CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

The next morning Katrine slept late. Physically she felt tired and spent; mentally, despite the shock of Vernon Keith's tragic end, she was conscious of a feeling of relief, as though a weight had been lifted from her mind.

Reviewing the events of the day before, she flushed to think of the inconsequent manner in which she had announced the fact of her understanding with Jim Blair. How had she come to do it? What exactly had she said? Her mental condition at the time of speaking had been so deranged that she had no clear recollection of the sequence of events. She _hoped_ there had been nothing startling or unusual about the announcement, that Captain Bedford had not thought it unnecessary and uncalled for, but even if things were different from her hopes, she was still thankful that on that wave of impulse she had spoken and confessed the truth, for from the moment of her meeting with Bedford--not the formal meeting in the saloon of the ship, but that other speechless encounter in the streets of Port Said, she had felt oppressed by a sense of disloyalty, which no amount of reasoning could dissolve. The personality of Jim Blair, as revealed through the medium of pen and ink, had become suddenly a shadowy, intangible thing when compared with the magnetism of this live man's presence.

Not once, but a hundred times over, had Katrine regretted the little bundle of letters securely packed in a box in the hold--those tender, humorous, pre-eminently sane letters which had taken so strong a hold of her imagination. She had packed them away for security's sake, telling herself that she would receive others at Port Said and Bombay, and that on the way out to meet the very man himself, she would have no need of written words, but the Port Said letter had proved a disappointment, and a need _had_ arisen! It would have meant much to her during the last days to have had those written words before her eyes.

After breakfast Mrs Mannering descended, bustling and energetic.

"Now then--up with you! No use lying here, and glumping over what's past. One man's gone. God rest his soul, and give him a better chance than he ever had here! but there's another one waiting for you upstairs. If you've any sense you'll be up and join him."

Katrine sat up obediently, and began drawing on her long silk stockings.

"Mrs Mannering,--what's your religion?"

Her companion started, stared, and laughed.

"Well! any way I can tell you _yours_! Narrow Church!" she said chuckling. "Eh, what? Hit it at once, haven't I now?"

Katrine settled the heel of her stocking, and raised a flushed, disquieted face.

"I suppose so. Y-es! For myself. But I don't expect every one to think the same."

"Then, bless your heart! you're not so narrow after all! Believe what helps you most, but allow other people the same privilege. Them's my sentiments, my dear, and--for the rest!--we'll find out some day, and there'll be some rare old shocks for the sticklers who've got it all cut and dried, and expect creation to chant Amen. What put you on the religious tack? The thought of that poor sinner who went out yesterday?"

"Yes. I have been thinking--wondering where he--"

"Ah!" the woman's voice struck a deeper note. "If we knew that, my dear, life would be simpler for us all. You'll find some wise folks who'd tell you in detail, up to the fifth and sixth stages of development. I'm not taking any myself. I prefer to wait till it's time to move on, and find out for myself, and meantime,--well! my lights may be dim, but they're burning, my dear, they're burning! There are people on earth who would laugh themselves sick at the thought of Nance Mannering talking religion; your good vicar would probably give me a wide berth, but I've got my own principles, and, please God, I'll keep 'em... That's a good man, that Bedford. He carries it in his face. Going to fall in love with you all right!"

"Oh, _not_" contradicted Katrine sharply. She stood up, shook back her tangled mane of hair, and began to brush it in long even sweeps. Her face was hidden, but her voice was charged with eagerness. "Never! He has known me only for a few days, and besides I've told him that there is--some one else! I'm not engaged; please remember that, but there _is_ something,--an understanding, between me and another man,--enough in any case to make anything else impossible, on either side. There was no _need_ to tell Captain Bedford; we are the merest acquaintances, but it seemed wise to explain..."

"Jest so!" agreed Mrs Mannering significantly. "Since, of course, we are all aware that forbidden fruit loses its charm." The next moment, to Katrine's disgust, she began humming to herself a succession of nursery rhymes: "Mary had a little lamb, Its fleece was w-hite as snow... Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling--"

Chuckling she left the cabin, while Katrine tugged viciously at a knotted lock. "She can be nice enough when she likes, but sometimes I _hate_ that woman!"

