“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
band, Hubert Trevelyan, immaculately clad as usual, his iron-grayish hair blowing back over his bald spot,—a tall, rather stoop-shouldered figure, with an anxious, melancholy face. Behind him were stationed two other men,—and the sunlight flashed and twinkled from time to time as it caught something upon the breast of each. Fear rose in her throat. Who were these men and why were they with Trevelyan? Were they Customs inspectors, dogging him in order to prevent possible collusion as to the necklace? Why had he come down the harbor anyway? Had the declarations already been filed and her deception made known? Or had he merely come to warn her against any attempt at evading the law? But already he had seen her and waved his hat passively. In reply she nodded. That was all—the only recognition between husband and wife—separated for four months. The tug cut a wide circle, came up alongside, the companionway was lowered and Trevelyan made his appearance followed by the two officers. Lily did not go to meet him. She only turned in his direction, as he hurried towards her.
259
