and Easter had come, before Rachel could set out upon an enterprise which she both longed and hated to perform.  In the meantime the situation in the house remained stationary, except that after a relapse Louis’ condition had gradually improved.  She nursed him; he permitted himself to be nursed; she slept near him every night; no scene of irritation passed between them.  But nothing was explained; even the fact that Rachel on the Saturday morning had overtaken Louis instead of meeting him—­a detail which in secret considerably puzzled Louis, since it implied that his wife had been in the house when he left it—­even this was not explained; as for the motor-car, Louis, absorbed, had scarcely noticed it, and Rachel did not mention it.  She went on from one day into the next, proud, self-satisfied, sure of her strength and her position, indifferently scornful of Louis, and yet fatally stricken; she knew not in the least what was to be done, and so she waited for Destiny.  Louis had to stop in bed for five days.  His relapse worried Dr. Yardley, who, however, like many doctors, was kept in complete ignorance of the truth; Rachel was ashamed to confess that her husband had monstrously taken advantage of her absence to rise up and dress and go out; and Louis had said no word.  On the Friday he was permitted to sit in a chair in the bedroom, and on Saturday he had the freedom of the house.  It surprised Rachel that on the Saturday he had not dashed for the street, for after the exploit of the previous Saturday she was ready to expect anything.  Had he done so she would not have interfered; he was really convalescent, and also the number of white stripes over his face and hair had diminished.  In the afternoon he reclined on the Chesterfield to read, and fell asleep.  Then it was that Rachel set out upon her enterprise.  She said not a word to Louis, but instructed Mrs. Tams to inform the master, if he inquired, that she had gone over to Knype to see Mr. Maldon.

“Are you a friend of Mester Maldon’s?” asked the grey-haired slattern who answered her summons at the door of Julian’s lodgings in Granville Street, Knype.  There was a challenge in the woman’s voice.  Rachel accepted it at once.

“Yes, I am,” she said, with decision.

“Well, I don’t know as I want any o’ Mester Maldon’s friends here,” said the landlady loudly.  “Mester Maldon’s done a flit from here, Mester Maldon has; and,” coming out on to the pavement and pointing upward to a broken pane in the first-floor window, “that’s a bit o’ his fancy work afore he flitted!”

Rachel put her lips together.

“Can you give me his new address?”

“Can I give yer his new address?  Pr’aps I can and pr’aps I canna, but I dunna see why I should waste my breath on Mester Maldon’s friends—­that I dunna!  And I wunna!”