Up on the deck beneath the double white awnings the atmosphere was delightfully reassuring. A strong wind had arisen, and the water was dashing up against the sides of the vessel in powdery columns of foam. The mountains had disappeared and there was no land in sight. Katrine felt a distinct surprise; geographical studies had not prepared her to find the Red Sea so large!

By common consent the tragedy of the day before was banished from conversation, and the different little companies of friends were grouped about talking and reading after the ordinary morning fashion. Bedford came forward to greet Katrine, looking cool and big in his loose white clothes, and altogether unembarrassed and at his ease. As usual a string of children followed at his heels, foremost among them that "Jackey" who had been his devout admirer since the episode of his own defeat. They scowled at Katrine, as the cause of their hero's defection, but he waved them away with good-natured decision, and led her forward to a corner of the deck where stood two chairs, and a small table on which was placed a mysterious cardboard box.

"You are going to be amused this morning," he announced breezily. "Talk is forbidden, so I've borrowed a toy. A jig-saw in four hundred pieces. How's that for high? You and I are going to get it out before lunch?"

Katrine's aspect was not enthusiastic.

"Jig-saw! A puzzle, isn't it? I have never tried. Isn't it rather a fag?"

"You wait and see!" The brown fingers rained the wooden morsels upon the table. "You _think_ it a fag, until you begin--then it's a possession! There's a man in the regiment who has 'em sent up from Bombay, and we have a sweepstake for the quickest solutions. I once sat up half the night, over three horses in a meadow; brown beggars, all of 'em, as like as three pins. Everybody's bits belonged to everybody else, as much as to himself, and the rest was a mass of green stuff, cut in points, diabolically alike. This is a locked fellow; all the better for shipboard. It's the dickens when they joggle. Plenty of colour, too. That's good for a start."

"Where is the picture?" asked Katrine innocently. She was bored at the prospect of the jig-saw, but relieved at the geniality of Bedford's manner, and anxious to respond to his efforts towards amusement. It was a shock to hear that there was _no_ picture, and that the mass of pieces before her were to be sorted with no clue whatever as to their meaning. "How does one begin?" was the awed question, and at that Bedford's smile deepened.

"_Cela depend_! I am rather interested to see. There are two ways, and you shall choose between them. You can look out all the edges, straight, you see, like this; study the grain of the wood, make up your frame, and gradually work towards the centre--that's one way, and perhaps the most common. On the other hand you can abandon method, and dash for the colours, make up little blocks here and there, half a dozen at a time perhaps, and look out for a chance of fitting them together, leaving the frame to look after itself. You take your choice. Which will you do?"

Katrine bent over the pieces, turning them right side up with rapid fingers. She saw a mass of dull grey green, a second of baffling white and grey, a third of a pronounced white, and dotted among them welcome patches of blue and red.

"Colour, please!" she cried quickly. "Let's dash for the colours, and trust to luck for the rest."

"Right ho!" he said, sweeping the pieces towards him. Katrine had an intuition that he approved of her choice, but he made no comment, and together they bent over the detached fragments of blue and red, which appeared at this stage so dishearteningly alike. Katrine was utterly at sea, but Bedford's greater experience soon scented a clew.

"The blue is sky, which goes on top; the light beggars are clouds. Here's a quaint hunchback little chap. Look out for a scoop for him as a start."

"Here's a scoop!" cried Katrine, picking out another fragment, and wonder of wonders! it fitted,--absolutely, unmistakably fitted into every curve, so that there could be no doubt as to its right to be there. To fit a piece at the very first effort,--here was success indeed! Bedford cheered, Katrine hitched her chair nearer the table, rubbing her hands with an altogether ridiculous sense of elation. "How fine! _And_ easy! Much easier than I imagined. Where's the next?"

"The next is probably at the bottom of the Indian Ocean, or will pretend to be, until we've exhausted ourselves looking for it, and have gone on to something else, when it will jump out and, figuratively speaking, hit us in the face. It's a way they have. What about this person?"

"Certainly not; you want a jagged edge. Nor that, it's too square. I'm afraid you have not much eye for contour!"

"Nor you for colour! That shade's too light... Here's a fellow like a button-hook. Where's his button? I knew an old maid who used to try each blessed bit in turn, until she'd gone through the whole fandango. If it shows a well-regulated mind to work at the rim, what does _that_ mean in the way of perseverance?"

Katrine's quest for the button was disturbed by the reflection that she had evidently proved herself devoid of a well-regulated mind. Regarded as a test of character, her "dash for the colours" would seem to prove a predisposition towards impulse and daring, the last qualities of which she was usually accused. Friends at home had agreed in pronouncing Katrine Beverley all that was prudent and cautious, and she herself had agreed in their verdict, yet surely those qualities had been upon the surface only, since it was this very prudent and cautious maid who had exchanged love letters with an unknown man--who was even now on her way across the world to meet him!

"I think," said a small voice suddenly, "the other way is better after all. I think, if you don't mind, I'll try the frame!"

Bedford lifted his face. It was nearer to Katrine than it had ever been before; startlingly near; in the momentary glance she discovered wrinkles hitherto unnoticed, a fleck of brown in the iris of one eye. Bedford saw a wave of colour mounting to the roots of soft brown hair, eyes of dark blue, their beauty heightened by the contrast of that flush.

"Now I wonder," he said thoughtfully, "I wonder just what mental excursion brought you to that decision! A moment ago you were so violently on the other track! Is it a journey that one might share?"

Katrine shook her head, stretching her hand to grope for the first straight edge, but the brown fingers swept them away, and a masterful voice cried:

"No, you don't! You've made your choice, and you'll stick to it. We'll see this thing through as we've begun," He studied her with twinkling, curious eyes, taking no pity on her embarrassment. "I'd like to follow that journey! What started your travels? Something I said? What _did_ I say? Blessed if I remember. You take yourself very seriously, don't you? It's not a matter of life and death how one works out a jig-saw. Here's the button! He's been staring us in the face all the time. Now it's a fork!"

Katrine was fumbling industriously at another corner of the table.

"I've fitted two bits of the red, but I haven't an _idea_ what it's about. It seems divided into small squares."

"A wall perhaps. Bricks." Bedford examined the pieces with a practised eye. "Yes! evidently bricks. There was a bit somewhere with a rim of blue. That must be the junction with the sky. Let's work at that."

Katrine worked for ten minutes on end, resorted in desperation to the old maid's expedient, and affixed each blue bit in turns to the obstinate red. When each persistently refused to fit, impatience seized her, and an impulse to dash her hands wildly over the board, when suddenly, inexplicably, a piece which had hitherto obstinately refused to fit, repented itself after the manner of jig-saw pieces, and slid meekly into its place, exhibiting thereby an enlightening boundary of brick wall against blue sky. The tingling eagerness to continue that line, to discover whereto it led, was a revelation of the inherent childishness of the human heart. Katrine jumped on her seat, scuffled among the pieces with claw-like fingers, breathed loud and deep, while Bedford looked on, smiling to himself, and flicking likely pieces towards her, so that to her might fall the satisfaction of continuing the chain. Above all things he was anxious to keep her amused, and to prevent her thoughts from turning to the tragic event of the day before. Last evening she had looked pitifully shaken. Mrs Mannering had reported a distressed night; he dreaded each fresh happening of the monotonous life which would link it with the day that had gone.

The first jar came with the partaking of the eleven o'clock deck lunch. Katrine's face blanched suddenly as she raised it from the table to confront a steward, bearing the glass of milk and soda, and the bars of chocolate which were her own chosen refreshment. A shake of the head dismissed the man, but the mischief had been done. Impossible now not to recall how, twenty-four hours ago, she had beckoned a gaunt figure to her side, and insisted upon sharing with him her feast, goaded by his suffering air to put forth little womanly wiles, which he should be unable to refuse. Involuntarily she turned her head to glance along the deck. It was incredible that he should not be there! The tears rose slowly in her eyes.

"I say, I've made a discovery! This motley grey stuff is a mass of lilies! I've put three pieces together, and there it is as plain as a pikestaff--a lily complete, and others in the background. They'll grow against the wall."

"Do you believe in prayers for the dead?"

Bedford started, met deep, pleading eyes and realised that for the moment the jig-saw must wait.

"I don't believe in the dead! Does that help you at all? Any prayers or thoughts which you have used here, with the intent of helping a fellow creature, can hardly be limited by the one sense of sight. I believe in prayers for the _living_."

The distress in Katrine's eyes changed into a soft radiance.

"Oh, I am _glad_ you said that, I'm glad!" she cried. "That smooths out everything. I'm so grateful to you. It would be a comfort to me to feel I could go on--"

"Helping that poor soul? Of course it would. Send out your sweet thoughts, then they'll reach him right enough, but for pity's sake _don't_ cry! _That_ doesn't help him, and it seriously disturbs another man, on a lower plane. As a pure religious duty now, don't you think you could range these lilies against the wall?"

"I'll--try!" Katrine answered between a sob and a laugh. Veritably that puzzle was a godsend this morning, claiming her interest in absurd disproportion. There were periods of fruitless searchings when _ennui_ and impatience hovered at hand, but inevitably at that very moment success intervened, and brought with it a renewal of zest.

Half a dozen blocks of substantial sizes were strewn about the table, but so far each remained separate and distinct, and seemed to have no connection with the other. Katrine, eyeing them impatiently, was once more inclined to regret her earlier decision.

"I wonder if this is really the best way! We don't seem to get on. The background _has_ to be fitted in some time, and it might be better to get it over. Slow and sure wins the race!"

Bedford lifted a jagged fragment in his hand, examined it carefully, and bent over the table as if looking for a place into which it might fit.

"The theory," he said thoughtfully, "is correct. Like many theories! But the prizes of life are not for the prudent. If we worked out our problems step by step, you and I, we might avoid some difficulties; incidentally, also, we should miss something else!" He tilted his head, lifting narrowed eyes. "The _thrill_!" he said deeply. "We should miss the thrill."

The unexpectedness of the word, the tone in which it was uttered, the expression on the face so close to her own, smote Katrine with the force of a blow. Literally she could not speak; her heart seemed to stop beating as she waited for his next word.

"People who choose the surer way have no doubt their own reward. The pattern works out before their eyes, bit by bit, step by step, each moment bringing with it the same satisfaction--no more, and no less. When one dashes for the colours, as you and I have agreed to do to-day, there is a time of blur and confusion, when the future is chaos, but that time passes, and gives place to a moment when suddenly, unexpectedly, the link is found... One link, an insignificant trifle, such as I hold in my hand, and presto! all is made plain... The pieces fit, chaos gives place to order, the picture is revealed. Then one can work confidently at the background. It is no longer uninteresting. It has its reason, its place."

His voice had still that new, deep tone; the sound of it, the look in his eyes had a significance which could surely not refer only to a toy. For one long, tingling moment the blue eyes and the grey held each other, in a thrilling gaze, then they fell, and with swift, dramatic touches Bedford proceeded to illustrate his words. The jagged fragment held between finger and thumb fell into its rightful place, the great block of pieces to the right turned upside down beneath a flattened hand revealed an outline which fitted line for line, curve for curve, into the block to the left; the combined mass showed unmistakable anchorages for the small blocks scattered around. There revealed before Katrine's eyes was the patch of sky, the line of the long red wall, the tangled bank of lilies; there also was a long sweep of unbroken white which now showed as a dress; a woman's dress, with a delicate hand half hidden among the folds. More marvellous still, a glimpse of a delicate face looked out from the enveloping folds of veil. Where in the name of magic had that face managed to hide?

"It is a nun walking in a garden of lilies! What a pity she is a nun. She looks too sweet to live alone!" said Bedford carelessly, "Now the excitement is over, and we have all the grey bits to fill in. How dull!" cried Katrine in her turn. If _he_ could be cool and calm, pride forbade that she should lag behind. She took an early opportunity of summoning Mrs Mannering to help in the construction of the picture, and for the rest of the morning the conversation was strictly impersonal.